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sciderman · 7 months

Note

Round boy + mask = square jaw

Pointy boy + mask = egg

Why?

wade's mask is masc. (hahaehehehahaeo...)

wade does a lot to mask his soft interior – he worries a lot about appearing soft.

[x]

he's GETTING SOFT (and peter loves it. he loves when wade gets soft.)

[x]

underneath it all, wade's soft and round. no matter how he tries to hide it.

[x]

wade is always hiding it – to way more extreme and destructive measures than peter, actually.

it's kind of funny, wade's insistence that peter needs to be honest to himself - because wade's the poster boy. wade finds it difficult to be true to himself, because he doesn't even know which "self" is true at this point. he's constantly pretending to be someone or something else.

something that'll please others. make him more palatable. more entertaining. make the audience side with him, even if he thinks he's undeserving. fake it till you make it.

sometimes i think about how wade lost his virginity the night before he enlisted (because he was worried the guys would make fun of him if he was a virgin.)

of course they made fun of him anyway.

he doubles down - he puts on the macho air that everyone expects from him. he can be the bad boy. he can be the rugged antihero that is a total jerk but everyone loves anyway because he's the tough guy. it's why you'll never get to see what adult wade looked like pre-weapon X - you'll see wade in his teenage years - but once he enlists - that's not wade wilson. he's constantly playing a role. cool action hero, whatever'll get him the girl.

it isn't until weapon X that he's forced into a position where he can't hide anymore. everything is on his skin. plain as day, for everyone to see.

[x]

deadpool becomes the mask wade can hide all his damage and his insecurities behind because lord knows he can't hide a thing when he's out of it. like a lobster out of his shell. he's soft, and pink and tender. he couldn't survive without that hard red shell exterior, to make him look tough.

peter's mask is also masc, but his mask is peter parker.

spider-man is kind of funny. in that – outwardly, it does look similar to deadpool's performative masculinity. he has "-man" in his name, for christ's sake - but - it's not, really. you wouldn't say spider-man is overly macho. even as much as peter insists it is - nobody buys it.

you'd definitely, by all accounts, call peter parker the more masc aligned of the two - peter wears baggy clothes, he's kind of uptight, a little bit boring - and spider-man - spider-man's downright flamboyant - from his mannerisms, his jokes, and his tights. oh, and his fluttery little web-wings. he is fruity.

spider-man, in his tiny fruity little tights: YEAH. take a look at ME, girls. this is what true manhood looks like.

you might say the confidence it grants him is what makes him macho - but i think the fun thing about peter's gender journey is his embracal that actually - confidence isn't necessarily a masculine trait, and that - actually, his gender icons (save for uncle ben) are largely confident women.

i think that's why olive is so dear to me - that peter's leaning into a confidence and self-assuredness that doesn't come from being conventionally masculine. and, in fact - peter parker might be so shy and insecure because he's trying to fit in a box that doesn't fit him.

i think spider-man is more of a playground for peter. a place where he can experiment with his gender and his sexuality and the concept of "manhood" and what it means to him.

he can explore, because the anonymity grants him less social pressure to fit in. society can despise spider-man, and yeah - it'll get him down, but the repercussions are relatively little. peter has to fit in, to survive. and, as peter parker, he's terrified of those repercussions.

peter has such a desire to explore his identity and understand himself better - but, under safe, controlled conditions - whether that's under the anonymity of his mask or... or with people, who make him feel safe.

so, spider-man is peter's outlet to be fruity without repercussions. peter's og dragsona, actually. so – lithe, and curvy. he is so shape.

#sci speaks #GENDER !!#i could write essays.#ask-spiderpool #meta

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envysparkler · 2 days

Text

It had been a regular Friday—normal patrol, doing the rounds, Bruce hovering over all of them in spirit because he was laid up with a sprained ankle, and, of course, interrupted by a wannabe Rogue that was either insanely dangerous or ridiculously stupid. Or, as in tonight’s case, both at the same time.

Magic. Wondrous, terrible magic. There was a reason Batman did his best to keep magic out of Gotham. It was too unpredictable and they were all only human. Their sole defense against magic was to dodge. And keep dodging. Damn, this guy was really fast at casting spells.

Dick hadn’t been paying much attention to his spiel—something something power something something Gotham something something everyone will know my name—because he’d graduated the point where he wasn’t the one who had to do the detective work—that was what younger siblings were for—and he merely calculated the height of those hanging lights and if one would crash and hit the magician if he cut them properly.

There was a yelp as Red Robin and Robin accidentally dove in the same direction to avoid a spell and ended up sprawling out on the ground. Dick was on the other side of the magician, too far to help, but Red Hood stepped forward, growling, “Hey, you Hogwarts reject, did you learn aim from the Imperial Stormtroopers?”

Dick marked another point in Hood’s I-swear-we’re-not-family-fuck-off-Dickhead-or-I’ll-shoot-you-and-also-if-you-get-shot-I’ll-kill-you-myself column. At this point, the only person who probably still believed Hood’s protestations of rebelliousness was Bruce.

Hood fired a warning shot from his gun.

The magician attacked on instinct.

Hood didn’t get out of the way fast enough.

Everyone in the warehouse saw the gray beam of light hit Hood square in the chest. Dick’s heart dropped somewhere below his stomach, Red Robin made a sharp cry, and even Robin took a step towards Hood, though it was already too late.

Hood’s figure winked out.

No, something in Dick screamed, already whirling towards the magician—and was stopped by a tiny, scratchy little meow.

Dick swiveled back. There was an unbelievably small baby kitten on the ground where Hood had just been, all black with a tiny little spot of white on his forehead.

Red Robin made a choked sound. Robin had frozen in place. “Oops,” the magician said, sounding distinctly sheepish.

Before anyone could react, the magician disappeared with a crack.

“Hood?” Dick tried, struggling to keep his voice level. The baby kitten made another sharp cry, and took a tottering step forward.

Dick couldn’t control himself anymore.

“Oh my god.” He was so tiny. He could fit into Dick’s palm. Maybe-Hood hissed when Dick scooped him up, putting up a valiant effort to gnaw Dick’s fingers off even if those teeny tiny little teeth—and that little pink tongue—could barely put a dent in Dick’s gloves.

“Is that really Hood?” Red Robin said, a strange expression on his face, like Christmas had come early and he wasn’t ready to believe it. “What if—what if the guy just…sent Hood somewhere, and replaced him with a kitten?”

“It would be an improvement,” Robin muttered.

Probably-Hood stopped chewing Dick’s fingers to shoot Robin the dirtiest look a baby kitten could muster, and Dick could see the consternation visibly melt off of Robin’s face as his baby brother resisted the urge to coo.

“Even if this isn’t Hood, we need to get back to the Cave and figure out what that spell was,” Dick said, studying the kitten. “Hmm, little guy? Are you my little brother? Give me a meow for yes, and continue trying to bite my fingers for no.”

Most-Definitely-Hood hissed at him again.

“This is the best day of my life,” Dick grinned. “Bruce is going to freak out.”

~#~

Bruce was, indeed, freaking out. “What happened?” he nearly shouted as they got out of the Batmobile, waiting in the garage—and judging by Alfred’s visible aura of disapproval, clearly against orders.

Dick, climbing out of the passenger seat, had to make a flailing catch as the baby kitten attempted to make a break for it. “Shh,” he said. “You’re going to scare Jason.”

Bruce stopped and stared. Tim, exiting the driver’s side, broke down again into the giggling fit that had nearly caused him to crash the car. Damian looked visibly amused.

Bruce blinked at the car, as if expecting a hulking six foot two former crime lord to get out. And then looked at Dick and the tiny little kitten hissing in his hands. Back at the car. Back at Dick.

“What?” he finally said, voice weak.

“At least Damian isn’t going to adopt him,” Dick said, firmly detaching tiny kitten claws from his gloves to deposit the furiously hissing kitten into Bruce’s grasp. Jason squawked, loudly, and attempted to escape, but Bruce’s reflexes were too fast.

He slowly drew the little ball of fur up to his face, face slack, ignoring the way the kitten pricked his palms. “You’re joking,” Bruce said flatly.

“Would I joke about something like this?” Dick asked, wounded. Bruce gave him a Look. “Okay, yeah, I would totally joke about something like this, I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it before, but no, our little magician problem waved his staff and it hit Jay and,” Dick waggled his fingers at the puffed-up kitten.

Bruce still didn’t look convinced.

“Of course,” Dick said to the kitten, “if this isn’t Jason, that means it’s a lost little kitten that needs to go to the vet and get lots of shots—”

Jason reacted predictably to the idea of needles and neatly clambered up Bruce’s arm, clinging to the man’s shoulder and hissing at Dick from his perch.

Dick turned the shit-eating grin to his father, “Believe me now?”

Bruce was wincing and trying to extract Jason’s claws from his skin. “Jason got turned into a cat? How do we undo the spell?”

“Frankly, Father, I find the current state of affairs significantly more agreeable,” Damian said, returning after changing. “You have to admit that Todd is more tolerable like this.”

The kitten didn’t have time to take offense before Tim piped up, his face still splotchy from laughing too hard, “Yeah, he’s all cute and cuddly.”

Jason made a low growling rumble that showed clearly what he thought of that sentiment. Unfortunately for him, it just made him look cuter.

“Boys, stop teasing your brother,” Bruce said firmly, finally managing to finagle Jason’s claws free of his shirt and tuck him into the curve of his elbow. “Of course we’re going to figure out how to get him back.”

Jason made a loud hiss and scratched Bruce. Bruce, startled, loosened his grip, and Jason leapt free like a bullet. Dick dove for him and missed, Tim jumped out of the way as Jason went streaking past, and soon the black kitten was no longer visible.

“Well, that was entirely predictable,” Damian said, staring in the direction Jason had gone.

#my snippets #cantrip catnip #magical animal transformation #to end the spell you have to be kissed by the person who's loved you the longest

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inthememetime · 1 year

Note

There are plenty of posts where Justice League and Constantine sees Danny's Ghost King Form in all of its Eldritchy glory, from on being Lightning Based to one being compared to an event horizon, as he takes down the ghost that was giving the League problems and it basically freaks them out.

So when I stumbled upon this picture

I knew that this could be an excellent form worthy of a King if it was tweaked to fit Danny with ghostly elements, and maybe ice themes sprinkled with something Space related.

Like Vortex or Undergrowth is giving the League trouble, then this thing straight out of the Old Testament shows up, takes down the Ghost, and turns back to Danny who didn't know he just melted the League's brains.

Or, maybe during The Legion of Doom / The Light tries to summon the Ghost King for power/ take over the world, and Danny comes along looking like that and scares everyone there shitless.

How do you think that will go down?

I have had this in my drafts for So Very Long... Im sorry!!!

Holy *^$π, Batman!™

I LOVE the image, and 100% agree, it's an awesome base to work off with Danny.

I think it would be hilarious. Matter of fact, I wrote a fic about it. 😁 If you have an AO3, let me know and I'll gift it to you.

Ao3 here

Be Not Afraid- or Whatever

Summary: The weather god- though Constantine swore it was 'just' a ghost- had pinned down the entire Justice League. While they'd managed to trap Vortex in a two square mile area and evacuate civilians, and even arrested the cult responsible, they in turn were trapped in a small warehouse, protected only by the blood blossom spray and salt circle Constantine made.

With no way to fight it, they had only one choice: summon another ghost. Enter Ghost King Danny Phantom, stage right.

Rain, wind, and hail pounded heavily against the metal roof and walls of the tiny back office of a warehouse.

Earlier today- just this morning, in fact- it had been a bright and warm summer day. The Flash flinched as a piece of hail broke through a window. Constantine didn't flinch, intent on his task. Superman was still unconscious, Batman picking out shards of kryptonite from a bullet that had hit its mark too well.

It was silent but for the occasional pained gasp from their Kryptonian friend, and Constantine's low mutters in what sounded like Ancient Latin to Barry's untrained ears.

Thunder roared, and the single lightbulb went out. Wordlessly, Batman cracked a pair of glowsticks, passing one to him so he could hold it up for Constantine. Clark groaned quietly.

A cult of summoners swearing fealty to Vortex, Lord of Storms, seemed easy enough to stop; Batman made the plan and coordinated with everyone. He and Superman rescued hostages and dock workers alike as Batman and Constantine took down the cult.

It was supposed to be easy. Simple. It was anything but.

The smell of the weird floral spray Constantine used- Blood Blossoms, the magic user had said- was beginning to fade. A drop of sweat fell down Constantine's face. His lips were pressed tight, white against the odd pallor of his face.

"John," Barry whispered, "how much longer?"

Another window broke. Batman swore quietly. "Good news is, we've got the blood sacrifice ready," he joked under his breath. He winced then, and pressed his hand against the bandage on his arm.

