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nereidprinc3ss · 2 months

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okay i know this is kind of a specific request but can you do something with professor Spence and uni reader where they get into a spat and argue bc she did something stupid and he gets mad and she’s like “noooo pls don’t be mad i hate when you’re mad at me I’m sorry🥺” bc she literally cannot function knowing she let him down (me with everybody) but he’s like super stubborn and goes all closed up and quiet so that he doesn’t like blow up on her until she finally says like “pls talk to me” and he’s all pissed and like “hell na bitch u crazy!🗣️‼️” but then later he’s like “it’s ok i love u but neva do that shit again ho” then they make up and it’s good again 🎀 ok i explained that so poorly (and comedically if i may) but i hope u get it and pls make it SO DRAMATIC bc I live for drama! like she steals test answers or something or does something that could like get her kicked out of school OR him lose his job 🤔 sigh … idk I’m leaving now. Also i LOOPOOOCE ORRKGOOVI love your fics. Luv em

hey girl (gender neutral) this made me laugh bc genuinely sometimes i write spencer so ooc that is what he sounds like. and i'm not sorry! anyway this is potentially a vyvanse fueled nightmare but i wrote it and i'm posting it MY BLOG MY RULES BITCHESSSS!!!! but genuinely read the content warning LMAO this one got a lil kick to it

warnings/tags: ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, fem!reader, spencer and r get into a for real argument like they're mean to each other, spencer is a lil toxic but its resolved, emotionally neglects reader just for a teeensy second but then he's really nice and sweet again, discussion of his past addic+ion, gets fluffy because i'm not EVIL, gets suggestive at the end bc i am secretly evil.......

a/n: i don't know whats happening. this confuses me just as much as it confuses you. its 3 am in the morning. im gonna post nice happy things soon. Gootbye

“I cannot believe you right now. I don’t even—I don’t even know what to say.”

“Spencer, you don’t have to say anything. It has nothing to do with you, and I’m not looking for your approval.”

He looks up from where he’d been rubbing his temples, like you’re a headache, eyebrows raised and lips parted in indignant disbelief.

“Oh! You’re not looking for my approval? Well thank god for that, because if you were one of my students I would recommend expulsion to the board.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I just said I don’t care about your opinion on this, much less your hypothetical opinion from some alternate universe where you have any authority over my education whatsoever.”

“You distributed an answer key to half of your class! Objectively this is the kind of thing that gets people expelled. I don’t understand how someone so smart could do something so fucking stupid.”

The words bite more than you were prepared for—but what hurts even more is how much he seems to mean them. In arguments past you’d both said things you didn’t mean, and then would immediately melt into I’m so sorry’s and the fight would resolve itself. Spencer’s clenched jaw and inability to make eye contact with you do not lend themselves to tender apologies. They cannot be attributed to miscommunication.

You take a step closer to where he’s bracing himself against the countertop, arms crossed defensively in front of your chest.

“Spencer, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. People cheat in college all the time.”

Still no reply. His head shakes so minutely you wonder if you’re imagining it. Panic wells in your chest.

“Please talk to me. I really hate when you ice me out. I’m sorry, okay? Just... please say something.”

Finally, his eyes slide to you. They lack the fiery anger of moments ago but there’s not much softness there either. His normally warm gaze now feels too abrasive, too cold and sharp on your bare skin. You're exposed, much too soft for that grating look, and it feels like he can see everything that’s wrong with you.

“Believe me when I tell you this. I am doing us both a favor by not speaking to you right now.”

And then he’s leaving the kitchen—nothing but a breeze against your cheek and the sound of a door slamming to prove he was ever there.

The apartment is silent. You stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. Spencer very, very rarely gets angry at you to the point of neglect, and you know he’s doing his best with what was modelled for him as a child and his tendency to feel things so deeply it’s nearly disabling; but that doesn’t make it hurt much less. It doesn’t make you feel less abandoned or alone.

You’re sad, and you’re still pissed, and maybe you’re in just a bit of shock as you robotically move back to your nest of blankets on the couch and resume your schoolwork. What else is there to do? Unless Spencer is right—unless you really are about to get expelled after getting the answer key for an upcoming test from a friend, who then gave it to another friend, and so on. But is that really your fault?

It’s a struggle to stay focused as your mind keeps drifting back to Spencer in the other room, those cruel words and that cold steely look in his eye that isn’t supposed to ever be aimed at you. It’s not a secret that side of him exists, but it doesn’t belong in this apartment. It’s not something he needs to use against you. He’s supposed to be on your side. But instead, he’d said you should be expelled and essentially called you stupid. And now you’re doing homework for a class at a school you may not even be a student of come Monday.

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

The sound of the office door opening forty-five minutes later spikes your blood pressure and simultaneously makes your heart flutter, because no matter how mad at him you might be, Spencer is still Spencer.

He comes to stand behind the couch quietly, but you don’t acknowledge him. Maybe your typing gets a bit more aggressive, but aside from that you flat out reject his presence.

“Can we talk?”

You let him sweat for a minute as you finish your paragraph.

“I don’t know, Spencer. Can we? Or are you not done with your temper tantrum?”

“That is... well deserved,” he sighs, rounding the couch and tapping the bottom of your foot, signaling that he wants you to move your legs. You despise how automatically you comply, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid touching him as he sits next to you. There’s a long moment of silence, in which you resume typing. Spencer scoffs, leaning in slightly to peer at your screen. “Are you doing homework right now? I’m a complete asshole to you and you just... do your homework?"

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” you almost-yell, slamming your laptop shut and blinking away potential tears. “The only person I wanted to talk to called me stupid and fucking left!”

The tears realize their potential once you admit the blunt truth.

Spencer carefully moves your laptop and pulls you into his arms—and you just let him. There’s not much fight left in you. There wasn’t a lot to begin with.

“I am so sorry, angel. You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have said what I said, I shouldn’t have walked away. I overreacted.”

“Yeah, you really did,” you cry, allowing him to run his hand over your hair. “Why did you do that? Why were you so fucking mean?”

His voice shakes slightly as he responds, betraying his own anxieties, and a new, unwelcome sense of trepidation slithers through your veins.

“I was wondering that, too. Even as I was saying it, I knew—I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to be saying. And then I was in the other room and I wanted to be out here, and I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t. But I think I was just scared. Which—I know, doesn’t really make sense, but... I think about when Ethan dropped out of the academy, and ended up doing heroin in New Orleans for three years, and I think about when I almost left the BAU because I was so convinced I’d never get clean that I didn’t even want to anymore, and—and the idea of you losing your education and your direction like that terrified me, probably unreasonably, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.”

“But I’m not like you or Ethan. You don’t have to worry about that. Even if I... even I do get in some sort of disciplinary trouble. That’s a road you don’t have to worry about me going down, ever.”

He fixes some unseen wrinkle on your shirt.

“Yeah, but, remember... I used to not be like me or Ethan either. Do you think twelve-year-old Spencer would have ever even considered that of the infinite realities and universes which exist, he was living in one where someday he’d be shooting up in the bathroom at work?”

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head and burying your face in Spencer’s shoulder. The sound is more of a plea for him to be less descriptive than an answer to his rhetorical question. It’s still much easier for him to talk about that part of his life than it is for you to have to actually imagine it. You didn’t know him then, but you’ve seen pictures, and you know Spencer now, and it’s... it’s just too much. Too sad.

“Okay,” he agrees soothingly, still playing with your hair. “I digress. My point is that literally anything is possible, and while it’s not necessarily likely, I more than anyone know that anxiety even over the most improbable of things is never completely unfounded.”

You sniffle in response, too emotionally and physically exhausted to contribute much to the conversation by this point. Thankfully, Spencer can talk for two. An idiosyncrasy which you love and comes in handy every once in a while. He can play his own devil’s advocate; in this case, you.

“But that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you. Ever. I truly, truly, sincerely apologize for that. I never want to hurt you.”

You let the apology sink into your skin like a salve, soothing every abrasion those earlier words had left in their violent wake.

After a few minutes, you find the energy to ask a question that might best remain unanswered.

“Are you still mad at me?”

He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly contemplative as his fingers trace abstract patterns in a language all his own on your arm.

“I’m not thrilled. But you were right earlier. It’s not my place to be mad at you for something like that.”

“Mm... it’s a little bit your place. You’re an actual professor.”

He chuckles.

“At an entirely different university.”

“Thank god,” you laugh. “You and me at the same school would be such an HR clusterfuck.”

While it’s almost a serious matter, the smile in his voice is evident.

“Yeah... I, uh... try not to think about it.”

“Okay, but seriously. In your professional opinion. Am I fucked? Like, do I need to prepare an appeal and character witnesses or whatever?”

Spencer sighs.

“It was incredibly reckless and irresponsible. You should be ready for disciplinary pushback from the schoolboard if you get caught. That being said... because over sixty of you got a hold of the answer key, I doubt anyone is getting expelled, and even if they did, it would likely only be the TA and the student he gave the key to. It’s my tentative, professional opinion that you’ll probably be fine.”

You relax slightly, allowing a tension you didn’t realize was there to shed like an old skin.

“I’m not gonna cheat again,” you promise on an exhale. It’s simply too much risk for too little reward.

Spencer’s response is quiet, and comes much faster than you’d expected.

“Oh, I know you aren’t. Because if you do, you’re going to have to worry about disciplinary action from me. And I’m not nearly as nice as the dean of your school, darling girl.”

But something about the way he says it—a thinly veiled threat/promise contrasted by a sweet kiss to your forehead—doesn’t exactly make academic honesty look all that exciting.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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themoonsbeloved · 4 months

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I still need help

Its now the 8th of January and despite being told by my friend who spoke with her boss 3 weeks ago during their meeting that he was to hire me in the beginning of January and would reach out to me, he hasn't. I'm hoping somehow, eventually, when this man finally bothers to, he will contact me for a job offer since he reassured me back in november that he still intends to hire me. But since I have no idea when that will be, that means I'm left hanging completely.

long story short I am mentally ill and disabled who was dismissed from my last and only job that I struggled 2 years to get, only to be fired in 2 months in June because of my chronic fatigue and abusive managers. I rely a lot on my henna but bookings are not consistent enough to make regular income, and majority of the money ends up going to contributing to house bills for my family.

My therapy picks up again this week, very honestly been the only thing keeping me from harming myself at this point with how painful life has been and I want to be able to continue getting it low cost (£25 per session), my therapist is so amazing and we recently came to the understanding that I have complex-PTSD, and plan to look into it more this year. I'm too mentally ill to try and look for jobs right now and am basically doing 3 jobs already (one being joint caring duties with family members for my grandparents since I live with them, which I'm not paid for obviously) with inconsistent money coming in/sessional work that I will be paid for once completed further into the year.