It had bled through again, but the others were needed for Clark. In a rare event, the alien was the most injured on the team.

The cultists had purchased bullets laced with kryptonite from somewhere, which didn't hurt Constantine any more than a regular one. The same couldn't be said for Clark.

The magic-user hesitated until water started to bubble underneath the door, threatening the complicated circle of chalk and blood. He spoke, and this time it wasn't in Latin. Barry couldn't recognize it.

The temperature began to drop further while the air around the man began to shimmer, almost. Ozone gathered in the air, and the darkness increased until he couldn't see anything. Even the glowstick was a pinprick of light so tiny he couldn't be sure it was real.

A low rumble sounded and a radioactive green pool started to open. One massive clawed hand grabbed the edge. Constantine's voice cracked- but didn't stop. Another hand pulled out, and another, folowed by one more.

They were white as snow up to the wrists. One massive wing shot up, far too big for the office, followed by another, both black as night and covered with starry patterns. The next thing Barry made out was a crown of twisted black iron and glittering jewels, wreathed in green flame, atop two large horns, blue like sea ice.

The figure continued to rise as John spoke, revealing a second, then third set of wings and a mane of white hair which flowed in a wind he couldn't feel. Four sets of eyes opened, some solid green and glowing, some pitch black, some solid white, and the last a myriad of colors.

The thing's face was almost tan, almost the color of mortal flesh, but green scars like lightning bolts marred it. A thud alerted him of one massive foot, then another, both white and clawed.

The rest of its body except a shining white D was black as the void. When it opened its mouth, he had to look away, unsure if he feared or loved it, found it beautiful or terrifying.

Abruptly, the light from the sticks was back. He didn't dare look at Clark or Batman to see how they were doing; every instinct said he was in front of a predator, and showing the weak of the herd would be a death sentence.

Finally, Constantine fell silent.

"What's up? Kind of a weird place for a summons, you know," it said, and Barry swallowed. It sounded like a child, an old man, a windstorm, the shriek of a blizzard, the thunder of roaring waves all at once.

"I have summoned you, King of Ghosts, to take your servant back to your realm," Constantine managed, voice only wavering a little.

It leaned forward. "And the price?"

The thing sounded almost teasing. Amused.

"What would you ask of us?"

"Autographs," it immediately said. "From Martian Manhunter, Superman, Cyborg, and Wonder Woman."

Wait. What?

"I'm a big fan," it added.

"Should all of us survive today, we will do so," he agreed.

"Sweet. Gimme like 5 minutes. Maybe 10, Vortex is a bit of a bitch. Also, be not afraid or whatever. I'm one of the good guys."

It was gone, then, and abruptly Barry sucked in a breath. Sounds of a fierce battle echoed from outside for several minutes before the storm abruptly stopped.

Slightly singed, the Ghost King returned. "Hey, does Supes over there need a doctor? I know a good one in the GZ."

He swallowed. Batman cleared his throat. "We only need to get the kryptonite out of him, he'll be fine."

"Okay!" It chirped, then reached over and, without so much as ruffling the suit, reached into the alien and pulled out a small handful of shards. "I'll be back in a few weeks for those autographs- I'd say tomorrow, but time is weird. Bye, guys!"

"Wait- can I ask for a way to contact you? If you'd be willing to help in the future," Constantine asked.

"Yeah, sure. My Chirper handle is @realdeadguy, all lowercase, no punctuation," he said, "and you can call me Phantom if you want."

"Guys!"

Sam groaned and Tucker covered his face with a pillow.

"Dude, we know you just got back from a summons, but it's 3 am."

Danny rocked back and forth, wings twitching. "I met the Justice League! They're so cool! Batman was there! Batman!!!"

"I thought you were all about Su-"

"And I saved Superman's life, isn't that awesome?! I kept the kryptonite, look, real-life rock from space!"

"Rocks aren't alive, Danny," Sam muttered. Then, a second later, "wait, what?! You met the Justice League? Was Wonder Woman there?"

"No, but I asked for an autograph."

#danny phantom #inthememetime #danny phantom au #eldritch danny #ghost king danny #vortex #constantine #dp x dc #barry allen #the flash #batman #superman

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skxllz · 5 months

Text

“ 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧’ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. ”

lip gallagher x fem! reader

warnings; swearing. “creep” scene in the beginning. suggestive joking between minors. shameless humor and descriptive writing?

side note; I usually would write for 18+ characters, like... lip in the other seasons, but I find season 1-2 lip so cute (this is season 2, he's 17). plus I feel like the feel of the atmosphere from the earlier seasons match up with the tiny plot I had in mind?? idk. but like, enjoy my shitty writing 😗✌️🏻

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It was chilly in the midst of october. the cool air was turning rather crisp and shiver-y to the feel. while you despised the feel of jeans snuggly fit against you, hot or cold weather, you figured today was a day as good as any to wear ‘em. it was going to rain soon, your other clothes were dirty in a growing pile on the swivel chair in your bedroom - and it was either jeans or pajama pants. although pj's weren't a bad choose, you rather not get soaked in that type of material. if just felt icky.

so friggin’ jeans were the go to in this bitter weather.

you wished summer would've stuck around a while longer, that way you could hang out in the sun in nothing but bikini bottoms, a ratty t and bare feet; but alas, the season only lasted like... three months. four tops, if you counted may. It was a bitch.

and so, due to your luck and the earth going down hill autumn came way too fast. it was actually your favorite season, you just preferred the warmth of the sun over the jittery winds that blew during this time of year. fuck temperature drops.

as of right now, with jeans riding up your ass from the fucking tightness - god it was annoying -, you were walking your behind to the high school that was about a mile away from your house. you lived between the southside and westside, which was both a blessing and curse - a blessing, since it was... a bit more relaxed than the southside, but a curse because you had to deal with the damn calvary of chicago. west and south did not get along, and the punches packed between could be brutally irritating.

so honestly, it was no surprise you got catcalled by some creepy fuck along the way past the bus stop. you ended up curling in your lips and flipping him off over your shoulder, but no queso dude. he still tried to bother you.

“ hey- that's not nice, little lady! ” the stranger cackled, only for his steps to fall in line behind yours. you could feel your teeth edging to grit together, but resisted; knowing you had to keep your cool in this situation.

“ bro, it's- ” you spared a glance at your flip’, squinting at the digital time that could barely be seen,“ — 7:24 in the am. go bother someone else. ”

the man cackled - only to place a rather chapped hand on your shoulder. you instantly made a face of disgust. “ but i- ”

“ didn't she tell you to fuck off, dickhead? ” a new voice entered the conversation. you recognized the owner as you turned your head; no other than phillip gallgher himself.

he had reeled the man back by his shoulder and got right in his face, shoulders squared and fists on edge by his sides. you could tell by the curling motion of his whitening fingers that lip was ready to throw down with this jackass.

the guy looked dumbfounded as he stared at lip - his eyes wide, jaw slack, exposing his chipped teeth. “ i- ” he stuttered - but, then his eyes instantly narrowed and he sized lip up with a squinted gaze. “ who the hell are you, man? get out of my face! ”

that wasn't the response lip was looking for, because before you could even blink, he threw his fist towards the guy in a swift motion; knuckles connecting right to the strangers jaw and knocking him on his ass. you inwardly winced from the gasping cough the guy let out, as he grabbed as his face immediately to cradle it.

“ fucking pig... ” lip muttered, before his frosty eyes turned onto you. he looked angered still, but the emotion began diminishing after you two locked gazes.

lip approached you, only to grab your arm and tug you along with him. “ come on, you're walking with me. ”

“ when the hell did I agree to ditch? ” your voice, filled with annoyance, bounced off the aluminum roof of the pavilion lip led the two of you under. it was one of those public ones that belonged to a church - but could actually care less for whoever used it. both of you ended up walking over to one of the few rickety picnic tables that sat benched out from one another, only to take seats on the table-top surface itself; you, criss-cross-apple-sauce, and lip sitting in a lazy man spread with one of his hands tucked into the pocket of his coat.

his eyes flickered up to glance at you, acknowledging your statement to him before they shifting back to the lighter he began flicking, “ th’minute you left with me. ” he mumbled over the roll of his cigarette.

“ huh? ” you raised a brow in question.

lip took his cigarette between his fingers once he sparked it up, blowing smoke out from between his lips as his gaze locked onto your figure again. “ I said, you agreed to ditch the minute you left with me. ”

those blue eyes of his seemed to be studying your expression, but you either didn't mind or just didn't seem to notice - given, of course, that you were looking out at the empty road; simply watching the cars pass by. “ technically, you forced me out here with you. ” you snarked back knowingly, finally turning your head to give the gallagher a smug smile.

he managed a half-assed smirk. “ is that necessarily a bad thing? I did save you from that fucking creep - he was ready to grab your ass. ”

your nose scrunched up and wrinkled in distaste. “ oh, yeah... thanks for that. ”

looking away, you coughed into your fist. “ but I could've handled myself, ya’ know. ”

the brunette-blonde rolled his eyes, taking another inhale of his camel light. “ sure. ”

you scoffed, looking at lip with pinched brows. “ right - and you only came to my rescue because you thought you'd get some pussy, right? ”

lip, who was now looking out at the road now himself, cracked a grin and said nothing. you shook your head in disgust, only to curl your lips in from angered disbelief and shove him.

“ hey! ” the gallgher boy laughed, putting his hands up in mock surrender once he stumbled from the bench, “ I didn't even say anything! watch it. ”

“ I saw that look, gallagher. ” your eyes rolled before pinning ahead once more. “ you're a real dick, ya’ know? ”

“ I know. ”

your half-lidded gaze moved onto him, mirroring annoyance. lip was wearing a cocky grin - the one he always seemed to have on whenever he pissed off someone. he truly was an ass.

“ fuck you. ” you spat, sticking out your tongue childishly. lip's brow raised in response while he tucked his bic away.

“ when? ”

“ never. ”

he shook his head, smile never fading. though, he didn't say anything else; choosing to sit beside you once more. you didn't say anything either, but you were eyeing him from your perennial vision to make sure he didn't try anything.

the both of you sat in silence for what seemed like eternity, but it was really only ten minutes or so. lip had decided to gaggle around, tapping a beat with his foot for no apparent reason other than to rid the silence away. he wasn't used to sitting in a quiet setting for too. although it could be nice, it just wasn't.

“ so, ” lip spoke while snuffing his butt out into the wooden table. “ what're you doing? ” his eyes moved onto you, only to see you looking out into the road again.

“ admirin’ the early morning. ” your voice came out soft - way softer than the tone you had spoken to him with before.

lip just... stared at you. It wasn't creepy, nor weird, he was just admiring you for a moment. taking note on how your baby hairs curled around the base of your ear, and how your lips parted just enough to let out a small puff of air once in a while.

It was cute.

you were cute.

“ why? ” he questioned finally, tearing his gaze off of you and pointing it to the ground.

a gentle smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “ because, ” you chuckled lightly, “ it's always nice out at this time. just- the hour of the day, the fog and rain around us. you never took any time to take this in? ”

why would he? “ no. ” lip spoke with a scoff, almost like what you were saying was a joke. he never had time to do that shit.

“ you should, ” you didn't sound bothered that he took your words with a grain of salt. he was lip gallagher after all. you didn't know him that well, so you couldn't fully judge him, but everyone knew how the gallgher's were like. “ it's therapeutic to appreciate the little things. ”

in lip's mind, he knew you weren't necessarily wrong - but at the same time, he didn't have time to just sit back and relax. a lot of people in the world didn't, because they had shit going on and things to do. right now, he shouldn't even be where he was; he should be in calc. in school. both of you should be, but he figured a day off wouldn't hurt.

but now that he thinks it over... it's probably hurting his grades right now, and he can only imagine how bad fiona is gonna’ chew his ear off for missing.

the thought made him internally swear, unintentionally balling up the fist that sat downright on his knee. his bottom lip had even curled in and he didn't take notice.

“ hey- ” that was until your voice called out to him.

he blinked- once, twice, in a manner that brought him back to earth.

lip looked at you - then down at your hand, that had moved over top of his from concern. why were you concerned?

“ you okay? ” your words made lip lift his head and inhale, “ you seemed mad, for a moment. ”

“ yeah, ” he nodded his head, wiping at his nose with his other hand out of habit. “ ‘m fine. just thinkin’ about some shit. ”

you stared at him for a moment - it's like you were contemplating his words, which you were - before nodding slowly. “ okay. ”

you paused. “ wanna’ go get something to drink? the stores should be open by now, it's past eight. ”

lip stared at you for a moment.

“ I don't have any money, ” he said finally, after a minute of hesitation. It was embarrassing to admit that - being a kid form that southside and all, just struggling to get by.

a sideways smile pulled at your mouth. “ don't worry about it. I got you. ”

lip swallowed at the words that rolled off your tongue as if it was nothing. he surely wasn't used to kindness. I mean - steve came into their lives, sure, but lip always seen him as sketchy. there's not really someone who exists that's so willingly nice unless they get something in return.

“ what's in it for you? ” he was was now defensive, and you noticed.

so, you did reverse psychology.

“ okay- ” you shrugged, and got up from your spot on the picnic table. “ since you wanna’ be like that, don't come. but the offer still stands. ”

It wasn't like you were a bitch, you just knew how boys like lip were. always thought a single sliver of kindness was dropped onto the table just to fuck them over ten fold. but, you didn't have those intentions. lip helped you out, so why not help him out?

maybe it wasn't with a blowie like that karen chick would offer him, but it was still something.

“ hey! ” you heard lip call after you, after you had walked off. you were half way down the road when you turned around, only to see him jogging after you.

“ uh- ” he breathed out awkwardly once he came to a stop in front of you. his hand raised to scratch at the back of his head. “ listen- I could actually use that drink... I'm pretty thirsty. ”

you smirked at him, “ I knew that. ” your head tilted in the direction of the gas station. “ so come on, I don't feel like standing around all day. ”

lip looked dumbfounded, but you didn't stay to watch how his mouth dropped open to catch flies. instead, you walked off once again; hands in pockets and a certain beverage in mind.

... okay. maybe appreciating the little things in life wasn't so bad. that was lip's last thought before he ran after you.

he was getting that cola he had in mind.

#lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher #lip gallagher x y/n #shameless x reader #shameless us #shameless #phillip gallagher

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blueiight · 1 month

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can i ask your thoughts on the fandom’s heavy focus on louis as an object of desire? it sometimes feels to me like people are more interested in other characters reacting to louis than they are in louis himself. i know the “helen of troy” stuff is a joke but it genuinely seems like he’s often rendered oddly passive in his desirability, like we’re looking at him through the eyes of the other characters even though it’s his story (to be clear: in the fandom, not the actual show). or am i being uncharitable? either way, you always have interesting things to say about fandom reception.

i think the focus of louis as an object of desire arose largely in response to a lot of racially-charged nonsense about show louis, namely, where a loud minority of fans tried to deny the abuse and horror of season 1 and frame louis as the primary antagonist/abuser of his own story. which in of itself had the potential to go somewhere, especially considering the feminized role louis occupies in parts of season 1. unfortunately its spiraled off into its own dead end at this point to where now people, a year and a half removed from the release of s1, can box louis's character arc into this tale of getting all the hot boys to look her way. when this is a horror and tragedy series. romance is part of that, but is a piece of the full picture. classic romance is very much horror tbh but thats just me

if we're discussing the show strictly, majority of louis's relationships are antagonistic. even with his lovers, they love him as much as they seek to control him. 'his love is a small box that he keeps you in', trailer louis saying 'i knew who i was without those pieces [of myself?]' . so on and so forth. the first three episodes of season 1 are about louis's struggle to maintain a link with his mortal community, in the midst of increasing racist tensions against the city leaders, all as he struggles to come to terms with his existence as a vampire and how his relationship to lestat fits in relation to all these pieces of himself. doubly so, there is also the nature of the second interview in present time, and the sort of antagonism between daniel + louis as louis eventually pushes daniel into burning the old tape. the latter half of season 1, episodes 4-7 is squarely about the triad of lestat, louis, and claudia, how lestat increasingly tightens his hold over them both, claudia breaking them free of it, and louis's response to such. doubly so, daniel becomes more hostile the less he knows, and the more louis's composed 'master of his instincts' personage collapses to show the broken man thats underneath. armand comes in at the end bc the interview has reached a breaking point once more [as it did in the 1970s]. i know, im looking too hard into the meme, but so much of where louis errs, where his memory falters, where history is completely revised, has to do with the question of claudia. even book interview foundationally was about this grief, though not nearly with the level of depth+ gravity the show has added to the story.

where focusing on louis as an 'object of desire' most impedes analysis has to do with claudia as well, bc if u see louis as that solely, then what is claudia to u if not a 'child interfering in [louis's] romantic affairs'? why are people already seeking to write claudia off as a wayward child unduly 'taking out her anger on louis', when it was louis at the end of season 1 who strangled her against the wall and refused to let her burn lestat? when its louis in the trailer thats throwing claudia's words from season 1 back at her, evading her questions in the cafe? when claudia is having to dress as a baby doll and advertise with a sandwich board for a theater + a coven-master that all want her dead?

i think this is by nature of the fact that iwtv is canonly gay and isnt afraid of showing that, and modern fandom is mainly interested in romance. claudia's relationship to louis is secondary, if not tertiary, to all 'camps' of this tiny tiny fandom bc she is clearly established in s1 as not being a viable romantic option for louis, despite claudia's perspective and her story taking up the second half of the first season, and will continue to be important in the second season. the 'helen of troy' fixation on his desirability in relation to romantically viable vampires [or even men] seems to be another means by which fans can ignore this part of the story, just as the mutual abuse nonsense about louis being clarence thomas the third self hating black man who stole lestat's lunchables and is 'just as bad as the rest' drowned out and continues to drown out any other conversation for the past year and a half. it is very difficult to have conversations on this character precisely bc of this state of fandom, where many people seek to crack the whip over a fictional character for not being mother teresa and having a complex response to trauma, then instead of discussing that, some seek to fixate on the fact that mother teresa can be sexy, actually. when thats not the point. why is modern louis so full of grief and all but suicidal in dubai, if not for the fact that claudia is permanently dead, he still lives, he regrets something, and wants to find the truth under it all? the jokes are cute and all, but lets put our thinking caps on.

#yn.#yn answers #is this even worth being in the main tags?#idk.

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wolven91 · 8 months

Text

Snaccident

The light clicked on, illuminating the kitchen in the dead of night.

The creature that still stood, brazenly, in the middle of the kitchen floor paused, freezing in place thanks to its deep rooted instincts to remain still enough to not be noticed. The fact that it still had stolen food halfway stuffed into its mouth did not go unnoticed by the ursidain that stood, still with her paw over the kitchen light switch, also still as a statue as the two creatures waited to see what the other would do.

The ursidain didn’t want to spook the smaller creature.

The human wasn’t thinking, its brain was attempting to figure out how to explain why she had been caught with her hand, metaphorically, in the cookie jar.

“What are you doing?” Asked Tihan blankly.

Charlotte swallowed the chunk of the sandwich that was only half chewed in a panicked attempt to reply.

Her resulting choking and coughing fit was arrested by the ursidain grabbing a bottle of water from the cool storage and passing it, opened, to the human. It was the middle of the night, she had woken to investigate the quiet, but persistent, noises coming from her kitchen. When she found her human ward eating, she had assumed it was sleepwalking, and had mentally prepared to deal with that, now she didn’t quite comprehend what the human was doing.

“I wanted a midnight snack.” Charlotte explained nonchalantly.

Tihan’s brain stalled. Like trying to speed away from a traffic light in the wrong gear.

She’d heard all those words before, but never in that order or in this context.

“What do you mean a ‘midnight snack’? It’s… nighttime…?” She confusedly asked, her face screwing up as she tried to fit the square peg of an idea into the round hole of her brain.

The human smiled, hopped up onto her kitchen booster… er… stool, Charlotte hated it when Tihan called it her booster to reach her higher kitchen counters. In front of her was an opened bread bag, a buttered knife and an open jar of fruit preservative.

“I woke up, couldn’t get back to sleep and had a snaccident.”

Again. It was like she’d unleashed a flashbang of words inside the ursidain’s skull.

The human was gesturing at the evidence of her sandwich making, picked up the second half of her sandwich and offered it to the dumbfounded ursidain. She gently plucked it from her hand and put the tiny human sized sandwich half in her mouth. It disappeared without ceremony.

“So you just… woke up to eat?”

“Yup. Sometimes I can’t get to sleep until I get something. I’ve had to join a gym in the past when I got insomnia for a time.” She explained idly as she wiped the loose crumbs into her hand and into the open bin to her side.

Within the ursidain’s brain, a synapse connected with another, in a manner that hadn't happened for several decades.

“You can… snack… at night…?”

“It’s not good for you, your metabolism is slowed so you’ll put on weight they say.” The woman laughed as she realised and pointed at her. “Don’t you folk like that though?”

The woman in front of her held a paw to her forehead as the implications washed over her.

How had she never thought about this before!?

She looked up at the human woman as she slowly chewed the other half of the sandwich whilst looking at the ursidain with a confused and concerned look. Tihan stepped closer to her, looking blankly between her and the still opened bread bag. The ursidain reached over, pulled two slices out, her claws dimpling the soft foodstuff as she plucked the knife up. Buttering both slices, she placed the two together, raised it to her mouth and ate it without issue, testing the concept whilst glancing at the clock.

“You okay?” The human asked.

“I never… It never occurred to me that I could eat in the middle of the night… It’s nighttime… you sleep… not eat…” She idly explained looking at the breadbag.

She reached to make another.

“Really? You’ve never got the munchies before?”

“Yes, but… you wait until morning?”

“Well.. this is your stuff, what stops you?”

“Nothing… nothing can stop me. Nothing at all…”

She had a grin on her face as she made another.

Charlotte left her to it and went to bed, she slowly drifted away, but never heard the ursidain leave the kitchen, all the human heard was the knife periodically being placed back down on the counter.

In the morning, the two of them returned to work. It was not lost to Charlotte that some of the kitchen cupboards had been left ajar and with a curious peek, confirmed the cupboards were now completely bare.

The human also noticed that she gained a shadow in the form of Tihan who, far beyond what was normal, followed her everywhere during the day, barely allowing the human out of her sight for more than a few moments.

But it wasn’t until the following month, that Charlotte realised that Tihan was subjected to being the centre of a rumour mill.

Over the last four weeks, Tihan had successfully and rather proudly put on several inches around her waist and had to reapply for clothing measuring. None of the other ursidian could work out when she had the time to put on so much weight in such a short amount of time. Charlotte herself had been cornered more than once to be asked what she specifically was doing to help the ursidain.

The human tried to explain that she wasn’t doing anything, but it was only when the offending ursidain realised that they were intimidating the human that they backed off. Charlotte had been honest; Tihan hadn’t been locking herself away in her free time, nor was she eating anything different during breakfast, lunch or dinner time beyond the ordinary.

And yet, to their perspective; she grew, much to the overwhelming envy of her peers.

When Charlotte asked one of her colleagues why it was such a concern, they corrected her; it wasn’t concern, it was envy. Thanks to her mass, Tihan would be considered extremely successful at a glance, she’d be first considered for upward mobility in her career on just appearance alone.

“But you’re all huge already!” The human exclaimed, looking up at the rotund space bear, all of them easily twice her height with either the jigging belly or strongman or rather ’bear’ muscles to match!

“Well it’s sweet of you to say so honey, but obviously I can get bigger if she can!”

The alien put her hands on her hips and looked determinedly over to Tihan, who was handling a particularly abrasive geckin.

“I mean.. All she’s been doing is having midnight snacks.” Charlotte explained idly as she looked over to her roommate. She wouldn’t be a bad manager if her new waist was going to help in that regard…

“..she’s what?” Asked the alien next to the human.

“Midnight snacks? You know? Munchies after dark?” Replied Charlotte, turning to look back and suddenly noticed the group’s expressions.

The ursidains genuinely looked as if she’d slapped them multiple times as she blinked down at the smaller human. One of the aliens bent over, reached out to grasp her shoulders before asking, very quietly.

“She’s eating… at night? After Dinner?”

“Well… yeah? Dinner… Supper… Midnight Snack? You guys really don’t think about eating after you go to bed?”

The giant ursidain blinked at her as unused gears between her ears began to turn. With a glance to Tihan, and back to her, the other ursidain gently released her and sounded distracted.

“It… never occurred to me…” She murmured before walking away.

In the following twenty four hours, across the station, the ursidains descended upon the various corner shops that usually simply provide basic foodstuffs to take home in the event one didn’t want to go to the station’s cafeteria and bought nearly every edible item that could be taken away.

Ursidains in the system soon began to visit the station to investigate why the bears on this particular station were becoming larger all at once…

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs #human #furry #human x furry #ursidain #bear

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crowned-aeris · 1 month

Text

A little Dragon AU where Dick and some of the Batkids are dragons :3

This has been rotting away in my drafts for the longest time, and now it's finally seeing the light of day! I hope y'all enjoy!

-----

Bruce wasn't too sure how the hell this happened.