I have so many other costs that are coming in the near future, like paying for more medication, and for more lazer hair removal sessions for my severe hirsutism, which usually is around £300 if I'm lucky to catch offers. This is another I thing I mentally can't afford to stop doing, struggling with severe hirsutism and the trauma of it all my life means its important I can feel and live somewhat comfortably in my body. Lazer hair isn't permanent and I'm looking into electrolysis, but again, I don't have that money yet and would prefer to not leave a huge gap where I don't do lazer and the mental torture of watching my body hair grow back. I also haven't gotten my eyes checked in over 3 years, and know I will need a change in perscription and need new glasses. I hate nothing more than what its come to. I'm just exhausted and burnt out from the constant anxiety and depressive episodes, I'm barely eating or sleeping, I'm sick of everything and everyone and I just wish god would give me a break.

With all of the above in mind I'm aiming for about £600. This is all basically to help me just function and continue getting the things that help me not succumb to my mental health issues. If anything, my birthday's coming up in feb so I would appreciate it if folks gave some money if they have the means to. Anything is fine at this point.

Thank you so much

https://paypal.me/iffiia?country.x=GB&locale.x=en_GB

£0/£600

#help

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wolfjackle-creates · 11 days

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Bring Me Home Arc 3 Part 5

So it's been about 3 weeks since my promised update. Oops. Main issue was breaking my first bone as I'm sure most of you saw. On my right wrist, of course. And being right handed, meant I could barely type for that first week.

But also this is a transition section of the story. And I was struggling with how to best write said transition. I am finally happy with it, though. To make up for being so late, this is a long one! Hope you enjoy. The total word count for this arc is now up to 9.6k. Do with that as you will.

Story Summary: Jack and Maddie install a new ghost shield on the house which activates the moment Danny tries to step into his home. His secret is out and his parents are determined to excise the ghost from their son.

Luckily Danny isn't alone. The Young Justice, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz aren't going to leave him to suffer.

Arc 1: AO3

Arc 2: AO3; Tumblr - First, Last

Arc 3: First, Previous

Word Count: 3.6k (Told you it was a long one!)

-----

Pain was a constant through the rest of that never-ending drive. Danny would wake screaming from the nightmares only to continue screaming from the pain.

Tim was there every time. His words were soft and soothing, even when Danny couldn’t make out their meaning between the throbbing of his human chest and aching core. Any time he woke, Tim did his best to force ectoplasm and liquid foods down his throat. If Danny couldn’t manage even that much, he was given more of Frostbite’s ice chips.

When they finally, finally stopped for the last time, Danny cried in relief. Kon carried him out of the van, a blanket under him as a makeshift stretcher. TTK meant that he was held perfectly flat even though Kon was only holding one end.

Tim’s worried face peered down at him. “Kon’s going to fly you up, okay? I’ll let you in through the window. I’ve disabled all cameras, so no one will see you.”

Danny think he nodded. He wanted to. He must’ve done something because Tim brushed his fingers across Danny’s forehead, nodded, and disappeared from view. Then Danny was leaving the van. For the first time in Clockwork only knew how long. It was daytime, but the sky was overcast and gray.

When Kon flew with him, it wasn’t the weightlessness of his own flight. Instead, he felt like they were fighting gravity. He hated it.

But it was only the matter of a few moments before they approached an open window and Kon carried him in. He was in too much pain to take in most of the room, but he did see a TV bigger than any he’d seen outside of Sam’s home theater.

Kon didn’t stop, and he was carried into another room—a bedroom As they approached the bed, the sheets folded back on their own. Kon set him down as gently as possible, but pain shot up from his chest at even the slight change of position.

He stopped breathing, even the movements of his lungs were too much. Instead he just let the pain wash over him. Wave after wave of it. Vaguely, he was aware of someone grabbing his hand, of voices above him.

Gloved hands pressed something cold to his lips and Danny gratefully took the ice and the numbing coolness it promised. Not enough for full relief, nothing could give that right now. But by the time it was gone, he could at least think through the pain.

This time when he opened his eyes, he saw Tim’s worried face, Kon standing behind him.

“Back with us?” asked Tim.

Danny grimaced and nodded. He tried a shallow breath. It hurt, but he could somewhat function through it. “Sorry.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to hear apologies from you for at least a month. This isn’t your fault.”

“Sorry,” Danny repeated.

Tim just huffed. “How’s the bed? Do you need anything? Extra pillows?”

Danny bit his lip and let himself feel. The bed was soft. As far from the feel of the exam table as it was possible to be. It was also leagues better than the camping mattress he’d been using in the van. Honestly, it was probably better than his mattress back home. And the pillow was the perfect height for lying on his back. “It’s good.”

The look Tim gave him made Danny think he wasn’t believed, but after a moment Tim just nodded. “If you’re sure. Now, Kon and I are going to have to change your bandages and reapply the necessary creams and poultices. After, I want you to try and eat a little more.”

Danny groaned, already dreading the procedure. But it had to be done. He ignored the tears he couldn’t stop and met Tim’s eyes. “Just do it.”

Kon grimaced. “I’ll make it quick.”

Danny tried to smile back but he knew he failed when neither Kon nor Tim looked any less concerned. “I know. Thanks.”

And it was true. Kon’s TTK made the process so much easier that it would have been otherwise. However, there was no way to make it entirely painless. Especially when removing the final layer. Danny couldn’t keep from crying out as the gauze stuck to his wounds. Finally, his chest was bared to the world. Danny trembled with the pain of it before gathering his courage and looking down.

This was his first time seeing his chest since he’d been pulled out of the lab. The incisions were inflamed and leaking, though they were already scabbing over. Green ectoplasm and red blood mingled in the secretions.

Tim and Kon didn’t wait for him to catalog every mark, however. They quickly passed jars of Frostbite’s concoctions to each other and set to work covering every area of his chest. Cold spread in the wake of their ministrations and Danny nearly wept in relief.

“This is already looking better, Danny,” said Tim.

Danny scoffed, then winced as it pulled at the injuries. He clenched his eyes shut as he reminded his body he didn’t need to breathe.

“He’s right,” said Kon. “I don’t think even I’d be healing this quickly from injuries like yours.”

Danny didn’t say anything as they continued to work. When they were done with the medications, Kon reapplied the bandages. Tim gave him another piece of ice which Danny took with relief.

Danny mumbled a thanks around the ice.

“Anytime,” said Kon. “Mind if I take a picture of you so everyone can see you’re safe in Gotham now? Sam’s been texting me non-stop asking for updates.”

Sam’s concern is what finally allowed Danny to smile for the first time since he’d returned home and his parents had learned his secret. “Pull up the sheet first. And just to her and Tuck and Jazz, please. I don’t want your entire team to see me like this.”

“’Course,” agreed Kon. Without Kon moving at all, the sheet rose up out of the blankets at the base of the bed and covered him up to his neck. Kon then took out his phone and snapped a photo before tapping at the screen.

Immediately it started ringing in his hands.

“Are you up for talking to them?” asked Tim.

Danny shook his head. “Want to, can’t.”

Kon waved him off. “I’ll tell them what’s up. Eat something and get some sleep.” Kon turned away. As he left the room, Danny hear him answer the phone with a, “Hey, babe,” before he shut the door, muffling all noise.

“Yogurt, applesauce, or pudding?” asked Tim once they were alone.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes. And another vial of ectoplasm.”

Danny sighed and asked for the applesauce. He only managed a few bites alternated with sips of ectoplasm before darkness pulled him under once more.

---

A throbbing pain slowly dragged him out of the blackness. He tried to cling to unconsciousness, but the throbbing was inescapable. With a quiet moan, he blinked awake in a dark room. For once, he was able to think past the pain. It was a constant, throbbing presence, but not as all consuming as it had been.

The mattress he was lying on was soft. So, so different to the hard table that had been his bed for those long hours in the lab. He twisted his head and rotated his jaw, relieved when the action wasn’t hindered by harsh restraints.

He was in Gotham, out of their reach. Tim was here and he was safe.

He was safe from his parents. His parents had— had— Danny’s breath caught and he couldn’t finish the thought. He pulled in a gasping breath. The ball in the back of his throat made it so hard to breathe.

He’d just… never thought they’d actually do it. He’d been so sure that once they realized who he was, they’d hug him and continue to love him. He couldn’t hold back the sob, loud in the silent room. His eyes burned and he didn’t even try to stop the tears.

Next to him, on the floor, blankets rustled and Danny tensed.

“Danny?” asked a sleepy voice from the floor. Tim was here?

“Sorry,” choked out Danny through ragged breaths. He was safe. His parents hated him. Nothing would ever be the same again.

“Don’t be.” The mattress dipped next to him as Tim sat down. “It’d be weird if you didn’t have a few breakdowns.”

“What’s going to happen to them?” Danny tried to wrap his arms around himself, but cried out at even the light pressure on his chest.

Tim pushed aside the thin sheet he’d been covered in and grabbed one of his hands. Danny clung to him until the sharp pain faded. And when it did, his breathing was more normal. His core still ached at the thought of his parents, but the physical pain had helped chase away the panic attack. At least for now.

“What’s going to happen to them?” he asked again; this time his voice was more stable.

“They’ve been picked up by the Justice League. Tucker is helping with getting all their files transferred to document their history. Jazz and Sam have been giving reports on their behavior, lab and home safety measures, and their actions. Others have begun questioning the general public on Amity. There’s currently a few magic users there trying to determine if they can shut down the portal.”

Something in Danny screamed out at the idea of the portal being gone and he tensed. “No! They can’t shut it down! Please, you can’t. It’s— I— you can’t.”

“What? What are you talking about? We have to at least look for a way to shut it down!”

He was crying. Why was he crying. “You can’t,” Danny repeated. “If it’s gone…” he trailed off. Why did he feel so strongly about this? The portal had done nothing but cause him problems since it had turned on. “I died there. I died for it,” he whispered. Something in him knew it was important. His ghost half refused to accept that the portal could just disappear. “If it’s gone, if it can just be turned off, what was it all for?”

And even that wasn’t the full story. The portal was his parents’ life work. It was the thing they spent time working on. It was what stole them away from Danny and Jazz. They missed Jazz’s recitals to work on it. They missed Danny’s science fairs. Every forgotten dinner or event could be tied back to that portal. And if it was gone, what was the point of it all?

Tim sighed and squeezed his hand. “We can’t just leave it open, Danny. It’s not safe.”

“I can design a door. A better one. One that actually works. Just… Leave it. Please. I can make it safe.”

Tim bit his lip and stared at Danny for a minute. “I’ll let them know it’s an option. I don’t know if they’ll go for it. Constantine is not happy with it existing. But I’ll see what I can do.”