He blinked helplessly as the snake-like nestling cried helplessly in his arms. The broken bodies of its parents lay not too far away.

Batman had received a tip regarding a human trafficking deal and discovered the dragon in the basement. There was a nest filled with numerous eggs. Some were crushed, but a few others remained intact.

The nestling continued to pitifully cry, pawing pathetically at Bruce's armored chest.

He narrowed his eyes, shuffling as he waited for Jim to arrive. The nestling had quieted after finding Bruce's thumb and gnawing on it.

His heart throbbed as Bruce examined the tiny nestling that could fit squarely in the palm of his hand.

===

When he tried consulting Zatana, she had attempted to separate the dragonling from Bruce's shoulder. The tiny creature was not receptive, deciding to hiss, breathe cinders, and nearly bite off Zatana's fingers.

Defeated by the vibrantly colored nestling, she had given Bruce a long list of instructions. She asked him to call her if he had trouble tending to the dragonlings, and Bruce had agreed.

"Alfred!" Bruce called, wincing slightly as the tiny red-green-yellow dragonlin started to nibble his ear.

"Master Bruce, what- oh my," his butler/father blinked in surprise. The British man looked shocked to see Bruce standing awkwardly by the Batcomputer, a duffle bag filled with two other eggs and supplies.

The dragonling at his shoulder screamed impatiently, flicking his tail. How such a tiny creature made that noise was a mystery, but it was proof of his life.

"I assume that we'll be keeping..."

"Him," Bruce supplied, raising his hand and smiling as the small snake-like creature crawled onto his hand, "he tried biting Clark too."

The butler's mustache twitched in amusement, "I see. Does he require any specialized diet?"

Bruce frowned, shuffling over to present the bag to the man, "There should be a booklet in there about the care of dragons. I've glanced through it, but then..."

"I'll help you take care of him, Mater Bruce. Do not worry," Alfred said, reaching over to lift the duffle bag from Bruce's shoulder before carefully setting it on a table.

Has Bruce ever mentioned how much he loved Alfred? Because he really loves Alfred. Maybe he should raise the butler's salary again?

#tim drake #batman #batfamily #batfam #dick grayson #bruce wayne #damian wayne #jason todd #fanfic #dragons #au #fanfiction #dragon dick grayson #wip #pls lemme know what y’all think #if this does well then i’ll continue this au

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 year

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Hi, I hope you're having a good week!

If you feel up to it, could you a Dick Grayson x Dom M!reader?

I have two options I really like...

1. While Dick Grayson and R(reader) are sparring and due to the Reader being rough with pinning and tackling. Dick gets pushed into sub space.

2. Dick is undercover for a mission, where he has to keep an eye on the target (Reader). He has to make sure the reader dosent leave the nightclub. What Dick didn't expect was the reader starting to flirt with Dick, not only that, but the flirting was actually making Dick flustered.

You can make either of these has less or more sumtty has you see fit ^w^

Dick Grayson x male reader

Headcanons

Is it here I should tell yall I love writing about characters going into subspace, and being cared for when under. Reader is a fellow hero in this.

- You and Dick have been dating for a while, enough that you have both explored the dom/sub dynamic a few times, at least enough times that it made a connection in Dicks brain, that you are a safe person to enter subspace around and give himself over.

- It had been a very long and exhausting week, in both day jobs and night jobs for the both of you, and you hadn’t been able to spend much time together except for sleeping in each other’s arms.

- You could easily tell that Dick was on edge and tense, his entire body wound tight, and he was snippier than usual. He was already frustrated when you both got to one of the league gyms, which you could see in the way he ground his jaw and clenched and unclenched his hands.

- He was wearing a pair of compressions shorts that stopped just above his knees, a tank top, white socks, a pair of shoes that had seen better days and one of those bands you wrap around your upper arm to hold your phone so you can listen to music.

- You had been lifting when he entered the gym, his walk tense and hands clenched by his sides. He had his earbuds in, so he didn’t seem to notice you greeting him. He didn’t even stretch before getting to work, going to the pullup bars, and going at it.

- You watched him work out for a while, watching how he only seemed to drive himself further up the wall with the annoyed grunts he let out as he lifted himself up further than he needed for a pullup.

- Placing what you had been using back down on the floor, you brushed off your hands and debated on taking off the gloves you were wearing to lift, but decided to leave them on. You knew Dick loved them, and if that’s what he needed to be taken out of his head then so be it.

- Sauntering over you gave him enough time to notice you approaching, and normally he would have sensed your presence quickly, but he seemed stuck in his head.

- So when you wrapped your arm around his tiny waist and help him from doing another pullup, he let out a noise and quickly flipped his head to check who was grabbing him.

- When he saw it was you he relaxed just a little, releasing a shaky breath as he flicked his head, knocking one of his earbuds out and asking what you wanted. His temper was quite short today it seemed, as he squared his jaw and waited impatiently for your answer.

- “I think you need to take a break Dick” you tell him. Now, comments like this never worked in making any of your friends or coworker relax, ever. But that was the point, it was to drive Dick up the wall even more so you could make him want to get more physical.

- He squared his jaw in a way that truly reminded you of Batman as he snapped that he didn’t need a break, and when he tried to return to his pullups you held him in place, sneaking a hand up under his tank top and pinching his hip.

- Dick yelped as you pinched him, on instinct kicking out behind him at the flare of feeling, but you were quick to catch his leg and give him a teasing grin when he glared down at you. “Stop” he hissed, and you could tell you almost had him where you wanted him.

- Quirking a brow, you slid your hand further up his shirt. When your hand reached his pec, his glare became thunderous, and any other time you might have withdrawn and stepped away, but you knew there wasn’t any real heat behind it.

- Making sure his eyes were locked with yours, and that he was paying attention to what you were doing, you dug your fingers into his nipple and gave it a rough pinch and twist.

- Dick let out a high choked noise, his thighs clamping together tightly as he tried to force down the moan you knew wanted to escape his mouth.

- Flicking the now hard nipple once or twice, you withdrew from your partner and stepped back. He was quick to drop down from the bars, turning to you with a glare and slightly flustered cheeks.

- Giving him another teasing smirk and quirked brow, you made your way towards the sparring mats that were in the room, opening your arms at him as if challenging him.

- Dick was so frustrated from the day and hot from your touches that he quickly charged over, not caring one bit that he was supposed to be a serious and well thought vigilante, something in his chest just want to throw you around or test your boundaries.

- That’s how you two ended up sparring, and on any normal day Dick could probably have overpowered you or you would have been an equal match, but today because Dick was already unsteady on his feet from the past few days, he was having a hard time keeping up.

- As he was tackled and pinned to the floor, the edges of his consciousness grew slightly fuzzy, the tense and prickly feeling in his chest loosening just a little. He tried his best to stay focused, bucking you off and trying to take you down again.

- But as you kept pinning him down and tackling him, holding him tightly against the rubber mats and pinning his arms above his head or behind his back, his mind grew foggier and warmer. His muscles grew less tense, even as he staggered to his feet.

- You could tell he was still trying to fight against the warm fluffy headspace his mind wanted to go to, so when he tried to throw himself at you, you quickly pinned him to the floor.

- He met the floor with his chest, and before he could do much you had hooked an arm around his throat and tightened it just enough to cut off some of his breathing. The feeling he had tried to fight against just seemed to multiply at your rough touch, his hands coming up and patting at your arm uselessly.

- Dick kicked out his legs to try and shake you off, but he was sluggish and slow. You leant in and talked softly to him, praising him, and telling him to just let go, that he had been strong for so long and that you would take care of him, and he was your good boy, he just needed to be reminded of that.

- Finally, the fight seemed to melt right out of him, his body going limp and his hands softly holding onto your arm as you loosened the chokehold enough for Dick to catch his breath.

- He whined and moaned softly as he gasped for breath, his mind completely fuzzy and filled with wool. You carefully turned him over, keeping him pressed against you as you made sure he was completely okay.

- Dicks eyes were unfocused but so soft, his mouth was slightly open as he panted and made quiet noises, his hands coming up to grip softly onto the front of your shirt. You could feel he was hard against your thigh, but that wasn’t that he needed right now.

- Dick keened when you leant down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, his eyes fluttering shut as you peppered kisses all over his face until your lips met his own. His noises grew louder as he let your tongue plunder his mouth, putting up no fight as you took what you wanted from him.

- Resting him down against the sparring mats, you slipped your hands up his shirt and started playing with his chest, his noises becoming louder and slurred as he seemed to fall even further into the warmth of subspace.

- When you could tell he was completely under you removed your hands from his shirt much to Dicks displeasure, soft whines leaving him as you gathered him in your arms.

- He didn’t need anything like that tonight, he just needed to be allowed to float away from the stress and pain of your daily lives as heroes and to be taken care of.

- So, taking one of the hallways with least cameras and that was used very little by others, you brought Dick back to the room you had been given at the league tower. Dick was drifting off against your shoulder, letting out quiet noises every now and then as you walked because your movement made his crotch brush against your stomach.

- Back in your room you carefully cleaned Dick up with some wet wipes as you couldn’t bring him to the showers at this time, got him dressed in some of your clothes, and crawled into bed with him.

- You spent the rest of the time watching something on your tv as Dick laid dozing in and out of sleep, his hands still gripping onto your shirt as you ran one of your own hands through his hair.

- Dick felt like he was melted against your torso, his body growing so heavy as he felt so comfortable here with you, all thoughts of getting off having left his mind the moment you had placed him in your bed and cuddled him.

- You let Dick spend all the time he needed in subspace, holding, kissing, and praising him quietly until he fell asleep. You knew you’d have to have a conversation about communicating when he needed you to bring him down, since you didn’t want to have to do it through sparring every time, but that could wait for now.

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imeanyourmomsprettyhot · 9 months

Text

You Have No Right II Aemond Targaryen

part one

story masterlist / masterlist

summary: Driven by sheer desire, the One-Eyed Prince tries to find the woman that caused his sleepless nights full of lust and frustration.

warnings: female!reader, dark and possessive Aemond, sexual scenes, violent scenes

tag list (comment if you want to be added to the list):

@lilitheal @aemonds-fire @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy

══════════════════

The years carried over the land and in that time, The Realm's Delight, Princess Rhaenyra, had left King's Landing off to Dragonstone, with her husband and her children.

The girl wondered, if she left because of the rumors and whispers growing stronger. People believed her children were bastards, not belonging on the Iron Throne one day.

While some were still referring to her as The Realm's Delight, others dared to use words like 'whore' on her. The girl though was never interested in the royal's gossip. It was not for her to care for other people's lifes, especially not of the ones that saw themselves as better—the highborns.

She was now eight and ten, long old enough to work on her own. Her mother got old, and whoremonger were rare. It was now on her to support her mother.

She worked in bars and tried her luck as a weaver, but those things didn't quite do it for her. But it worked out in her favor, when the Red Keep was looking for maidservants and she got accepted to work as one.

She didn't care for the royals of this world—the upper class in general. But they paid good money, a warm bed, enough food, and the safety of the castle.

The farewell from her mother was not as hard as she thought it would be. Especially, after she told her to not ever come back, if she lost her work again.

Her mother wasn't a bad person, she really wasn't. But she held grief and wrath in her heart, after she realized no man wanted her any longer.

The closer she got to The Red Keep, the more uncertainty grew inside of her. She left anything she had behind, beginning a completely new life, and working for the royals of King's Landing.

Her anxiety reached it's peak, as she stood right in front of the servant's entrance. The knight, guarding the door, gave her a suspicious look, as she approached the back door.

"Who are you?" He asked, his voice steady and his posture straight.

"I am the new maidservant," the girl shyly responded.

The guard opened the door.

"Camyla!" He shouted, not leaving his eyes from the girl.

Soon, a beautiful lady stepped out of the door, not older than thirty. She examined the girl through her blue eyes, brushing blond strands of hair behind her ear.

"I'm here to work," the girl felt so small, standing in front of a guard and the lady, Camyla, carefully looking down at her.

"Then get inside and we will find you some work, child!" The woman suddenly laughed.

The young girl did not hesitate a bit, as she made her way into the castle. She followed Camyla down the hallway of what seemed like the kitchens of the castle.

Camyla asked for her name, as well as a few other things, involving her age, family, and if she had any kind of references.

The woman had quite a good paste in her walk, which the girl tried to imitate, to not be left behind. They walked through the underground of the castle, soon heading into a small room.

"Get comfortable here, child. Laurane will get you in the morning and show you anything you need to know." Camyla explained and the girl nodded, "You have to learn fast and quickly become unimpressed by this house and it's residents, do you understand me?"

The young one nodded again. The strict, motherly tone in Camyla's voice, reminded the girl of home. It wasn't a good thing, nor was it a bad thing either.