Danny’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you.”

Tim gave a half smile. “What are friends for? Now, think you’re up for something to eat? What do you want?”

Danny groaned. “Don’t wanna.”

Tim ruffled his hair. “Sorry, Polaris. Non-negotiable.”

“Chocolate pudding?” asked Danny.

“Sure. We can—”

Before Tim finished, a knock sounded on the door. “Someone ask for chocolate pudding?” called out Kon.

Tim laughed. “Come on in!” Without delay, the door opened and Kon walked in. It shut on its own behind him.

Even Danny couldn’t hold back the smile. He really had some great friends. “Spying on me, are you?” he asked.

“Not my fault you were talking so loud. Woke me up and everything!”

Danny, very maturely, stuck out his tongue. The grief he felt over his parents was hiding, ready to rear up again at any minute, but for now he had two friends with him. He would focus on that.

For the first time, Danny ate the entire pudding container and drank an entire vial of ectoplasm and wasn’t ready to pass out when he was done.

“Can we put on a movie or something? I don’t want to sit in the dark and quiet right now,” said Danny.

“’Course, Polaris,” said Tim. “What do you want to watch?”

“Kon, where’d we leave off in your movie list?” asked Danny.

But Kon held up his hands and shook his head. “I’m definitely going to fall asleep halfway through if we’re watching a movie. Pick whatever you want and don’t bring me into it.”

Danny pouted at him, but didn’t push. Kon hadn’t spent the last however many days sleeping. So he squeezed Tim’s hand and asked, “Then how about we put on some Star Trek? Short episodes and if we fall asleep, we’ve already seen them.”

Tim’s teeth were bright in the dark as he grinned. “I can definitely arrange that. You just lie there and keep looking pretty and I’ll pull it up. TOS or TNG?”

“What the hell does that mean?” asked Kon.

Both Danny and Tim ignored him. “I’m far from pretty,” retorted Danny. At Tim’s look, he rolled his eyes and said, “TOS.”

“Coming right up!”

Mounted to the wall facing the foot of the bed was a TV, smaller than the one in the living room, but still bigger than the one he had in his living room back home. Within minutes the opening, “Space, the final frontier,” rang through the room.

“Sorry, bit loud,” said Tim before adjusting it down a touch.

Danny didn’t bother replying as the episode started. Then Tim handed over a water bottle and settled back on the floor.

“What are you doing down there?” asked Danny.

“Getting comfortable? Where else would I go?”

Danny rolled his eyes, not that anyone could see. “This bed is huge. Sit next to me.”

“Won’t that jostle you?”

“Kon, move me over closer to the edge. Then you and Tim can join me.”

Kon laughed. “I think I’m going to go back to bed. I’m a morning person, unlike you two. But sure, I’ll move you to make room for Tim.”

Danny grit his teeth as Kon put his hands under his shoulders. Then he was wrapped in the strange sensation of TTK and his entire body was picked up and moved closer to the edge of the bed. Even as gentle as he was, pain radiated at the movement.

Danny clenched his eyes shut and stopped breathing until it passed. When it did, he slowly blinked open his eyes until the black spots faded and patted the bed next to him. “Get in, Secrets.”

“Are you sure?”

Danny glared and Tim grinned sheepishly as did as instructed.

But then he still tried to leave too much space. “Get closer.”

Tim grumbled under his breath, but shifted over a few more inches. He was sitting more upright than Danny was, but it was fine. Danny leaned his head against Tim’s side and finally let himself pay attention to the episode.

Next to him, Tim stiffened, but then relaxed and rested a hand on Danny’s head. “I’m glad you’re here, Polaris.”

Danny just hummed and let the show and Tim’s warmth help chase away the panic and grief he could still feel waiting for him.

---

Within two days, Danny was mostly able to sit upright. Frostbite’s medicines really were miraculous. Though he wished he could go to the Far Frozen and get stuck in a pod unconscious for a few hours and wake up fully healed.

He was video chatting with Ellie on the PDA Tucker had left him, complaining about being confined to bed.

She grimaced in sympathy. “I hate being stuck in one place.”

Danny laughed, then winced. “Trust me, gremlin, we know. You can’t even stay in the same city for more than a week.”

Ellie frowned and looked off to the side.

“What’s wrong?”

“What if—” she cut herself off and bit on her lip. Danny let her collect her thoughts. “I’ve been thinking of joining you. In Gotham.”

“What?” Danny was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open. Ellie had never expressed an interest in coming to stay with him before, instead prioritizing her travels through both Earth and the Realms. “You want to come here?”

She frowned and glared at him. “You told me Superboy is there! And he’s a clone, too. I want to meet him.” Then she looked away. More quietly, she added, “’Sides, who’s gonna be able to keep your ass safe from ghosts if someone decides to attack while you’re injured? You certainly can’t protect yourself right now.”

For the first time since his parents captured him, Danny felt his core trill in happiness. She cared about him. “Of course you can come. I know Kon’s been hoping to meet you one of these days, too.”

She grinned widely at him. “Great.” She spun her PDA around and showed off the aerial view of a city. When she turned it back, she paused on the gargoyle she was sitting next to. “Because I’m already here. How do I find you?”

Danny’s mouth was hanging open again. “You— Ellie!” But he was grinning and holding back laughter, too. “I have no idea. Let me call in Kon and Tim. Maybe one of them can direct you.”

He didn’t even have to call for them before Kon was pushing open his door. “You need us?” he asked.

“Ellie wants to visit. Can one of you tell her how to get here?”

“Sure,” said Tim. “Where is she?”

Danny shrugged and held out the PDA. “Somewhere in the city. But I don’t know where.”

Tim blinked at him for a moment before shrugging and taking the device. “Well that makes it easier.” He looked down at the screen. “Hey, Ellie.”

“Oh my god, you’re Superboy! Huge fan,” she exclaimed. Kon had shoved himself next to Tim so he could see her.

He grinned. “I’m a huge fan of you, too. Sam’s told me some stories.”

“Glad you’re not dead anymore.”

Danny smacked his face when he heard her say that. Tim froze, wearing a fixed smile that Danny could see right through.

“Just tell them where you are,” said Danny as loud as he could.

“I’m getting there!” protested Ellie.

Kon burst out laughing. “I like you, Ellie.”

Danny couldn’t quite make out her reply, but it was enough to get Tim back into the conversation. “Turn invisible and fly down to the street. Show me the nearest street sign, okay? And then I’ll help you get here.”

“Or I could just fly out and meet her and bring her myself,” offered Kon.

“Yes!” cried Ellie. “That!”

Tim shrugged. “Just show us the nearest street sign, okay? I’ll figure out a good landmark for Kon to meet you at.”

Danny let his mind drift as they discussed potential meeting spots. Not even ten minutes later, Kon left.

Tim ran his hands through his hair and returned the PDA to Danny. “They should be back within twenty minutes. Anything we should get ready for Ellie?”

Danny shrugged. “No idea when the last time she ate would’ve been. Couldn’t hurt to have something ready.”

“Fine. I’ll blend you a smoothie and put a pizza in the oven. And set up the couch for her to sleep on.”

“Thanks, Secrets.”

“’Course, Polaris. Need anything before I go?”

Danny waved him off. “I’m good.”

Once he was alone, he pulled up the group chat with Sam, Tucker, and Jazz.

Danny: Ellie’s come to gotham Jazz: Oh good! She arrived. How’s she doing? Danny: You knew she was on her way? And didn’t tell me Danny: Betrayal! Danny: She and Kon haven’t made it to the apartment yet. He just left to find her Sam: Oh good. Have Ellie talk to him about the benefits of stealing child support from an unethical creator Tucker: I’m sure both Tim and I will be *thrilled* to help him out Danny: He’s not stealing his child support? Sam: Nope. He’s an idiot about it. Danny: We gotta fix that Jazz: Tell us when she’s there! Jazz: Have Tim or Kon send a picture of the two of you Danny: Really? I’m still bed bound! Jazz: Picture. Jazz: It’s an order.

Danny groaned, but he was grinning through it. His friends were the best. He closed out of the chat and pulled up a game to kill time until Ellie got there.

He only made it through a level and a half before he heard a squealed, “Danny!” and running footsteps.

Ellie came to an abrupt stop at the side of his bed. Her hoodie had a few new patches since the last time he saw her, and she was frowning as she looked him over. “Are you really going to be okay?”

Danny held out an arm. “Come here, gremlin.”

She hesitated, but when he didn’t say anything else, she climbed into bed with him and Danny wrapped his arm around her in a gentle hug. He wished he could hug her tighter, but this would have to do.

“I’ll recover. Promise. I’m already doing better.”

“This is you doing better?” sniffed Ellie.

Danny winced. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. “I know. It’s a lot. Feels like a lot to me, too. But I’m okay. Or I will be.”

She sniffed and turned her face into his shoulder. Her voice was so soft he could barely hear it. “I can’t lose any more brothers.”

Danny’s eyes burned at that and he patted her shoulder. “I’m safe now. I promise. You’re not gonna lose me.” He wiped away his own tears as she shook under his arm. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and wished things had been different in so many ways.

-----

A wild Danielle appeared! I've been waiting to introduce her. Next big introduction will be some of Tim's siblings.

Honestly, there's a few things I was excited about introducing this segment! Can you guess the other big reveal I've been sitting on?

I'm going to wait to write any more of Arc 3 until I get all of Arc 2 on AO3. I've ended up rewriting more than I planned on, so editing is taking longer than I expected. Also the wrist. That hindered things a bit, too.

If you want notifications when I update, please check out my Subscription Post.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #tim drake #eventual dead tired #wolf writes #i love that i was finally able to bring in ellie #shes struggling too #(and danny has some misconceptions about her)#but theyre together now #ellie and kon are gonna cause all the shit #once ellie is sure danny isn't going to die on her

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strangersmunsons · 1 year

Text

fried egg I'm in love

Eddie makes you breakfast.

Contains: Eddie x Reader, fem!reader, established relationship, pet names, Eddie fries you some eggs because you should always eat breakfast before a big day. No mention of reader’s physical appearance, no use of Y/N. Warnings: mentions of food & eating (obvi). Word Count: 1,200-ish i am completely delighted by @mcbeanzontoast 's artwork and these sweet lil drawings (1, 2) of Eddie are all i can think about, thank u for the inspo bb! <3 btw srry if this isn't how you like your eggs or if u hate alt-rock themed puns. but personally i feel very strongly about the over-medium thing.

“Eddie. Eddie.”

There’s still no response from the motionless lump on the bed. He’s twisted up in the thin, pilled sheets like he tried to fight them and lost.

His breathing is slow and even, clearly still in a deep sleep. You hope his dreams are pleasant, but not so pleasant that he’ll be upset with you for what you’re about to do.

You lean closer to where you think his ear might be. It’s hidden under a mass of thick curls, but you're pretty sure you’re in the right spot.

“Eddie!”

It comes out even louder than you intended. Oops.

“Huh!”

Eddie jolts awake and tries to roll over, but only succeeds in tangling himself further in the bedding. He squirms and struggles against the taut fabric for a minute, before giving up and letting his body go limp. His face scrunches against the brightness of the room, peering at you with squinted eyes.

You, who have already been awake for an hour. You, who have already washed and dressed and tidied yourself up. You, who are looking at him rather expectantly…? His full lips pull down in a frown.

“What gives?” he grumbles, unhappy to be conscious before noon. As usual.

“Sorry honey, but you didn’t hear me the first four times I tried.”

He sighs, then lets out a sudden gasp. He tries to sit upright, lurching sideways, still thrashing against that damn sheet. “Your interview!”

Bingo!

“Yes, my interview,” you say, too amused and in love with him to be exasperated. “Don’t worry, we still have plenty of time. But you can barely function when you first wake up and I can’t have you falling asleep behind the wheel. I figured I’d get you up now so you have time to adjust.” You reach out and cup his face, rubbing a thumb over his stubbly cheek.

He turns his head in your hand so he can kiss your palm. “Good thinkin', sweetheart. That’s why you’re the brains of this operation.”

You help untangle him and wander out into the kitchen while he heads for the bathroom. Because even bone-deep exhaustion is no match for Eddie's mouth, he pokes his head out so he can talk to you. “How’re you feeling, baby?” The words are garbled and foamy with toothpaste.

“Okay,” you call back from your seat at the table. Well, that’s kind of a lie. “Actually, I’m really nervous, but that’s normal, I guess.”

You really want this job to work out. Eddie’s dying for you to come and live with him in his apartment, but you want a little more financial stability before you move out of your place. You promised him that once you landed a higher paying job you would take the leap. The shiny prospect of perpetual domesticity with your favorite boy is riding on this position, and it's making you gut-wrenchingly antsy.

“You’re gonna be great!” he shouts from around his toothbrush.

Eddie joins you in the kitchen, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s in nothing but his boxers and mismatched wool socks. One is maroon, the other is green with stripes. “Great. You hear me? They’d be lucky to have you. In fact, you should be interviewing them, asking why they deserve to be your employer.” He’s teasing you, but he also means it.

Your stomach flutters at the praise, and at the sight of all that skin he’s showing. You know in your heart that he’s still so warm from sleep.

He yawns, and stretches dramatically. “Have you eaten yet?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No way. No appetite.”

“Well, you gotta eat. You need fuel on a day like today.” He crosses his arms and frowns at you.

That's humorous, coming from the guy who attended six years of high school running on nothing but mini-pretzels and Mountain Dew. “Eddie, I’m way too anxious to eat right now.”

“Listen, you’ll feel worse if you don’t eat. Because if you don’t have something in your belly, and you’re nervous, you’ll get lightheaded and pass out in the middle of the interview, in which case you won’t get the job, 'cause then they’ll all be thinking, ‘This girl has the temperament of a fragile Victorian woman. Why is she even here? She should be sent to the seaside for her health.’ You know?”

“I…guess so?”

“Trust me, sweetheart, you have to eat breakfast. Let me make you something.”

The Something in question is simple: toast with butter, and fried eggs, over-medium. “Runny enough to dip, but cooked enough so there’s no snotty white stuff,” he says sagely. “It’s the only way to eat 'em.”

You hum in agreement, but you’re more focused on the way he looks standing half-naked in front of the stove, spatula in hand, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

He insists on making your portion first, sliding the plate in front of you and kissing your head when it’s done. “Eat up, doll.”

You thank him quietly and start to eat, watching as he goes through the process over again for himself. Now that he’s taken care of you, some of the tiredness he was staving off returns. His movements get clumsier as his attention oscillates between assembling his breakfast and being your personal cheerleader. He bumps into the counter, nearly burns his fingertips on the stove, and knocks over a glass of orange juice, but steadfastly refuses your offer to take over. Stubborn. You put a pot of coffee on for him.

You feel calmer now, watching his ministrations, listening to his reassurances. You've found that Eddie’s presence seems to be the salve for all your silly little troubles. His throaty morning-voice and dimpled smile send a rush of warmth through you, putting you at ease, like a cup of something hot on a cold day. You feel so lucky to be loved by him.

While you’re adoring him, trying not to get misty-eyed thinking about it, your sweet boy’s about to transfer his second egg to his plate. He's almost done it when he’s wracked with another full-body yawn. It's powerful enough that his eyes close, and his arm jerks the wrong way, and the egg slips out of the pan. It hits the kitchen floor with a wet slap.

Quickly, he looks down, then at you, and then back at the egg. In one swift motion he scoops it up off the floor. “Five second rule.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Ed…” You’re tempted to chastise him more thoroughly because who knows when that floor was last cleaned? Certainly not Eddie. But the way he’s doting on you today makes you hold your tongue.

He shrugs. “Fine. I’ll wash it off.”

He turns the sink on so a thin stream of water comes out. He picks the egg up with his hands, and holds it under the faucet, turning it carefully so that each side gets a gentle rinse. It gets tossed casually back onto the plate.

Completely unbothered, he joins you at the table and digs in.

He finally catches the look on your face. Without swallowing the huge bite of food he just popped in his mouth, he goes -

“What?”

Afterwards, Eddie drives you to your interview just like he promised he would. When you emerge from the building some thirty odd minutes later, feeling victorious, he's right there to celebrate with you.

Neither of you say it, but you're both thinking the same thing. One bed. One kitchen table. One little apartment. One home.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot

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patriamrealm · 4 months

Note

Few questions about our favorite Train Twins.

1. What is the relationship between the Submas Twins and Drayden?

2. Thoughts on Drayton, Drayden's confirmed Grandson (I am just confusedby him)?

3. What do you think Drayton thinks of the Train Twins?

Bonus question if Drayton reacts to Ingo's disappearance in a way that fits his character?

Ok now that I've actually played the DLC and met Drayton I'm more confident answering this.

So Drayden is the twins bio uncle turned Father when he took them in after their parents were no longer able to care for them/ He had a bit of a time with some toddlers from Sinnoh that barely spoke Unoven and then gained aspects way way earler than normal. By this point his kids were pretty well grown anyway.

2) As for Drayton, from what I can tell from him is that he's pretty nice if a bit lazy. Caring and encouraging with a bit of a manipulative streak. Not in a bad way more in a he seems to just not be good at outright saying what he wants. He's also does not seem very good at "manipulating" as is. And another thing is that he seems to have a lot of expectations and pressure on his shoulders to essentially live up to his family legacy which may contribute to his being held back 3 years at the BB Academy.

As for aspects mmmm I don't see him as being the type to have actually fully evolved, or at all. Not 100% sure what he should be but I kinda like the idea of him having horsea aspects, fits his hair honestly.

3) Relationship wise with the twins, biologically they are cousins but function more as older brothers/silly uncles being only 5 years older than him. He doesn't see them super often but often enough for a decently close family. Family get togethers, visits, birthdays, holidays, ect.

But also they kind of are just another example in his family to live up to, another expectation on his shoulders. They're punctual, strong, driven, fully evolved, and battle facility heads which are near champion level trainers. Just two other examples in a long line to live up to.

In the same breath they're incredibly silly and always super encouraging of anything. If he said he wanted to be just a baker or something he's well aware they'd encourage it 100%

Bonus) Now as for his reaction to Ingo's disappearance,

I think he'd likely be at school when that happened, likely got a phone call that Ingo has been missing for a few days now and hasn't been found. Which is upsetting.

I can see him being uncharacteristically antsy and worried for a while waiting to hear any news. To the point that his friends are worried about him. But ultimately winds up accepting Ingo is likely dead after a month or two of no one finding him. Drayton can't exactly do anything to help and he does still have school. He is likely still hopeful that there will be news eventually, good or bad but dwelling on something he can't change is ultimately pointless and overall unhealthy.

#pokemon!aspects #submas #blueberry academy #ingo #emmet #drayden #drayton #lacey #I did no know Drayden had a grandson until you asked about him #I hadn't played the DLC yet so I was completely blindsided #He's interesting though.

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 19 days

Text

I'm still thinking about banner bearers as I continue working on my Obscure Blorbo Guthláf story, and I do find it impressive how much context about the banner bearer role Tolkien shoved into LOTR in barely half a dozen sentences' worth of small references.

For starters, there are (by my count) 3 acknowledged banner bearers in Lord of the Rings: Halbarad of the rangers of the North, Guthláf of Rohan (♥️), and an unnamed Haradrim standard bearer. I reject the distinction Tolkien made between so-called high, middle and low Men, but it is notable nonetheless that he created a banner bearer character from each of these 3 groups. That shows how universally important the function was, at least to communities of Men, just as it was extremely common in the real world for many hundreds of years of human history. All kinds of Middle Earth's Men have them, no matter how different the Men are from one another.

In addition, all 3 of the banner bearer characters die at the Pelennor Fields, which effectively illustrates how incredibly dangerous a job it was, both in Middle Earth and real life. Given how intentional Tolkien is about everything, I think it's fair to assume that he purposefully killed all of them in recognition of the realities of ancient warfare. (The only banner bearer I can think of in any Tolkien book that survives their war is Eönwë in the Silmarillion, but he's an immortal Maia so...TOTALLY different circumstances.)

And finally, Tolkien shows us how significant the loss of a banner bearer was to both sides in a battle. When Théoden kills the unnamed Haradrim standard bearer (just before the Witch King rolls up), that's the moment when the forces of Harad founder and start to flee because they've lost their rallying point and their source of morale. They can't function without their banner bearer. On the opposite side, Théoden cites his felling of the black serpent flag to Merry as one of the singular achievements that will allow him to sit proudly alongside his ancestors in the afterlife, so he clearly also understands taking out a banner bearer to be a massive battle achievement.

We don't witness Halbarad or Guthláf’s final moments, but their deaths are just as significant. Out of the untold numbers of dead at the Pelennor Fields, they are both in the small handful of names to be recorded in the story because they were important and their deaths meant something to the broader battle. And we see in the immediate aftermath of Guthláf’s death what a huge deal it is to the Rohirrim—they stop to address his death and retrieve his banner so that it can be borne by another before they even take the time to tend to their mortally wounded king. Those are the actions of people who understand how strategically important a banner bearer is above almost all other battlefield functions.

I'm not trying to say Guthláf is more important than Théoden* but I am saying that Tolkien really demonstrated, through a handful of very economical little actions and asides and unremarked-upon events, how critical people like Guthláf were, as well as how ridiculously brave and selfless. And more than anything else, I guess I’m saying that now, as I approach 27,000 words about Guthláf in my Google docs, he’s…on my mind a lot.