The woman turned on her heel and left the girl alone in the tiny room. This room was nothing more than four walls and a door. The bed just about fitted on the right side, while a small table and a drawer were standing on the other. She had about one-and-a-half square meter of free space to move freely—the room was really tiny.

She unpacked the few things she had—two nice dresses, one for sleeping, her hair brush. As she had anything sorted in the drawer in no time, she made herself ready for sleep.

The bed was comfortable, like lying on a cloud. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought about tomorrow day—another wave of anxiety crept up her throat.

---

"Good morning," a voice woke her up, "I'm Laurane."

The room brightened up, as Laurane lit up the candles. The girl's eyes slowly opened, her face puffy and still tired from last night's sleep.

"Get dressed and meet me outside. Oh, and don't forget to put your hair up!" She kindly smiled and placed some clothing on the table, before she left

Laurane seemed like a nice woman, and the girl wondered, if all the maids were as friendly as her—they probably weren't, but just the thought of it, made her happy.

The girl got up and changed her clothing to the red dress, Laurane gave her. She threw the white apron over her head, smoothing out the pleats with her hands. She put her hair in two braids and pinned them up, to create a low bun on the back of her head.

Laurane was already waiting for her in the hallway, greeting her with another warm smile. The two started walking down the long path to a long staircase.

"You will attend Princess Helaena for today," she began, "She is the most kind and simple of the Targaryens, you should not have any problems with her."

They both arrived at the top of the staircase, turning to another hallway.

"You open her curtains, place fresh water on her table, take something out to dress for her, and ask if there's anything else you could do, got it?"

The girl nodded again, right before they finished their walk at a large, thick door. A guard in silver-white armor was standing in front of it, who quickly stepped aside.

"It's good that you're not much of a talker," Laurane hinted, "Keep that trait up, it'll make things a lot easier for you here."

Laurane knocked on the door of the Princess' door

"If they don't answer, you are allowed to step inside," she explained and opened the heavy door, soon after.

She let the girl get inside, before closing the door again, as the young maid was left her on her own. In her head, she went through her tasks one more time. Curtains, water, dress, asking—seemed pretty simple.

So the girl made her way over to the windows, almost tiptoeing over the floor. She drew the dark green velvet curtains open, and the room filled up with the light and the warmth of the sun.

"Good morning, Princess." The girl turned around, facing the just woken up princess.

The Princess rubbed her eyes, as the bright sun light hit her face. Her violet gemstones twinkled beneath her eyelashes, marveling the young maid, who was just filling up a bowl of fresh water.

"I have never seen you before, you are pretty!" The Princess chanted.

The girl turned around and the two violet eyes were watching her carefully. The Princess got out of bed, while the young girl placed a soft smile on her face.

"Thank you, your grace. I really appreciate it," the thankful look on the girl's face, made the Princess smile, "I just started working in The Red Keep, my Princess."

The girl made her way to Princess Helaena's closet, taking out a few of the dresses in there. She held them up in the air, so the Princess could look at all of them.

"How about the light blue?" The Princess asked.

"Excellent choice, my Princess." The girl replied, earning a satisfied look.

The young maid helped the Princess get dressed, and they both looked proudly in the mirror. The girl had done a great job, and Princess Helaena thought that too.

The girl was about to leave, when she remembered to ask the Princess for anything else she could do. She turned back around, but the young woman was staring out of the window.

"Is there anything else you need, my Princess?" The girl asked.

"He's draped in obsidian whispers. Protect the wisp of hair, or fall in the trap of of the heir." She calmly said, as if she wasn't actually paying attention to the words that came out of her mouth.

The girl didn't know what to say. She didn't notice how her lips parted in sheer disarray. She had heard before that Princess Helaena was a bit different from other people—that she had a screw loose. But until now, the girl could not comprehend what that was supposed to mean.

The Princess looked like her mind suddenly came from a long travel, back to it's body, as she turned around and looked at the young maidservant.

"No, I don't need anything. Thank you." She simply said with a soft smile on her pale lips.

The girl closed the door to the Princess' chamber and didn't move for a few moments. She tried to reflect and understand what just happened, what the Princess wanted to tell her, or if there was even something to tell and that weren't just meaningless words from a confused-minded girl.

She eventually started walking again, as she came to no conclusion. There was other work to do now, so she made her way to the small creek, right outside of the Red Keep.

She met a few other maids there, some very young, some a lot older. It was time for cleaning the sheets, and there was a huge pile lying on the ground.

"Come here, sister," one of the young maidens called out for the girl, "Sit with us!"

The girl was astonished by the kindness of everyone in the Red Keep—not even the Princess had any cruel facet on her. She never thought that it was like that, not in any way.

She approached the women, and took a sheet from the huge pile. She started scrubbing the thing, while the other girls continued with their talking. But their attention, all of sudden, turned over to the new girl.

"How was it with Princess Helaena?" One maid asked, the other ones carefully listening from behind.

The girl looked in the curious eyes of the maidens, not entirely sure what the question was supposed to mean. Perhaps they had the same experience with her than she had. Or it was just a way to small talk with her.

"It was good," the girl began, "She seems really kind."

"Oh, that's nice." The maid replied.

In their faces, the girl saw that they expected a little more. Maybe they wanted to know if the rumors were true about the Princess?

They went back to their work, as the girl opened her mouth again.

"But," she caught their attention again, "We had a strange conversation of some kind."

"Strange?" One of the maids asked, "In what way?"

After that question, she knew what the girls were up to. They wanted to know the gossip, some weird encounters that are worthy to talk about.

"I'm not quite sure..." She continued, the other maids hanging on her every word, "I was about to leave, when she all of sudden started saying incomprehensible things to me."

"Like what?" One girl instantly inquired.

It was clear as day that the maidens weren't interested in the young girl. They only cared for the chitchat she could give them.

"Just something about being careful." She told them, not wanting to reveal everything.

"Oh..." The maidens looked devastated, desperately wanting something interesting to know, "Be careful then."

The maidens went on with their work, leaving the girl all puzzled. What did they mean by that? Did they believe what Princess Helaena said?

"What is up with that?" The girl asked, not earning the maiden's full attention back, "Do you think what the Princess said is true?"

"Of course it is," one said, not looking up from scrubbing the sheets, "Or at least most of the time."

And once again, the girl was left fully baffled and loaded with questions. But this time, the maiden noticed her confusion and decided to clear up her mind.

"Princess Helaena is a prophetic woman, you know? She knows things before they happen and tells the people who have to know."

But the maiden's explanation just caused more distress in the young girl's head, which did not get brought to light this time.

'He's draped in obsidian whispers. Protect the wisp of hair, or fall in the trap of of the heir'

She repeated those words over and over again, in her head, but they made no sense.

Obsidian whispers?

And what trap of what heir?

Those words sounded like meaningless phrases, coming from a princess, who got lost in her own mind—and who did not find the way back. But were they really that meaningless, when even random maidservants talked about the Princess having prophetic visions?

Noon went by pretty quickly, and the late afternoon kept crawling in, as the girls have washed and hung all the sheets up and the young maid made her way back to Princess Helaena's chambers.

The day was over for the royalty of the kingdom, and the young girl prepared a bath for the Princess, who has not yet returned.

The girl filled up the tub with warm water that she first heated up over the fire. It was a long process, carrying the heavy buckets over and over again. She worried she was too slow, as she heard the door open—The Princess had arrived.

She continued her work, as she noticed a shadow entering the room. She looked up, wanting to greet her Princess. But instead, a tall man with long white hair and an eyepatch over his eye, was staring at her. His hands were placed behind his back.

The One-Eyed Prince—Aemond Targaryen. He was by far the most terrifying of them all. Not because of his looks, but because of the rumors that were told about him in the city.

"Where is The Princess?" He asked, his voice monotone, as he looked down at the pathetic little maidservant.

"I'm sorry, my Prince, Princess Helaena has yet to arrive at her chambers." Her voice was steady, while her insides were trembling. She didn't even knew why, but Prince Aemond's aura frightened the young girl.

The Prince just hummed in response.

"Is there anything I could do for you, my Prince?" She asked, hoping so badly he'd say no.

"I will just wait for The Princess then."

And with that, he went out of the bath, placing himself on one of the chairs in his sister's bed chamber.

The girl continued her hard work, carrying the bucket from the fire place to the tub. She was breathing loudly, as her arms got weaker and the bucket heavily. She felt the eye of The Prince on her the whole time—he observed if she did her work correctly.

She wanted to ask him for the audacity that she had to carry this huge thing over and over again and he just watched, probably amused by the view. But she was able to tame her anger and only said such things in her mind.

Yet she found, it was probably better to be angry at Prince Aemond, than to fear him right now. How would she be able to properly work, if she was uncomfortable and utterly scared of him in that moment?

She has finally finished, the exact same moment she heard The Princess enter her chambers. This time she knew it was her because she immediately started happily talking.

"Aemond!" She extolled, her voice full of joy—she loved seeing him.

The Prince stood up, approaching his sister. They talked for a moment—how Prince Aegon was once again seen in Flea Bottom, and how The Queen wanted to keep that information from The Princess—but the girl was unable to hear their words. Prince Aemond had left the chambers, and The Princess entered the bath.

"Good afternoon, my Princess," the girl bowed, "Your bath is all set up."

The Princess smiled at the young maidservant, and turned around, signaling the girl to help her open her dress. She opened the laces, and the blue fabric fell down on the floor, leaving the young princess all naked.

The girl tried to keep her view as straight as possible, as not to look at her princess in any kind of inappropriate way. She turned around and walked over to the tub, slowly getting in the warm water.

The girl sat by The Princess' side for the whole time—she was a rather quiet person for someone of royal blood.

"Would you bring me something to drink?" She asked the maidservant, who immediately jumped up and brought a chalice of fresh water.

But as she returned to the bath, Princess Helaena was again having this hollow look in her face, just like earlier that morning. Her gaze went up to the young girl's face, and her eyes widened.

"Beware his obsidian whispers! Beware his trap! Beware the Heir!" She shouted all of sudden.

The girl jumped up, while Princess Helaena repeated her words from that morning. She was confused, and scared, and even more confused. But The Princess' mind eventually came back again to it's body, as she looked at the girl with a much clearer face.

"I won't be needing you any longer for today," she mumbled, looking down, "You can go to bed."

"Th-thank you, my Princess. Sleep well." The girl bowed again and quietly left the chambers.

She walked down the long stairs and the even longer hallway, all the way to her tiny, dark bed chamber. In her head, the words of The Princess repeated themselves again, and more questions shot through her mind.

What was Princess Helaena on about? Should the girl even believe her words? And if so, what could those words possible mean? What had she need to be careful for?

She took care of her hair and her clothes, as she finally slipped down in bed. Her legs were hurting, and her back was aching—as she was not used to this type of work. She decided to calm her mind, and not think about this 'prophecy' any longer.

The girl tried to fall asleep as quickly as possible, to let her body rest as best as it could. The bed was comfortable. The mattress was soft and the blanket held warm—she felt cozy. It was like her own little safe haven. Quiet, warm, and protected.

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moni-logues · 6 months

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Kintsugi 12

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, non-idol!au, angst, smut, tiny bit of eventual fluff

Summary: In a fit of spiteful, post-break-up self-improvement, you sign up to a baking class. Yoongi, in a bid to appease his demanding girlfriend, signs up, too. Determined to make him your friend, you end up with more than you ever imagined.

Word count: 3.2k

Content: little bit of throwing up (alcohol induced)

A/N: thanks to @quarter-life-crisis2 for beta-ing the first part of this! This is now the second time I'm posting this so i have nothing more to say lmao

Chapter Eleven | Masterlist | Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Twelve – Peaches pt.2

You stood outside Yoongi’s front door, pie held carefully in your hands, breathing deeply, taking a moment to try to soothe your nerves. It was outrageous, you thought, that you could be this nervous. It was Yoongi. On the other hand, it was Yoongi. It was not every day that you confessed to harbouring romantic feelings for one of your best friends. It was not every day that you ripped yourself open and placed your fluttering heart before them, hoping, praying that they felt the same.

It was not every day, but it was today.

You squared your shoulders, shuffled the pie so it rested on the palm of one hand, and used the other to key in the entry code.

“I’m here!” you called as you strode in and shut the door behind you.

You could hear and smell cooking from the kitchen, music on low in the background. You kicked off your shoes and took a deep breath. You had run over a hundred different scenarios, a hundred different scenes; sometimes you just kissed him; sometimes you prepared a long, thoughtful speech; sometimes you played it casual; sometimes you told him you loved him; sometimes, even in your thoughts, you chickened out entirely; sometimes he rejected you and sometimes he didn’t. You always cried.