*At this point, I would absolutely say this for myself. In my heart, there's no contest and it's Guthláf forever. But I know that’s because he’s my special li’l guy and I don’t expect that of anyone else!

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #banner bearers #halbarad #guthlaf #guthláf #poor unnamed haradrim #banner bearers of middle earth #niche interests

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jealusty--movedaccounts · 1 year

Text

Adore You

PAIRINGS : minho × gn! reader

WORD COUNT : 2.8k and some change

GENRE : angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, slightly suggestive (very very slight)

WARNINGS : mentions of anxiety/depression (not descriptive), the world showing the reader the middle finger, established relationship, minho calls the reader bunny, lots of hugging and cuddling, minho is whipped, and a very respectful gentleman (except for when he gropes the reader but he's just a touchy feely person, okay), they're so in love, minho gets emotional and cries :(, also gets a little horny and almost pops a boner lmao.

lower case intended.

A/N : hi! here is some fluffy whipped minho for you. this fic is my first baby so please treat it well. feedbacks and reblogs are very highly appreciated! proofread like a thousand times, so we should be good as far as mistakes go. still let me know if anything needs fixing!

feel free to let me know what you liked and what you didn't, I'll try to change my future works accordingly. enjoy!

Main Masterlist

"min?"

"mm?"

"thank you"

"what for, bunny?"

"no one's ever done this to me."

"done what?"

"adored me like you do."

what a shitshow of a day.

but you've been through worse, right? you can get through this, right? right?

as it turns out,

wrong.

oh so very wrong.

the day was jinxed from the moment you got up on the metaphorical wrong side of the bed. being sleep deprived was nothing out of the ordinary for you, but even so, today it felt as if someone had replaced battery acid for your eye drops you put in the night prior.

great, now I have puffy eyes on top of my dark circles. how cute.

the geyser broke down so you had to take a freezing ice cold shower at 6 AM on a Tuesday morning in February (the weather reports later told you that it had been the coldest day in the last 3 winters in your country, by the way).

love that for me.

you somehow managed to teleport your shivering form into the kitchen. you had no motivation to make anything edible, so cereal it is. you got the milk out, not bothering to heat it up and dumped it into a bowl. lazily kicking open the lower cupboard, you snatched the cereal box, and tried shoving the cereal into the bowl to then quickly shove it down your throat and get this horrible thing called breakfast out of the way... only, nothing came out. the box was empty.

okay, wow. are you serious right now?

you were starting to get irritated.

doesn't matter. I don't like eating anything this early anyway. it's good. perfect, even. I'll just have my morning coffee and be on my way.

you were out of coffee pods. and when you begrudgingly went to make instant coffee, you realised you were out of vanilla syrup as well. already running late, grabbing coffee on your way to work was not an option either.

excuse you!? I can't function without caffiene in my system. I'm practically a zombie without it.

getting ready quickly, you slipped on your favourite pair of sneakers, not caring about your work place dress code.

it can go fuck itself for all I care. I deserve to be comfy at least if I'm not having any caffiene today.

all set, just as you locked your gate, and took the first step forward, you noticed a weight dangling off right underneath your sneakers. glancing down, you were met with the adorable sight of your sole barely hanging on to the base of your shoe.

not my favourite sneakers!

that was just the beginning of the most horribly horrible day in the history of horrible days of your horrible life. and no, you were not exaggerating. the subway was incredibly crowded and you did not get a seat, hanging off the grab bars, bumping against sweaty bodies.

why are they sweaty this early in the goddamn morning!? did they forget the concept of showers?

you were standing right in front of a dude seated on the train bench, shamelessly trying to look up your skirt. you told him off, taking off a part of your frustration on him, with a teenage girl looking up at you in awe. you got to work about a whooping 34 minutes late, which your boss rubbed in your face all day (yes, no round offs here, "you were precisely 34 minutes late. every minute counts after all!"). your best friend called in sick. the canteen was out of your favourite acai. the dry as fuck bread might as well have been sandpaper. you zoned out during the meeting and made a blabbering fool out of yourself when asked for an opinion.

so yeah, when you came back home with a pounding headache - we have the lack of caffiene to thank for that - feeling like shit, wanting to drown in your blankets, and sob yourself to sleep, it was pretty reasonable, you supposed.

so you did just that.

minho was on his way over to your apartment after you had not replied to any of his texts all day. he sent you the usual morning message you loved so much, but never got a response. it was so unlike you. he sent another "are you alright?" message a couple hours later, only to be met with radio silence. figuring you were busy, he didn't bother you any further.

so here he was in an Uber with your apartment as his destination.

deftly climbing out of the cab, he knocked on your door softly a few times. and when he didn't get a response, he pulled the copy of the key you had given him and let himself in. even though he had a copy, he always preferred to knock. partly because he wanted to respect your privacy, which was very valuable to you. he had no sense of personal space or privacy when it came to dating, but it became clear pretty early on in the relationship, that it was something you deeply cared about. and he would always respect what was dear to you. the other reason was that over the course of time, he had come to enjoy seeing you open the door for him - wrapping him in your warm embrace, the blueberry scent that you carried with you everywhere flooding his senses and calming any lingering tension in his muscles - versus getting in himself.

entering your cozy place, he was immediately alert, fire alarms going off in his head upon seeing the darkness engulfing your apartment. the living room, kitchen, the small study room to the side, everything was plunged in darkness. you always kept the lights on and had some heavenly candle burning, which he had come to find comfort in. you never kept the lights off. he couldn't think of any other time when he came over and you had them off. never. except that one time when...

holy shit!

he dashed to the bedroom, swinging the door open, panic coursing through his veins.

at first, he thought the bed was empty with just a ball of blankets tangled together. but as he softly padded across the room to get to the bed, he saw a fluffy head of hair poking out from underneath the edge of the blanket.

gingerly, he tugged it down only to come face to face with your tear stained face. a look of pure horror flicked across his face, as against his better judgement - because you had clearly been through something and were finally getting some sleep - he softly whispers,

"bunny?"

you didn't even stir, clearly exhausted. he felt bad for trying to disturb you from your slumber but he just had to know that his nightmare was not unfolding right in front of his eyes.

"hey, baby, you okay?" he gently nudged your elbow.

opening your eyes, peering up at him through tear drenched eyelashes, you go "minho?" voice groggy.

he gets into bed with you, sliding under the covers, wanting to comfort you. but he couldn't pull you into him just yet. keeping you at arms length, he mutters,

"you doing okay, bunny?" he studies your face and upon not seeing what he was fearing, relaxes a bit.

you don't say anything. instead, opting to slowly shift forward and sniffle into his chest.

"hey, hey, hey, talk to me, bunny. I'm here. I'm here. shhh." he started petting your hair, gliding his fingers through them, massaging your scalp just like he always did because it calmed you down.

"had the worst day." you barely mumble against his chest.

"it's okay. wanna talk about it?"

you slightly shake your head no, grip on him tightening.

"it's okay. everything's okay. I'm here now. we don't have to talk about it. just relax for me, yeah?"

you sigh at that, his hand in your hair lulling you back into the limbo between consciousness and sleep. your breathing evened out soon enough and you felt at peace at last, after the horrible fucking day - the day that could honestly go fucking fuck itself for fucking you over. the fucking irritati-

"woah, woah, bunny, what has you worked up again?" minho's words broke you out of the trance you didn't realise you'd slipped into.

"huh?"

"you're trembling." he wound the other arm underneath and around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, his other hand still in your hair, his chin atop your head.

"you're with me, baby. you're safe."

as your shivering started to subside, he couldn't help but think back to that horrifying thought again. although he did somehow relax a bit initially, his mind was once again plagued with the possibility.. what if-

"no!" he didn't catch himself saying that out loud, until your head snapped up to look at him with bloodshot eyes. the sight broke his heart.

"are you okay, minho?" you whisper, somehow feeling selfish for not noticing until now that he seemed to be worked up too. as comforting as his hold on you was, you were just now realising his body was tense. did he have a bad day too?

as he looked down at you, he scanned your features, carefully trying to gauge out what was actually going on. he didn't see that look on your face. looking into your eyes, he didn't see that distant, far off, aloof emptiness that he once did - all those months ago. he kept staring at you for what felt like hours, eyes never staying at one place for long, nervously raking over every one of your features. but then why were the lights off when he came in? surely history isn't repeating itself. surely you're not-

"minho?"

he jumps at that, coming out of whatever rabbit hole he had gone into. you were looking at him with wide eyes, still bleary from tears and sleep. he found his resolve crumble. he really did want to give you space, to not rush you into telling him what was wrong, but the panic bubbling in his chest was making him downright nauseous with worry. so he says,

"you... you're no- you're not" he gulps "you..." he trails off, words forming an ugly lump in his throat he didn't seem to be able to swallow.

looking into his eyes, you could see the panic, the tension, the dread, his normally handsome face pale with terror.

as if a light bulb went off in your head, you suddenly knew exactly what he was thinking.

you lunge forward, knocking him back a little, clenching your hands into fists and balling up the material of the shirt in front of his chest, burying your face in his neck.

"no, baby, no. I'm okay. it's okay"

you could still feel him tense underneath your fingertips, so you pull your head from where it was nestled in his neck, looking straight into his eyes. steeling yourself, mustering up what little resolve you had left after the day, you spoke with as much assertion as you could,

"I'm not having an episode, minho. that was months ago," you stressed on the word "that was months ago, baby. I went to therapy, I got treated, I got well. it's all in the past now. I'm all healed."

"you know there's no such things as healed. we- we did go to therapy but it can resurface anytime." his voice was barely above a whisper, wobbling around the edges.

we.

he always did that. even back then, it was always we for him. "we were suffering", "we went to therapy", "we'll get through this together", "we're doing better now", "we got over it", "we're gonna stay strong"...

when you look up at him, you see the beginning of tears starting to form in his sombre eyes. your heart clenched.

leaning forward, you softly cupped his face with both hands, voice low but still confident, if only to assure him,

"I know. but you know we can tell when it's happening, right? I can tell that I'm fine. but even moreso, you can see that I'm fine, right? you were always able to tell just by looking at me for a second."

he examines your face once again. after a beat, he's eyes droop into a relaxed stance, his body going limp beside you.

"yeah, you're fine. b-but i.. it scared me. I was scared, baby. it was a very difficult time for us."

there it is, us.

"I- I just.." his voice broke, tears now steadily falling down his pretty, pretty face, dropping onto the mattress, taking your heart with them.

you moved toward him once again, mushing him against you this time, his body plaint in your hold, seeking your warmth.

"I know, baby, I know. it was. but its over now, okay?"

he continued sobbing quietly.

"minho, look at me" he did. you forced a pained smile "I'm smiling, see?"

he let out a huff at that, what could've been a chuckle if he wasn't so out of breath from crying.

"that's obviously fake."

"but if i was indeed.. uh- unwell", you didn't know how else to put it, "I won't be able to fake it either."

which was true. if you were back to that state of mind where you felt breathless in your own skin - a place you might have still been dwelling in, if it wasn't for your boyfriend - you wouldn't even have the energy to talk, let alone try to fake a smile.

he just hummed and went back to snuggle his head in your chest.

"Mr. lee, are you using this as an excuse to cope a feel?" you attempted to lighten the mood.

this time, he actually did chuckle. the sound warmed your heart, healing all the exhaustion from your body.

"do I need an excuse to grope you, bunny?" he was back to his teasing self apparently, shamelessly dragging his hand down to your ass, cupping it and squeezing. hard.

you laughed at that, pecking his lips gently and let yourself relax, his hand still on your ass by the way.

you don't how long you lay there like that with him, listening to the quiet sounds of his breathing, once again floating in the blissful clutches of sleep, albeit, a lot more relaxed now.

and while you were still half awake, you felt something warm, and soft on the top of your head. the feeling travelled down to your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, warming you. it was only when it ghosted against your lips did you realise that it was minho peppering your face with doting kisses. in your dazed state, you could faintly make out his hands brushing your hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ear, tenderly caressing your back.

still more than half asleep, you murmur with your eyes closed, a stupid lazy smile on your face,

"min?"

he smiled at the nickname, the look in his eyes growing even fonder. you never call him that. that nickname is reserved for when you're either trying to act cute to get something from him or during your sleepy incoherent mumbling, apparently. he keens at that, heart fluttering, refusing to stay in one place.

while he's busy swooning, you call out again, pouting, with the same goddamn nickname, sounding entirely too sweet and cute for a grown ass woman. it's almost a whine and is enough to make his head spiral down the gutter. how you whine when you're under him, looking up at him with wide doe-eyes, your face contorted in pleasure, his di-

snapping out of his train of dirty thoughts about an unassuming you, he looks down and is met with your closed eyelids, looking so peaceful and fragile in his hold, and immediately wills himself to calm the fuck down. how humiliating would it be to pop a boner right now. taking a deep breath all he manages to say is,

"mm?"

"thank you."

"what for, bunny?"

"no one's ever done this to me." you mindlessly mumble, not really answering his question, clearly out of it due to your sleepy muddle.

"done what?"

"kissed me like this while I'm asleep. adored me like you do."

his heart swelled at that. wounding around you even more, he spoke into your hair,

"you've got me now. I adore you, bunny. so much."

blissful in your sleepy haze, you shift closer, drifting off into the distant slumber, knowing that you were adored. by a person you adored just as much.

Main Masterlist

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twisted-wonderland-shenanigans · 1 year

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For the twst monster au if Yuu is a woman how would the staff and students first react to periods? (Also I love your writing and I hope you have a wonderful day.)

WARNING: Menstrual cycle discussion, blood mention, female!Yuu

Awww thank you! I'm glad I can keep entertaining everyone with my writing, and I hope you’re having a wonderful day too! QvQ

In a way I actually answered this question in this post with an AFAB Yuu, though I hadn’t done much in regards for those who have extremely painful cycles compared to others…which, by the way, cycles really shouldn’t be painful to the point of not being able to function at all. It’s best to talk to a specialized doctor about this, because there are ways to make it more bearable! Please make sure you’re taking care of yourselves. ;;3;;

So this will be a situation involving a fem!MC with a particularly bad cycle not that I’m projecting my own experiences here, no sir-e Bob! Under a read more just in case!

////

No matter how much fanfiction Yuu read, no one ever said that being transported to another world would be all sunshine and rainbows. Even less so when she found out she was literally the only human known in Twisted Wonderland’s existence—a fact that put an uncomfortable amount of attention on her as she tried her best to adjust to the strange world filled with magic and humanoid monsters alike. Thankfully—despite the rough start where Yuu got dragged into a mess caused by two of the monster students and their new chimera companion—she was grateful to have found a new friendship with Ace and Deuce (even after the latter finally started to relax after realizing she was a girl). It made things feel less…stressful, knowing she had friends she could talk to even as Jack and several other first year students joined their rag-tag group. She began to relax more…

And perhaps that’s why she found herself awake at 3:00 am, the growing discomfort in her lower back growing more and more intense. ‘Crap,’ she thought, carefully sliding out of bed to avoid disturbing Grim and making her way to the bathroom.

Grim grumbled sleepily as he woke up, wondering why he felt so cold before realizing that Yuu wasn’t next to him. “Mmrgh…Yuu, hurry up,” he mumbled, head drooping as he crawled his way deeper into the sheets where there was still some warmth. “’m cold…”

Thump!

“Fygah!?” he yelped, scrambling around before managing to poke his head out from beneath the covers. “What was that?”

In the bathroom across the hall, he could faintly hear sharp, quiet gasps of pain and whimpers.

“Yuu?” he called out, moving to climb out of bed…and pausing when he caught something in the glow of his ear flames: a small, dark stain that looked almost black against the white sheets. Worried by the strangely familiar smell, he climbed out of bed and made his way over to investigate the noise. He didn’t recognize the sounds, yet he recognized Yuu’s voice immediately. As he got closer, however, a new smell hit his nose that set his fur on edge. It was heavy, the sharp tang of copper making his nose twitch as dread filled him:

Blood.

“Yuu!!” he cried out loudly, bursting into the bathroom and rushing over to the collapsed human. “Yuu! What’s wrong?! What’s going on!?”

Her face was contorted in pain as she writhed on the ground, Yuu hissing and gasping as she clutched her gut. Tears streaming down her face, she could barely focus on Grim’s face as she said, “It…it hurts…it hurts!”

“D-Don’t worry, Yuu! I-I’ll go get help!” he told her, paws scrabbling at the wooden floorboards as he bolted for the phone Crowley had given them the other day. “Don’t you die on me!!”

Brr-brr-brr!!

Ace groaned as he buried his head under the pillow, trying to block out the noise and the bright light of his phone as it rang incessantly nearby. It wasn’t until it began ringing again that he reluctantly reached out and—dragging it under the pillow with him—held it up to his ear and mumbled a tired, “What do you want…?”

“ACE!!!! YUU’S DYING!!!!!!”

“Gyah!!”

THWUMP!!

“Ow!” Ace groaned, the sheer volume of Grim’s voice on the other end startling him enough to fall out of bed. His roommates—including Deuce—were awakened and complaining as he straightened up and said, “Grim? What the hell, dude, it’s almost four in the morning!”

“Ace! You and Deuce gotta get over here right now! Yuu’s in the bathroom in a lot of pain, and I smell blood! Lots of blood!!” Grim said, sounding panicked. “Hurry!!!”

“Wait, hold on! What do you mean Yuu’s hurt?” he asked, scrambling to his feet. “And what do you mean you smell blood?!”

“Ace? What’s going on with Yuu??” Deuce asked, getting to his hooves as quick as possible. “Is she okay!?”

“Hurry!!” Grim yowled before the line dropped.

“We gotta move!!” Ace said, immediately grabbing his clothes and throwing them on before bolting out of the room. “Hurry up, Deuce!”

“Hang on, Yuu! We’re coming!”

By the time they managed to get there, Yuu was now sitting on the floor with her back to the wall for support. Her face showed her exhaustion, Grim and the ghosts looking anxious and worried as she focused on breathing. “Yuu! What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?!” Deuce asked, a large first aid kit strapped to his back like saddle bags.

“Grim said you were bleeding,” Ace added, kneeling to get a closer look at her. The stench of blood was so thick that it set his fight or flight instincts into overdrive, yet he couldn’t see any obvious signs of injury. “Are you okay? Do we need to call a hospital?”

Yuu stared at them with tired eyes, the surprise on her face tinged with what looked like guilt as she shook her head. “No…no, I don’t need to go to the hospital,” she told them. “It’s not that serious. Do…you by chance, have any aspirin or something like that in those bags?”

“Apirin…? Uh…y-yeah, but…but what about the blood we’re smelling?” Deuce asked, one of his forehooves tapping the wooden floorboards anxiously before he stopped it. “No one bleeds that much unless they’re injured!”

At that her face flushed a deep red as her arms clutched at her middle again. “Well…not exactly,” she uttered quietly. “It’s…my monthly…”

“Monthly?” Ace repeated with a frown. “Monthly what?”

“…cycle…my monthly cycle…”

In that moment it finally clicked, Ace’s long rabbit ears immediately pulling back as he said, “Oh…oh! Jeez, is that all it was?”

“Eh?” Deuce uttered. “What’s going on?”

“Seriously, Deuce? I would’ve thought you’d have paid attention in biology class or something…anyway, are you sure you’re okay, Yuu?” Though his tone had been teasing at first, Ace’s concern was clear as day as he looked her in the eye. “Female monster cycles don’t normally smell this blood heavy.”

“I’m fine. This happens every month,” Yuu explained, reaching up to the sink and pulling herself—rather shakily—to her feet. “I’m lucky on the days when it doesn’t start and wake me up at three in the morning, let alone allows me to function properly on the first day or two.” With a tired sigh, she uttered, “I really didn’t think I’d be having this conversation with you guys though…”

“Yeah, well, Grim thought you were dying and called us,” Ace said. In a serious tone, however, he said, “You’ve got that medical exam with the researchers tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah…?”

“I think you need to talk to them about this.”

“Ace, it’s fine-”

“Once in a while is one thing, but if this keeps happening every month to the point you’re barely able to do anything, isn’t it better to try and find a way to mitigate it rather than suffer through it?”

“He’s right, you know,” one of the ghosts said, sounding concerned. “When we were still alive, we had to take care of ourselves whenever we were hurt or sick. This cycle of yours doesn’t sound normal.”

“At least talk to them about it,” another ghost said gently. “You nearly scared the life back into us earlier!”

“Yeah. You’re our pal, and we’d hate to see you suffering,” the last ghost said.

“Fynaa…I still don’t know what’s going on, but you scared me, Yuu!” Grim scolded, though it was hard to not see the tears in his eyes as he stared up at her. “I thought you were dying…”

“Yuu…we really just want what’s best for you,” Deuce said. “Not just because you’re the only human, but because we care about you as our friend. So please…don’t just ignore it if you’re hurting. Okay…?”

For a long time, Yuu was silent, staring at everyone one by one…before slowly nodding. “…okay,” she said, tears forming in her eyes even as she smiled. “I’ll talk to them about it.”