You were still standing in the hallway, staring up at the invisible obstacle in front of you when Yoongi approached, spatula in hand, frown on his face. You tried hard not to notice how cute he was with his apron on, how domestic. You tried to stop your mind flying forward to a future where he cooked all your dinners, or you cooked them together, in the house you shared. You needed to keep a level head.

“Oh,” he said when he saw you. “I thought I heard you come in but then you didn’t appear. Why are you just standing there?”

Good question.

You chuckled awkwardly and walked into the apartment fully, straight to the kitchen where you set down your pie on the counter.

“What’s in it?” Yoongi asked.

“It’s peach and nectarine,” you answered, wondering if he would remember, if he might understand its significance.

“It’s what?”

“Peach and nectarine.”

He looked at you with his eyebrows raised, expectant.

“It’s what?”

You groaned and rolled your eyes; your heart sang. You gave him a huge, dramatic sigh.

“It’s peachtarine pie.”

“Damn fucking straight.”

He was in a good mood. You liked that. That had to bode well, right?

“Do you want a drink?”

Yes, you were offering him his own alcohol in his own house, but you felt like you needed it. You should have had one before you came out but time hadn’t allowed.

“Sure, there’s wine in the fridge.”

Not the sort of drink you had in mind. You checked in his fridge for soju and, finding none, walked around to his drinks cabinet where you deliberated between tequila and vodka, eventually plumping for vodka. Tequila gave party vibes which wasn’t exactly what you were going for. You returned to the kitchen and poured two shots.

“Here.”

You nudged Yoongi – who had turned back to the stove – and handed him the drink.

“Wow, really? Are we celebrating or commiserating something?”

He knocked back the shot anyway and you did the same, cursing Yoongi in your head for not keeping soju – or anything more palatable – in the house.

“Nope. Just because.”

“Ok, party girl.”

He waved the glass out towards you, asking for another, which you gratefully gave, taking one more for yourself, too. That was a little more like it. You felt looser already. A little Dutch courage can go a long way.

“What are you cooking for me?”

You moved from the other side of the counter and stood next to him, peering into the two dolsots bubbling away.

“Haemul sundubu.”

“Yum, thanks.”

“It’s almost done; there’s banchan in the fridge. And the wine I said I actually wanted to drink.”

He grinned down at you and you hip-checked him, moving away to set the table and pour more drinks.

You hadn’t decided when you were going to tell him. You had told yourself that you would show up and you’d just know when was the right moment; you knew now that that was bullshit and you should have come more prepared. The fear of spoiling everything was rapidly creeping up on you; Yoongi was in a good mood and you were having so much fun. You knew the second you opened your mouth to tell him, everything would change. Even if it was what you wanted, what you were hoping for, even if he said everything you most wanted to hear, it would change things. It was the last night of your friendship, for better or for worse. You felt desperately like you had to make the most of the evening, make the most of everything you had right now: the ease, the comfort, the little sparks of something more when he laughed at your jokes, when he smiled at you, when you got to touch him even a little. There would be no going back. So you delayed your jump into the unknown a little longer and it settled your nerves. It put off the moment and you could relax, at least for an hour or two.

The addition of a film after dinner had continued; it was supposed to be your night to pick but you couldn’t focus on making a decision so Yoongi picked one for you. You didn’t care. You weren’t even sure what it was, even though it had been on in front of you for the last hour and a half. You couldn’t have explained the plot if you’d been offered a lottery jackpot for it.

You had your legs thrown over Yoongi, leaning towards him, sitting as you did every time now. He was slouching deep into the corner, his feet on the coffee table, picking idly at the threads of the holes in your jeans as he watched; your heart skipped every time his fingertips brushed the bare skin beneath.

You could almost hear a clock tick as time went by, you still not having said a thing. It was coming. You knew it was coming. You knew you had to say something; you had steeled yourself for this. You had promised yourself you would do it. You had promised everyone: Taehyung, Nina, San. You had made Taehyung go to your apartment and wait on standby, so he could be there with no delay if it was a ‘no’. You had to do this. You were going to do this. And it had to be now.

You reached out and put your hands on his, toying with his fingers. His immediately stilled and there was a twitch that told you he was going to pull them back, out of reach, but you held on. You kept his little finger in your hands, mindlessly fidgeting with it, finding yourself unable to look up at him.

“Yoongi?”

Your face was already hot, your heart already racing. He grunted inquisitively and you felt his eyes move to you.

“Can I ask you something?”

You were still looking at his hands, your stomach doing somersaults; you wished you hadn’t indulged in so much stew now that it was threatening to come back up the way it went down.

“Are you ok?”

You nodded, your throat feeling choked already.

“I, um... Do you ever... think about me?”

You risked a glance up at him; he seemed surprised by your question and then confused. He leant forward, feet on the ground, taking his hand from yours to reach for the control and stop the film. Then he sat back, not slouching this time, and looked down at you again. You focused on your hands.

“I mean,” you continued, before he could answer, “I mean that-… I- sometimes, just recently, I... I think, I have feelings for you.”

Your face burnt so hot, it brought tears to your eyes. You didn’t know what to say next; usually your mouth did all the talking for you but it had dried up. And Yoongi wasn’t saying anything. You tried to speak and nothing but a croak came out so you cleared your throat and gave it another shot. This was not how you had imagined it going; it was supposed to be smoother than this, more confident. You hadn’t expected to be this meek; you weren’t meek. But the weight of this exchange was crushing.

“I just mean that... Recently, I’ve felt... different... and I- I guess I just wondered if maybe you ever felt like... that. About me.”

It took all you had to look up at him, to try to gauge his reaction, see if you could divine what he was thinking through his face. It was closed, impassive, inscrutable in a way that reminded you of when you first met—his silence in that third class, which you had put down to his ex, but he had never actually explained. You felt the same way as you had back then. You were sticky with nervous sweat, hot and flustered. Embarrassed and self-conscious and burning like you’d been skinned alive. The anxiety was rising in you, a panic that said it was going to go sideways, that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. That something had already gone wrong. You tried to talk yourself out of it but the longer he stayed quiet, the harder it became.

“Yoongi?” you whispered, the sound barely making it out of your throat, when the seconds felt stretched to minutes.

He wasn’t looking at you; he was staring straight ahead until he gave you a millisecond’s glance and shook his head. You waited, again, for him to say something else, to say anything at all. There was nothing giving him away. You knew him better than this; you could read him; you could sense how he felt. But not now. Not now at a moment when you really needed it.

“No?” you asked when he still said no more.

He was looking down now, not at you but somewhere on the floor. There was pink at the tips of his ears; his cheeks just barely rosy. He shook his head again and cleared his throat.

“No,” he confirmed, just as quiet as you were, his voice just as strained.

“Oh.”

Your attempt to mask the gasp you gave when trying to gulp in air was poor but you couldn’t bear the thought of bursting into tears, here and now. They pooled thick in your eyes and blinking them back only sent them scurrying, falling, streaming down your face in a deluge. You opened and closed your mouth, gaping, fish-like, a few times before you found the composure to reply.

“Ok.” Your voice wavered. “That’s fine. Yeah, ok, friends I guess then.”

You weren’t looking directly at him—there was no way you could—but you saw him, from the corner of your eye, nod, two almost invisible dips of his head. You removed your legs from over his, curling them under you, trying to keep your breathing in check. You didn’t know what to do now. You didn’t understand. You thought about what Namjoon had said, the way he had seemed so confident. Didn’t Namjoon know Yoongi? Surely he wouldn’t have encouraged you if he had known Yoongi didn’t feel the same.

There was a tearing in your chest that felt like collapse. It had been quick at least. But it was sharp. You wiped at your wet face, wishing Yoongi would just say something, anything would do. You felt shut out, iced out, pushed out. Rejected. Which was exactly what you were. In an instant, he had moved a thousand miles away as he stayed sitting next to you on the sofa. You had never felt farther from him than you did at that second. It made your stomach sink like a stone in the sea. It made your hands go weak, incapable of holding a hand even if he’d let you. It made your blood burn with shame like the acid rising in your throat.

Of all your hundreds of scenarios, all the practices you’d run in your head, none of them went like this. You always talked about it, sometimes you even argued, but it was never this. This silence, thick like fog, choking like smog, resting over you. You began to feel smothered, suffocated by it. You couldn’t breathe for fear of falling apart; you had to get out.

Yoongi stayed still, looking at the floor, his fingers worrying a loose thread on his trousers. Did he want you to leave? Did he want you to stay? You couldn’t know and were not able to wait to find out.

“I guess,” you said, when you found the ability to speak without sobbing, “I should just go.”

Yoongi turned to you then, his face for a second wearing a look of panic. He opened his mouth as you stood and you waited for him, gave him a few seconds to tell you to stay, or encourage you to leave. He said nothing. So you walked, with heavy feet and a heavier heart, to the door.

Yoongi followed you, his hands tucked into his sleeves, his fingers twisting around one another. You stooped to put on your shoes and it was only when you were leaning on the door handle that he said anything.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked back at him as you stood in his doorway; you blinked away more tears and you could almost have sworn you saw tears in his eyes, too. You didn’t stop longer to make sure. You turned tail and ran.

You had managed to hold in your sobs in the taxi ride back to your apartment; you couldn’t stop the constant leak of tears from your eyes, but you just about kept a lid on the worst of it. Then you flung open your door and fell to the floor, gasping and choking and barely able to breathe.

Taehyung was by your side in a second, scooping you into his arms, stroking your back, pressing kisses into your hair, letting you make his T-shirt wet and snotty, not saying anything, knowing you weren’t listening anyway.

You couldn’t quite believe it. Not because Yoongi hadn’t wanted you, but because you hadn’t anticipated it going like that. Because you didn’t understand. Because you somehow thought that there would be discussion; you could, now, think of things that you wanted to say, things you wanted to talk about; every thought and idea that had eluded you then flooded back now. You thought of the many ways you had broached the topic in your head and wondered why you did it like that. That wasn’t what you had planned. You hadn’t been clear, had you? Or you hadn’t got your point across? Or maybe you did? You just couldn’t tell. You were, entirely, in disarray.

You also had to ask yourself, did it matter? If Yoongi didn’t feel that way about you, did it matter how he told you? Did it matter what he said or didn’t? Did it matter how you said it? He had clearly known what you meant because he had given you his answer. You had the answer you were looking for—you had the answer to your question, even if it wasn’t the one you had been looking for. The rest was irrelevant.

The emergency treatment for your heartbreak was booze and a lot of it. So much, in fact, that you ended the night with your head in the toilet, that seafood stew finally making its burning way back up, Taehyung standing behind you rubbing your back and making sure your hair was out of the way.

He put you to bed, tucked you up nicely and, at your insistence, curled up next to you, where you clung to him like a koala, desperate to not be alone.

Yoongi stood, gasping, at his door, unable to catch his breath. He was familiar enough with panic attacks to know that this wasn’t one, but he nevertheless sank to the floor and began walking himself through it. He focused on the inhale and the exhale, the counting that accompanied each usually uncomplicated step of breathing. He needed to focus on that. Anything so that he didn’t have to focus on what had just happened.

Panic. That was one word for it. Insanity. That might have been another. Stupidity, certainly. He hadn’t expected it, could not have seen it coming even from a mile off. Nothing had seemed different. You were the same as you ever were; things between the two of you were normal.

And then you asked him that.

And he’d wanted to say yes. He was trying to. He wanted to open up to you and respond in kind and see if maybe something, anything, could have happened.

But he couldn’t. The words got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t force them out, couldn’t make himself say it. He could see it all crumbling; as if he had been watching from outside his body, he had seen it. He had seen himself fail, let you down, lie to you.

And he couldn’t explain it. He didn’t understand the gut-wrenching, visceral fear that had gripped him when you spoke, when you looked up at him—timid and shy like he had never seen you before—and asked if he ever thought about you, said that you had feelings for him. Like a pair of icy hands, one on his heart and one around his throat, it took such strong hold of him that he literally felt strangled: couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do a thing that might have led him to happiness.

And then you left. In tears. Because of Yoongi. He wouldn’t forgive himself for that. He probably wouldn’t forgive himself for any of it, but his own pain, he could handle. He was used to that. Causing you pain? Before tonight he would have said it was unthinkable. He would never.

But he had. He had lied; he had rejected you; he had let you run out of his apartment with barely a word said.

He had lost you. That was it. He couldn’t see redemption, couldn’t see a way to walk this back. Not a hurt this big. Not a stupid, pointless, embarrassing lie like this was. It was over.

He couldn’t forgive himself for that either.

He stayed on the floor in the hallway until his legs started screaming for him to move, then a little longer. It wasn’t until Cherry came to chase him into bed that he stood up, walking straight through the apartment to his bedroom, not looking anywhere but straight ahead, not daring to glance at the scene of the crime, the scene of his immodest failure, a scene the very thought of which made him feel sick.

He fell onto his bed and stayed there until Sunday.

Chapter Eleven | Masterlist | Chapter Thirteen

Taglist: @chimmisbae, @idkjustlovingbts @miriamxsworld, @tarahardcore, @simp47koreancrackheads, @xyahrinx, @olyd, @diorh0seokie, @thelilbutifulthings, @acquiescence804

#yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfic

134 notes · View notes

wheels-of-despair · 3 months

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Can You Feel It? Pairing: Ex!Billy Hargrove x You x Unimportant Jock Event: A Very @corroded-hellfire Valentine's Day Summary: Billy fucked around. Now he's gonna find out. Contains: Heartbreak, spite, sex, Billy Hargrove Is His Own Warning. Song: You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette Words: 1.4k

Minors and ageless blogs who interact with this fic will be blocked.

And every time I scratch my nails down someone else's back I hope you feel it Well, can you feel it?

You hate Billy Fucking Hargrove.

You hate his stupid hair and his dumb earring and his loud-ass car and you especially hate the fact that you found him with some skank's tongue down his throat at Tommy Hagan's party last weekend, just hours after he told you that he loved you.

You didn't make a scene. You didn't key his car or slash his tires or even let him know you'd decided to come after all.

You just went home and cried.

You cried until you got angry.

It boiled over Monday morning in the Hawkins High parking lot. You were separated by staff who threatened to call your parents and told you both to stay far away from each other. You were happy to comply. He was as good as dead to you.

For a few days.

The following Thursday in the cafeteria, when he winked at you while that slut sat in his lap, you rose up out of your chair to go murder them both... when Ashley M. stepped into your path and caught you off-guard by shoving a flyer in your hand.

You read it - keg party, this weekend, no parents - and a new plan began to form in your jilted brain.

You went all out. Teased your hair. Applied make-up that would make Cyndi Lauper proud. Wore that top that makes your tits look phenomenal and a tiny skirt that your parents didn't know you owned and the painful shoes that Billy called "Fuck-Me Heels."

Boys were drooling the minute you casually strolled into Ashley M's front door half an hour late.

You located him in seconds. He sat on the kitchen counter, staring. You'll give him something to fucking stare at.

You looked to the right and made eye contact with the first idiot who'd crowded around you, vying for your attention. According to his letterman jacket, his name was Spencer. He'd do.

It was almost too easy. One dazzling smile and a dance with a little too much touching, and he was practically dragging you down the hallway. Easy, Sparky, don't forget who's running this show.

He tries two doors before finding an empty room. A bathroom. Good enough.

He closes the door and locks it and shoves you against the back of it and tries to worm his tongue down your throat. No technique. Not at all like Billy.

Right. Billy. That's why you're here. You palm Sparky's comically small package with one hand and subtly reach behind you to unlock the door with the other. You push the meathead away, approach the sink on the opposite side of the room, and hop on. It faces the door. Perfect. You want to see the look on his face when he inevitably storms in and throws a fit.

Sparky sheds his jacket - stopping to hang it carefully on a towel hook, lest his precious jock gear get a wrinkle in it - and stands between your knees. He leans forward and begins to maul your neck. His hands find your tits and grab at them like it's his very first time. You distract him by peeling his shirt off, "accidentally" tangling it around his head to stall him. When he gets free and tries to resume his frantic fondling, you move his hands to your ass and watch the door boredly.

"You're so hot," Sparky moans, squeezing your ass with both hands. You roll your eyes. Hurry up, Hargrove.

You wait patiently until the bathroom door crashes open. It sends a jolt through your entire body, like you've been struck by lightning. Billy Hargrove stands in the doorway, eyes blazing and shoulders squared. The doorknob left a dent in the wall behind it. What did he do, kick it open? It wasn't locked, you fucking moron.

Sparky turns around at the sound. "Hey man, you mind? We're kinda busy here."

You grab Sparky by his bare shoulders and jerk him back to you. His face collides with the side of your neck, and he resumes his disgusting slurping like Billy isn't standing just a few feet away, ready to kill him. You stare coldly at the asshole in the doorway while you scratch your nails down Sparky's back. A move that was guaranteed to make Billy go feral, every fucking time.

Can you feel that, Hargrove?

"Ow! Shit!"

Sparky backs away from you and your claws, and Billy steps forward to catch him. Billy grabs him by the scruff of the neck and hauls him into the hallway, bouncing his face off the wall a few times before shoving him to the floor.

Now it's your turn.

Billy steps over Sparky's body and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He locks it, and before you can marvel at the fact that the lock mechanism still works, he's on you. Hand on your throat. Your head smacks against with the mirror behind you.

"What the fuck was that?"

"What's it to you? You don't want me anymore, remember?"

Fire blazes in his eyes, and his grip tightens.

You stare calmly into his furious face.

Why the fuck did you miss him? He made you mad almost every day. You fought all the time. He was moody, and difficult, and snarky, and let's not forget the fact that he's a liar and a cheater and an all-around dickhead who broke your fucking heart.

You'd give anything for him to love you the way you love him.

In the blink of an eye, Billy's hand moves from your throat to the back of your neck, and his mouth is on yours. Your brain quiets, and your body buzzes, and being close to him is the only thing that matters.

His massive hands drift down to your breasts, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. You moan into his mouth, and his hands keep traveling south. You open your legs for him, and he doesn't waste any time slipping under your skirt and past your barely-there panties and dipping a finger into your center.

Feeling how wet you are brings him back to the reality of the situation. He extracts his hand, wipes it on your thigh, and glares.

"That douchebag get you this worked up?"

"That limp-dicked dumbass couldn't work a calculator."

Billy snorts, and you smile. God, you missed this.

"Who'd you wear those Fuck Me Heels for, then?"

"Who do you think, asshole?"

He smirks in a way that makes you want to smack it off his face. Instead, you hook your leg around him and pull him closer. Billy grabs your ass and jerks you to the edge of the counter, so you can feel his stiff member pressing into your heat. You need him so fucking bad.

His assault on your mouth begins again, and you wrap your arms around him and cling to his back. He rocks into you, and the friction from his jeans is almost enough to finish you off.

"Billy," you breathe. "Need you."

"I should make you beg," he taunts, slowly dragging the double-stitched denim of his fly upward and surprising you with a sudden jerk of his hips. You claw at his jacket and puff out a breath of air. You're not fucking begging. You try to grind your hips against him, but he reaches down to hold them still. You respond by lurching forward and biting his neck.

Billy responds with a slap to your ass. He pulls back, and you glare up at him, chest heaving. You're not fucking begging.

"Fuck it," he grumbles, reaching for his belt buckle. He unbuckles unzips, and slams into you in seconds.

Fuck, you missed this.

Billy begins to thrust hard and fast, eyes on yours. When you begin to approach your peak, you close your eyes and lean your head back. He grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. He wants to watch it happen. He needs to see what he does to you.

You come together, with grunts and moans, collapsing against each other in a panting heap. You fall back against the mirror, and he leans with you. His head rests on your shoulder. Breathing ragged. Bones weak. Brains foggy. Nobody makes you fall apart like he does.

"I love you," is what you want to tell him.

"I know," is probably what he would say before he smirked his dumb little smirk and zipped up those tight jeans that fit him just right and left your stupid ass in a puddle of your own tears again.

You wish you could hate Billy Fucking Hargrove.

#writings of despair #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #corroded-hellfire's valentine's day playlist #alanis i'm sorry i love him :'(

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five-rivers · 1 year

Text

Sympathique

AO3

@jackdaw-sprite @modordracena

“This is a sympathique clock,” said Clockwork, pulling the rolling stool Danny was on closer. The clock on the worktable in front of them was table-sized, with a square base and rectangular front. There were glass windows on all four sides, and the edges and top and bottom were made of shiny, marbled wood with golden fittings. A pocket watch was attached to its top. “Have you ever heard of them before?”

Danny rubbed his eyes and shook his head. He was exhausted. It seemed like, lately, no matter how much he slept, he never felt rested. This lecture would probably go in one ear and out the other, no matter how hard he tried to pay attention. He would try, though. It’s just… Clockwork had to know how tired he was.

“In your world, they were first invented by a clockmaker named Breguet. The inventor only ever sold five of them in his lifetime, each one different.” Clockwork turned the clock around and opened the door in the back to wind it. “Each was sold to a prince or a king. They are still quite expensive today.”

“Mhm,” said Danny, to show he was still listening, still trying.

“Their most notable function,” continued Clockwork, “is that they each have a recess for a smaller watch to fit into.” He finished winding the clock and turned it around. “When the smaller watch is placed in the recess, the clock winds it, adjusts it, and resets it, all automatically. For the time, the late eighteenth century, they were quite marvelous feats of mechanical engineering and invention. They still are, to some degree.”

Danny felt his eyes flutter closed, then pulled them back open by sheer force of will just in time to see Clockwork remove the smaller timepiece. “Exquisite, are they not?” Clockwork placed the watch in Danny’s hands. It felt cool to the touch. The case was glass, letting Danny see all the tiny, delicate gears inside.

“It’s pretty,” agreed Danny.

“Precious, even?”

“Mhm,” said Danny. He let his head fall on Clockwork’s shoulder.

“It is yours,” said Clockwork, wrapping an arm around Danny’s shoulders.

“Huh? What– No. I couldn’t. You just said this is super expensive, and you know how often I get into fights. It’ll break before I even get home.”

“I do,” said Clockwork. “But this was not made by anyone living. I do not make anything so fragile. It will survive your lifestyle.”

Danny blinked sleepily down at the little watch, the burst of energy his surprise had given him already fading. “Okay,” he said, fingers curling around the watch. “If you say so.”

“I do,” said Clockwork, reaching over and adjusting the watch’s chain so that it wrapped securely around Danny’s wrist. “All you have to do is bring it back to be wound. This will tell you when it is time.” He tapped a little window on the face of the watch. “It will turn red.”

“Mhm,” said Danny.

“You’re quite tired, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“It is a good thing you are here, then.”

The next thing Danny knew, he was being lifted into Clockwork’s arms and carried.

Actually, come to think of it… Danny didn’t remember coming here. Or why he was here. He didn’t even remember coming into the Ghost Zone. Or Long Now, Clockwork’s lair. Or Clockwork’s workroom. The last thing he remembered was… Was… Starting to go to school? No. English class, maybe? He wasn’t sure. He must be really tired…

He was roused again by the sound of a door opening. He tilted his head up, just slightly, as Clockwork brought him into a… It almost looked like a bedroom. His bedroom, in particular. The layout was very similar. There was a desk, a chair, a closet, and bookshelves. Metal and glass murals of starscapes adorned the walls where Danny had posters. Glass panes showing the motion of Long Now’s clockwork replaced windows. But the bed…

The thing that replaced the bed reminded Danny an awful lot of the recess the little watch went into on the sympathique clock, only raised up, off the ground. Little chains hung from the ceiling in mimicry of a curtain.

“Mm?” said Danny, weakly.

“Shh,” said Clockwork, tone full of affection. “I know you are tired. You will be able to rest, now.”

“Mm,” replied Danny, soothed, but not quite willing to completely close his eyes.

Clockwork brushed away the chain curtain and lowered Danny into the not-bed. The surfaces within were hard, unyielding, and cold, and yet, Danny fit perfectly into them, as if he belonged there, as if he had been made for it, and it for him.

Long Now hummed around him, approvingly.

Clockwork picked up one of Danny’s arms and squeezed his wrist just so. A little panel slid away, easily, comfortably, revealing the inner workings of Danny’s arm. There was flesh and blood and ectoplasm in there, clearly enough. Bone and muscle were easy to see. There were also gears. Tiny little delicate things, each made from clear blue ice. Danny’s fingers twitched, and the gears turned this way and that.

Danny… was not alarmed. He did not have the energy to be alarmed. Further, he suspected that his rest here would give him the time and perspective to not be alarmed even when he did have the energy. It was very clever of Clockwork, and very kind, very thoughtful, to give Danny the time and space to think about this without getting upset.

From the curtain, Clockwork selected the thinnest of the chains and fed it into the slot in Danny’s arm. Like everything else here, it fit him perfectly, and Danny hummed as his gears worked to bring it deeper into himself. Clockwork then took the little pocket watch and picked up Danny’s other hand, and opened it in the same way, just in time for the chain to make its way out. Clockwork then took the end of the chain and put it somewhere Danny couldn’t see. It kept moving, running through him. It felt good, satisfying, passing through his torso, twining around his heart. The gears, then, must run deep, must exist throughout his body.