“Good. Now…mind if we spend the night here? I’m too tired to run back to the dorm,” Ace grumbled with a sigh. “I think that’s enough chaos for one day.”

SLAM!!!

“Where is she?!” Crowley’s voice shrieked from the main entrance. “Is Yuu alright?!”

“…Grim…did you call the headmaster too?” Deuce muttered.

“…I panicked, okay!? I didn’t know who to call!”

////

And so, while we end on a comical note of Crowley freaking out over the research institutions, I’ve said it time and time again that these researchers will absolutely make sure that any concerns Yuu has will be addressed. After all, if they can find some way to enhance their quality of life, then that makes things all the better in the end!

It helps that, in this case, they literally get free health care as the only living human in Twisted Wonderland. Lucky! >:V

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland monster au #twst monster au #fem!Yuu #tw // blood #tw // period

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soleilnomoon · 1 year

Note

i would love to place an order for Meringue Cookies, Dark Chocolate, Jelly Beans, Candy Necklace, & Blan Manje, with Caramel & Honey. Side menu # 1 for Boa or Nami. either is fine! with a g/n reader! These stories are a blast to read!

anon i am so so sry this took forever 😭💕💕💕 but i finally finished and i'm actually happy with it; also ty for requesting, i love boa hancock sfm i wish more ppl wrote for her.

4.3k words, gn reader (no pronouns), nsfw, 18+ mdni; angst angst angst bc that's how i vibe & smut, and if you squint real hard there's some fluff somehow i think. hancock is a brat as usual and reader ain't shit, but they go great together <3 feat. cute things like oral (f receiving), fingering, a lil bondage, hair pulling, some pussy slapping, more stuff that idr anymore ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა (if u see grammar/spelling errors no u didn't ;_;)

tagging lil’ kaia bc she asked so nicely ❤︎ @cvvor

“our love would be death” — anaïs nin

sea salt sifts through the wind, warm and fine enough that most don’t notice its intrusion. it lands on your nose and lips, coats your tongue when you exhale through your mouth; no matter how many times you try to wash away the taste, it still lingers. a persistent annoyance that refuses to leave you alone. it’s a bitter, yet familiar taste — one that fills your heart with memories you’ve long wanted to keep buried. you’re no stranger to heartache, but this is different.

you find that you can never sleep through the entire night without dreaming of your ex — of how you begged them to stay, of how you told them you couldn’t live without them. pathetic, you tell yourself one morning after another restless night — you know you need to find a way to move on, but there’s no way you can, not when you carved so many pieces of yourself to give away without much thought.

what you’re left with is a battered heart that can barely function on its own; it flops pitifully in your chest, rattling against your rib cage weakly. every day it gets harder to breathe, harder to face the truth that you’re all alone — again.

boa hancock doesn’t know why she even fucking bothers, but she can’t seem to stay away from you. it’s a privilege, in her opinion, for you to be graced with her presence, let alone be allowed to touch her intimately. so, when she finds you staring wistfully out of the window, sighing to yourself again she snaps.

“y/n, look at me,” she commands loudly, voice piercing through your body like a thick arrow that keeps you frozen in place. you know better than to disobey her, even though you want to; you know you’re being unreasonable, but the heart always wants what it can’t have, right?

not that she cares about any of that. in her mind, your ex is an ex for a reason. she grabs your face with her hand, squeezing tightly, delicate brows furrowed together as irritation drips down her spine. she could easily kill you and you know it. “i’m the most beautiful woman in the world,” she boasts, although there’s something melancholic about the way she says it.

you narrow your eyes at her, mouth moving before you can think better of it. “and what of it?” it’s not often that you challenge her like that, but today you’ve had enough of her games, of constantly catering to her whims and desires, of her veneer that she insists on keeping even when she’s alone with you.

it dawns on her then what the actual problem is. “you’re still in love with them.” anger seeps through her pores, and she knows if she doesn’t walk away soon, she might say or do something she’ll possibly regret.

you flinch, eyes widening — she’s not entirely wrong, but she’s not right either. you’re just stuck in limbo, unable to move on because you refuse to do so; after seeing them so happy with someone else, you can’t fathom finding any sort of happiness yourself. so, you cling onto the past, even when it threatens to destroy your present life.

for some reason, this pisses you off — that hancock is so much more perceptive than people give her credit for; that she’s not afraid to tell you the truth, despite how your friends sugarcoat everything for you. the rage that’s bubbled deep inside of you for months finally pushes out; you can barely think or see properly, and you forget yourself when you practically shout back at her.

“and you’re just jealous because for once, you’re not the focus of my attention.” you’re not sure why you say it, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel like shit.

there’s rarely a moment where hancock finds herself in absolute shock, but your venomous words cut into her bruised ego with vigor. it's a harsh reality that she refuses to accept, so she lashes out at you again.

“you’re pathetic.” her tone is cold, and she steels her face enough that she almost looks bored with you. hancock releases her hold on you and swivels on her heels to walk away. you don’t bother calling after her, but she pauses in her gait to look over her shoulder at you. “i’m done playing with you, get out of my sight.”

the dismissal is the first slap of many and her insistence on blatantly keeping her back turned while she ignores you is another. something in you breaks, but you know you’ve angered the pirate empress enough for one day. you don’t hesitate before scrambling to your feet and leaving her alone. after you close the door, you hear a shriek that’s accompanied by what sounds like a large vase shattering. you don’t bother checking on her, because you know you’re not wanted in her presence right now.

you should’ve seen this coming. one doesn’t simply think about another lover while in the presence of boa hancock; it’s absurd and theatrical, but it’s an unspoken rule that you keep breaking over and over. in the back of your mind, you know you should go make things right with her, but you just don’t know how.

hancock’s frustration continues to build throughout the day. she doesn’t know why someone — you, a commoner who should be groveling at her feet daily — can be so insolent without remorse. she’s smashed several expensive sculptures, shredded her mattress and bed sheets with large scissors, and cursed out every staff member in kuja palace. her anger only intensifies when she hears someone whisper your name, so she locks herself in her bedroom, refusing meals or assistance from anyone.

you’ve always thought that the pirate empress was annoying, self-centered, and unnecessarily mean without reason. you’ve told her this on several occasions, stunning her into silence — a feat that most cannot achieve. hancock would normally sentence someone to death for those sorts of callous remarks, but for some reason she spares you. maybe it’s because despite her incomparable, unrivaled beauty, you don’t helplessly pine after her.

and she absolutely hates that about you.

hancock’s not someone who’s used to being treated like a regular person, and yet that’s what you do to her. you barely hold any reverence for her, give her the minimal amount of respect owed as a citizen of amazon lily, and you don’t flinch when she threatens you publicly. most are afraid to be associated with you, out of fear for incurring the snake princess’ wrath — not that you care, you’ve known that your personality can’t be tolerated by most because you tend to happily go against the grain.

you’ve always found her beauty to be intense and intoxicating — imposing like the sun, forcing a heat to surge through you that has yet to dissipate. you hate that your attraction to her impedes your daily life, especially when you’re plagued by dueling thoughts of her and your ex. you’re barred from entering the palace, and you’re thankful for it as you don’t know how you’d be able to face hancock after all that you’ve said. you know that you should apologize profusely, but a woman like hancock requires something extravagant and elaborate — something that’ll prove that your adoration and loyalty is genuine and not forced.

the first few days are relatively easy; you work tirelessly to keep your mind and body busy, and you’re so exhausted by the end of the day that you sleep without dreaming. when a week passes, you start to notice that certain things are off; you didn’t make it a habit of frequenting the palace that often, but you were there enough that the staff didn’t give you a hard time when you showed up unannounced. you tell yourself that distance is good — it means you’ll be able to finally focus on the things that are important to you.

but, when you sit and think about it, you’re not quite sure if that’s entirely true.

after the second week, you start getting antsy. your friends keep pestering you, asking why your mood keeps shifting day to day — you’re intolerable and grouchy, snap at minor things and make mistakes all day. your heart, as tired and as worn out as it is, still skips a beat when you think about hancock despite what you try to tell yourself when you’re alone. somehow, you’ve convinced yourself that the only reason why you’re thinking about her, is because you miss fucking her.

the lie is tough to digest, but you keep repeating it and sooner or later you’ll believe it, right?

soon, everything reminds you of her.

on a warm night, a small festival is held, and you wander around listless and slightly tipsy. memories of the first time you met boa hancock — outside of all the fanfare that her royal title awards her — plague you relentlessly. you remember the warmth from that night, similar to this one; you remember how highly oppressive and unbearable the humidity was; and you also remember that you were on your third drink when you unceremoniously bumped into the pirate empress.

at first, her sisters demanded you apologize, but you were annoyed and had just been dumped so you chose audacity instead.

hancock’s irritation was evident, despite her not saying much — and it wasn’t until your rambling struck a nerve that she fired back. it was the first time he’d let her walls down, and her sisters watched in shock as both of you went back and forth over nothing. hancock called you all sorts of terrible names, and you sneered and laughed in her face. the fact that you weren’t cowering in fear or salivating over her beauty set her skin on fire in a way she didn’t understand.

you remember her dismissing the other gorgon sisters, insisting that she’d be able to handle you on her own. and she did, in a way. if anyone were to ask her about that time, hancock would easily admit that she regrets meeting you that night — but it would be a lie. the only thing she regrets is allowing you to infiltrate her heart, to settle without permission, to make her feel less than when she knew she was anything but.

her brattiness is unappealing on the surface and you normally wouldn’t be attracted to a woman who boldly wears such an ugly personality with pride. somehow, hancock has made the trait endearing to you, in a strange way; she’s so unapologetic with her behavior, that you find it rather comical. why people take her seriously is beyond you.

but, despite all of that, you do miss her.

you miss seeing the way her nose would scrunch and wrinkle when she was disgusted with something insignificant and minute; you miss kissing her in the middle of arguments and watching her easily melt underneath your touch; but you mostly miss hearing her complain about your lack of etiquette, about how odd she finds your views on the world, and about how you see her more clearly than anyone else on the island.

that sort of vulnerability terrifies her, and it’s why she’s been so miserable without you.

her sisters pay you a visit one morning and implore you to talk some sense into hancock. they tell you about how her temper tantrums have gotten uncontrollable (even for them) and how she barely eats or bothers leaving the palace these days. that bit surprises you, as hancock thrives off the validation from the populace. at first you mean to refuse them, but when you take note of how marigold anxiously fidgets with the gold bracelet around her wrist and the way sandersonia has dark circles under her eyes, you give in.

after taking a long, long soak in the bath, hancock pads back to her room naked, deciding to keep the windows open so she can air dry properly. you find her shortly after, out of breath from running over to the palace; she didn’t lock her door — and why should she? she’s the empress, after all — so you enter her room with ease. because she’s been so out of it lately, she’s been sluggish in her reactions to certain things; especially since she hasn’t stopped thinking about you.

with the door shut and locked behind you, hancock’s mind clears a bit; she blinks slowly, her dark eyes honed on you, taking in your thick thighs and toned body. as usual, hancock’s face only features an impassive expression, and she keeps her tone flat when she addresses you.