His core purred with this new understanding even as the knowledge pricked his mind with apprehension and anticipation.

“I did not mean for this to happen to you,” said Clockwork, “but I cannot regret that it has. There are consequences, you see, for phasing an artifact made of another ghost’s energy into your body.” He patted Danny’s cheek. “But do not worry, do not fear. I will make sure you are cared for, and that you may continue as you have been. Albeit with a few adjustments.”

He placed the little pocket watch on Danny's chest and pressed down firmly. The surfaces beneath Danny shifted, and he realized he was being clicked into place. Most of the surfaces went down, and the ones to either side of Danny went in, with the effect of fixing him snuggly into place. But some of the surfaces went up, connecting with Danny, linking him further to the mechanisms of Long Now.

The last sensation Danny was aware of was that of Clockwork pressing his cold lips to Danny’s forehead, kissing him goodnight.

Danny woke all at once to Clockwork removing him from his… not-bed. He squirmed away and patted himself down. He could not, despite expectations, detect any gears or clock parts anywhere on his body. Excepting, of course, the little pocket watch that swung from the chain wrapped around his wrist.

“How do you feel?” asked Clockwork.

“Awake,” said Danny. Awake, like he hadn’t been for days.

“Good,” said Clockwork. “No lingering discomfort?”

Danny shook his head.

“Good,” said Clockwork, more softly. “I am glad.”

Danny shifted, uncomfortably torn between thanking Clockwork and never wanting to talk about any of this ever again.

“I should go home,” he said.

Clockwork nodded, as if this was expected. “Remember, when that shows red, return.”

Danny nodded, more sharply, and scurried to the door of the room. Of his room. Then he stopped. “Clockwork?”

“Yes, Daniel?”

“Do you ever have to be wound like that?”

“Like that? No.” Clockwork paused for a long time, but Danny got the sense that he wasn’t done, so he stayed, waiting. “Like many ghosts, I am my lair. The process is somewhat more involved.”

Clockwork was Long Now. And Danny had just spent hours - exactly three hours - cradled in its mechanisms, like the pocket watch was cradled by the sympathique clock, like an infant might be cradled by an adult.

“Oh,” he said. Then, “Thank you.”

Clockwork inclined his head. “Any time, Daniel.”

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2023

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wifetomegatron · 7 months

Text

one hundred and one nights (overlord/reader)

summary : reader gets abducted by overlord. he has an infatuation. pairing : overlord (idw) / afab! reader fandom : transformers idw continuity, more than meets the eye rating : e for explicit and mild descriptions of gore & dubious consent, minors don’t interact (mdni!), not safe for work (nsfw!) warnings : descriptions of violence, references to human disembodiment, human!reader, smut, sticky sexual interfacing tags : a lot of references to fairytail / folklore, mostly one-hundred and one nights & this goyard painting.

I. You've heard stories about him. Luna two, Garrus-nine, Hell's point. Albeit not from Swerve, or Chromedome, or Rodimus — that would be ridiculous. Impossible, even, when his name is already non-existent in the space of a ship big enough to fit thousands of Cybertornians. Not even a whisper, as if people were afraid that a slip of his name would be mistaken for a prayer and he would come to life, emerging from the shadowy corners of the Lost Light. Optics, sickly artificial red as they burn holes through the veil. But not even Primus would be as cruel as to materialize Overlord here. At least, you had hoped.

Only several nights before were you and Ratchet discussing him. The doctor knew you deserved an explanation for what transgressed over the weekend with Fort Max, Whirl, and Rung. On who he was, what he has done, and what he will continue to do if his spark wasn't sealed in a white vacuum — serpentine green drowning in nothing. The silence stretched for what felt like years, minutes solidifying themselves midair to bake the air thick. And your mouth was dry, face drained of its color. You didn't ask further, choosing to retreat into your room, where you made the last-minute decision to sleep with the lights on.

It was an irrational fear, you thought. To be afraid of someone light years away, deconstructed and stuffed in a box.

And yet here you are, trapped inside a prison chamber with him — limbs suspended, mouth curled into a grin.

II. It was a stupid accident. A stupid, preventable accident that could have been avoided if everyone had just sat down and listened to the noises Red Alert had been talking about. Their audials would have picked up the voices, the whispers, traveling through a crack big enough for you to slip into. Down the rabbit hole, you fell very slowly before hitting your shoulders square against the crown of Overlord’s head. Slipping ungracefully down an arm, and into the palm of his chained hand. You should have never taken directions from Whirl, because God knows how long it’ll take for the crew members to realize you were gone. And how many seconds left do you have to live, considering that you had conveniently fallen into his grip? A curse. A gift.

“What’s this?” He asked aloud. A dragon waking from his slumber, voice heavy as they echo throughout metal walls, “ Hm. They brought me a plaything.”

You couldn’t speak. Stunned mute as your head barely manages to recover from the impact. The chains rattled slightly, and he squeezed you — yet you were still intact. Surprisingly whole, save not for a few bruises. He says it’s because he’s bored. And that there’s no fun in having you bleed all over when he can’t clean himself up after.

He demanded you to speak and so you did, finding courage in your voice. Yet it sounded so tiny compared to his. And Overlord reveled in this. The more you tried to prove you weren’t afraid the more he’d tighten his grip, horrified to know that this level of self-restraint had (most likely) earned you a broken rib. You wonder what would happen if he had less motivation to keep you alive.

So you became Scheherazade and spoke softly in between trembling breaths. The boiling temperature inside this circular prison may very well be the Sahara, and if you flutter your eyes shut you can hear the sand dunes sing with the wind. And you lay in a dimly lit room with your new husband, spinning him a story so that he won’t plunge his blade past your sternum — the tip of his silver knife shimmering under firelight as they nick your pulse point. Overlord was your Shahryār, yet you wondered if he was just as curious as the prince or if he was too clever to be outwitted by a story. Most likely the latter. Yet maybe he’s just willing to play along, knowing that he will always be the cat, and never the bird. That there’s only one ending — for he has robbed you of your sunrise and conquered all your dusks— so might as well make it count.

III. But maybe Overlord should’ve killed you. He should’ve snapped you in half, and if the sight would have delighted him into a good mood, it would even be painless, quick. Yet instead, he decided that you were worth more than that. This cat wanted to play with his food. Wanted to hear it sing. And so he performed a massacre and took you with him.

At least it spared Chromedome the pain of having Rewind aboard the compartment with Overlord. Instead, he had you. And ever since then you've been drifting, deeper and deeper into darkness. Swallowed by the void of space, where nothing seems to glow brighter than his optics.

IV. You continued telling him stories. It became the only thing you knew how to do, rather than the only thing that kept you alive. You were now at an abandoned spaceport, where your captor sought temporary refuge. It conveniently hovered above the organic civilization living below on Saturn. He jokes about colonizing them, yet you didn't laugh, quietly staring at the man Overlord just squished under his foot. He must've been a routine worker sent to check the premises. He could have alerted the planet below. And could've called for help.

Bile was rising into the back of your throat.

Maybe he came with a friend. Or maybe Overlord had their way with them already. As you silently wept, you turned the other way — opting to blankly stare past the window. You can see his reflection approaching, the metal beneath you tremble with each step.

" What did I say about your crying?" He crooned, a digit forcefully dragging your chin upwards. You tried to be defiant, to puff out your cheeks and stop your lips from trembling. Yet there was blood on his armor, sprayed across his face. And now there were some on your cheek, wet and sticky, enough to make the tears fall faster.

Then, amid the silence that has crowded the room, between the background hums and noises coming from the machine arose the subtle, clicking noise of a cooling fan. He pushed the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip, the red shade of his optics burning into a deep shade of garnet.

" Look at me when you cry," He commanded, " I want to see it."

V. You told him a story of the Roman titan who devoured his sons one by one — afraid they’d overthrow him. Eat or be eaten, was that what Megatron thought when he installed a killswitch in his head? You hoped this would flatter him. It did. A little too much.

VI. You usually don't talk when he's inside of you. When his spike is stretching you almost too painfully, you never make conversation, it is always the sound of your shallow breathing and his indulgent moaning, mingling together in the air. He didn't force you, no. A part of you had wanted this. Out of sheer fear or stress, you're not sure.

Either way, it's safe to say that Overlord doesn't want you dead anytime soon. Yet he's starting to get bored. Or rather, tired, of wanting. Of fighting this internal disgust in himself for ever thinking of having you like this: underneath him, writhing and struggling to have him all the way to the hilt. He has always been more glutton than prideful. And so here you two were, with his mass displaced yet hands still big enough to cover the expanse of your back — thumbs draped against your nipples. Squeezing, circling. His optics leered at the hickeys and bruises loitering your skin. He has a fascination with how they turn purple and bleed red, sometimes blooming into blue before fading. You tell him as long as he's gentle enough not to break anything, he's more than welcome to have you like this.

As insatiable as he is, that was enough for him.

" If I had known...organics were this pliant. I would have gotten myself a plaything eons ago."

He roughly snapped his hips upwards, dragging you against the berth.

" Sing for me."

Nothing made sense anymore. Not when he has you by the talons like a wild animal, hunched over to devour its prey. Atoms would condense and cluster and sink onto your skin, crowding you with heat from the brutal pace he's setting. You're afraid he'd snap your hip as he hikes up your right leg. Angling you, using you, to his pleasure. And there is pleasure out of this for you too, molten liquid tightening around your abdomen. So you indulge him. He likes seeing you cry, and so you did. Begging, whining — which only causes him to hold you closer to his chassis. The thrum of his spark against you is loud enough to send you into a headache.

It's too much. You wanted to say. But you know it's futile. So as you reached your high — spent and overstimulated from this newfound obsession of his — you could do nothing but brace yourself for the rush of trans fluid spilling down your legs. Your cunt, sore and aching as he finally pulls away.

He says you're funner this way. That's the closest thing you'll get to a sunrise.

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snek-panini · 8 months

Text

It is Monday, and that means books! This is the series Summer of 1969 Road Trip by Princip1914. It's a fantastic story, absolutely full of longing and mid-century Americana vibes, and by far the shortest thing I've ever bound at just over 6k words over 48 pages. It's tiny. I was stumped on how to do the cover for a bit until I realized that a quarto-sized sheet of regular printer paper is about the same size as a polaroid photo, with a nice plain border to write the title in, and it fit the feel of the story so well I had to do it. It's one of the most complicated covers I've ever done. There's a layer of thin chipboard with a square hole cut it in, with this thick white paper wrapped around it, and there's a thicker board with this era-appropriate photo glued to the front of it, and then you line up the hole with the photo, sandwich them together and glue the outer edge of the white paper down around all the layers. Then I attached it to the text block and did the HTV for the title text. So many layers. But so very worth it, it's exactly what I wanted.

More pics under the cut! This one's super cute but it was challenging.

The endpapers are scrapbook paper printed with maps of the US. I saw them and knew they'd be perfect and I was right. There were come complications, though--that black border was not in the original plans. A couple of weeks ago I posted about making a case too big and then casing in the text block too far forward so it didn't open correctly. That was this book. I had to carefully peel up the endpapers from the case (only the back one came up; the front one had to be cut out and replaced entirely), then re-glue it further back. But the peeling process left some residue on the white cover paper, so I added some black cardstock to cover that before I tried casing in again. The case has a little bit of skew that wouldn't have been obvious if not for this mishap, but the black layer makes it really stand out, especially in the front. My other option would have been remaking the case entirely, but this was the second to last step and I decided to just live with it. It's handmade, and it's going to have imperfections. I think it's cute.

Top view. Very skinny. So skinny I was worried I wouldn't be able to do endbands and a bookmark like I usually do. I really like having those features, they make the book feel finished and professional, so I was glad they worked out. Was challenging to cut the endbands that small, though. I kept worrying I'd drop one and never see it again.

Interior images. I had fun playing with fonts on this one. I wanted the story titles to be fully in the fancy font but they looked really weird that way. The stories in this series are short but have very long titles, and since it's a quarto size book I scaled the fonts all down a little from what I use on the folio books. The fancy font was just too busy and crowded for the whole title at this size. This was my solution and I actually really like it, it looks so nice.

As cute as the results are, and as much as I love them and this story, I'm not sure I'll do another this length with this kind of flat-backed binding. It really was a challenge getting all the measurements right. I may learn another style for doing short fics in the future. Nonetheless, rarely has a book come out looking so close to what I pictured when I first start planning it, and I'm super proud of that complicated cover even though it was a bastard to put together.

That's it! I hope you like it, @princip1914!

#bookbinding #fanbinding #snek makes books #good omens #fic rec #technically i did do another book with the same page count once #but it was folio not quarto and it was my first book ever #so it didn't have a lot of things that every book of mine gets now

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