“why the hell are you in my bedroom?” she grabs the silk robe that’s draped over her mattress and puts it on in a rush.

before you can answer her or move closer, she picks up a large pillow and chucks it at you in the hopes that you’ll get the hint and leave her alone. you sidestep the attack, lips pressed together as you hold back a laugh; she can’t honestly think that a pillow will stop you, can she? hancock keeps throwing things, anything within her reach that isn’t nailed down to the floor or wall. you try to reason with her, try to make your way closer, but stop when you see the way her lips quiver.

she keeps fumbling with tying her robe properly, keeps looking down at her trembling fingers — the same ones that have tugged on your hair more times than you can count — but still she won’t say anything else to you.

after a minute, hancock manages to compose herself once again, her lips pressed tightly together as she fights the urge to berate herself for looking weak in front of you — as if you care about any of that. your silence compels her to swiftly make her way towards you, long legs shimmering in the sunlight, captivating you so much that you forget you’re supposed to be angry with her.

“look at you,” she stands tall, her pride giving her the confidence she needs to verbally tear you apart. “you’ve come begging for my forgiveness, right?” she doesn’t wait for you to respond and simply flips her hair over her shoulder before continuing. it’s all she can do to keep her composure around you; she knows if she gives you even a fraction of an inch, you’ll take a whole damn mile. “i should have you gutted for entering the palace without permission. you should know your damn place.” while her words are harsh, her delivery doesn’t quite match the expression on her face. maybe it’s because you haven’t taken your eyes off of her since you entered her room; or, maybe it’s because she’s standing much closer than necessary but can’t physically move herself away.

did you cast a spell on her without her knowledge?

while her eyes do narrow at that possibility, she highly doubts that you could, as there’s no one on amazon lily that doesn’t succumb to her treacherous beauty. but you continue to defy her expectations and you never know when to quit. which is why she just wants to grab you by the neck and toss you out the window; maybe if she actually kills you this time, she’ll be done with you forever.

except, she could never bring herself to harm you — not really. so she continues with her rant, reminding you that you’re beneath her, that you should be happy someone like her gave you any attention at all, but the more she talks, the more you want her to just shut the hell up.

“you’re right,” you say, cutting her off without remorse or any regards for your own safety, “and i deserve all of that,” and possibly more, but you don’t add that bit in. it becomes a little difficult to focus, what with hancock watching you with a different kind of intensity than you’re used to. “i… should’ve just explained myself properly before. but, more importantly,” you decide to take a risk and gently grab her by the hips.

silence wraps around her, blending into her thoughts, warping her perception of everything that’s happening. your hand is warm — much too warm, hot almost; she can feel the heat through the flimsy fabric as she presses her body closer to yours. whatever it is you want to tell her doesn’t matter — maybe she’ll pester you about it all later, but right now all she wants is you.

so, you give in and allow yourself to be more selfish than usual.

when your lips brush against hers, she completely comes alive — the longing you both felt for weeks, the irritation and unsaid words, they all prompt her to wrap her arms around your neck. it’s something short of a loving embrace, but you know better. your kiss goes from slow and tender to something much more fevered and enthusiastic; her lips are soft and supple, wholly inviting and terribly mesmerizing. you back her against the wall as she threads her fingers through your hair, tugging on it roughly, her patience practically nonexistent from all her wanting. you laugh at her in between kisses, breath warm against her skin — a feat that simultaneously annoys and arouses her — and remind her to play nice.

when she tugs on your hair again, you bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but run your tongue along the miniature wound to soothe the sting. she inhales sharply, the pain not noticeable, but the way you suck on her lip makes her head spin while also leaving her breathless.

a woman like hancock doesn’t beg, but when you grab her ass roughly — aggressive, yet completely undoing — she lets out a whimper so pathetic she’s almost ashamed of herself.

she should slap you, but all she does is roll her hips forward once you spread her legs and run your fingers against her folds. in a fit of desperation, to excuse her reactions, she tells herself that it’s because she hasn’t been touched in so long — but deep down she knows the truth; she knows it’s because there’s no one else she’d rather have here with her, and that is a terrifying revelation. still, she’s very receptive to your touch, her back arching as soon as you spread her with your fingers.

her arousal drips down slowly, and while you’d love to take your time with her, you also know that if you don’t hurry up you might actually lose your mind. you trail kisses down the length of her neck, and hancock presses her lips together to keep from making any more embarrassing noises. it’s ridiculous the way her body can easily be commanded by you without much effort; she wants to hate you for leading her down this path, but she can’t ever bring herself to do so.

love makes people incredibly foolish and tender indeed.

“that won’t do,” you remark lightly, gliding your fingers back and forth, barely grazing her clit. her breathing stops momentarily when you open her robe completely and drop to your knees in front of her. “why are you holding back?” you don’t ask her because you actually want the answer; you ask because you know it’ll annoy her greatly.

you tease her entrance with your fingers and a shiver fires through her entire body; with her lips parted, you strain your ears a bit, but you hear through her all of her light panting, her softly saying please, please, please. she’s trying so hard to hold it together, and you commend her for her efforts by inching your fingers inside of her slowly. hancock’s façade finally shatters, and you hear her moan audibly as you plunge your fingers in and out of her pussy. you love the way she clenches around your fingers — warm and tight, soft in a way that just doesn’t make sense to you — and the way she moves her hips once your tongue playfully swirls around her clit.

you drape her long, shapely leg over your shoulder and scissor your fingers inside of her pussy; you hum against her skin, thoroughly enjoying the way her chest heaves and how she can’t seem to stop moaning your name.

if only she was always this compliant.

a heat passes through your body as her nails rake against your scalp, and if you weren’t so hellbent keeping her steady, she’d probably fall over by now. you eat her pussy with vigor, swapping your fingers for your tongue; you thrust it inside without remorse, and she quickly becomes a whimpering mess as she chants “yes, yes, yes.” you mean to tell her to keep it down, but a part of you also enjoys it when she lets go and gives into her desires. you don’t want to get caught, but the thrill of it incites you to lap at her pussy — greedy and eager, as if it’s the most savory meal you’ve ever had. her wetness drips down your chin, glistening along your lips but you don’t stop.

she watches you in a trance, unsure if she’ll ever be able to let you go after this. possessive by nature, hancock never thought she’d find herself in this sort of position, but there she is, completely under your spell. every swipe of your tongue brings her closer and closer to the edge — a dangerous dance that she does without thinking. she brings her free hand to cup and knead one of her breasts — hefty and round, moaning repeatedly, voice already straining as she shamelessly rides your face.

you love it, though and when you suck on her clit roughly, lightning wraps around her veins, time slowing down around her, causing her vision to blur. she’s so wound up, that the orgasm takes her completely by surprise — her hips buck wildly and you hold her firmly as you work your fingers back into her pussy. you pull away just to give her a haughty look — one that she catches by accident through her tear-stained lashes — voice low and husky as you continue teasing her. “you’re doing so good,” you lick her clit hard enough to have her eyes roll back, “do you trust me?”

it's not fair of you to ask her genuine questions right now, but you need to know.

hancock swallows hard, unable to think properly, but answers without hesitation: “y-yes.”

her voice is sweet, much more demure than you’re used to; your heart suddenly feels much too big for your chest, the beats growing louder and thunderous; a dangerous combination when coupled with your cowardice. but you know better than to cower away, so you muster the courage to quietly respond with, “good, i’m glad.”

you’re not sure why you ask her that, but you keep thinking about it when you have her naked on her bed with her hands bound above her. thanks to you, her normally blemish-free skin is littered with bite marks and dark red bruises — small and harmless, but you do feel a sliver of remorse when you realize she’ll have to cover herself up for a bit when she’s outside of the palace. you tell her she’s a masterpiece worthy of exhibition, and she tells you that you’re insolent for stating the obvious.

she’s so beautiful and vulnerable in this position — flushed cheeks, tears in her eyes, legs shaking as they’re spread wide for you; her pussy is swollen after you slapped it a few times when she gave you lip a few minutes ago. out of habit, hancock wants to run her mouth again when you hover over her, but her words never come out. she looks up at you, silently wondering why you keep coming back to her. the melancholy that accompanies those thoughts is heavy enough to make her want to cry, so she ignores it. she wraps her legs around you as you rock your hips against hers, cunt still dripping — eager and inviting.

fucking hancock is like being trapped in a feverish dream, one where you fall over and over, unable to predict if you’ll survive in the end. it’s an unending maelstrom — powerful and unpredictable, wild, and all-consuming. sweat pools at your temples, but you don’t slow down until you wrench another orgasm out of her. her voice grows hoarse, and she claws at your chest; you lick the tears off her cheeks and kiss her in a way that deludes her into thinking that she’s your one and only.

when you finally cum, it’s with her name on your lips. your hips stutter and your breath is uneven — for you, your pleasure comes mostly from watching her unravel underneath you. hancock never lets you stay over, but she’s surprisingly soft with you afterwards, even letting you run your fingers through her silky, ink-black hair.

the intimacy scares both of you, but you can’t stop yourself from touching her like that. and even though you’re both sticky and sweaty, skin burning in a way that doesn’t make sense, you still stay close to one another.

she opens her mouth several times, the compulsion to curse you out for driving her mad grows weaker as time passes. she watches you fall asleep and she admires your features without restraint. she refuses to tell you that you’re much more attractive than she’d like you to be; she’d rather you be hideous with a shitty personality, but that’s not the case, is it? she’s hopelessly enamored with you, and you with her.

nothing will ever be perfect between the two of you, but you don’t need perfection or superficiality — not with her; you like dealing with the true, raw version of herself. there will be a moment — not now, but in the near future — where you’ll be brave enough to finish your confession; but for now, you keep it to yourself, tucked safely away in your heart, and enjoy the way your limbs are tangled with hers.

#*cries softly*#i am finished!!! finally #fic request #500+ followers event #milestone event #🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨🍭#one piece smut #one piece angst #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #boa hancock #boa hancock x reader #boa hancock x y/n #boa hancock smut #hancock x reader #hancock x y/n #one piece imagine

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theodysseyofhomer · 2 months

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this is not to single anyone out, but i have a lot of new followers, and i would just love for you all to know... the search function on my blog is operational. if you search for epic the musical, you will find that i have dabbled in it. it is slightly annoying to be asked over and over whether i've heard of it, even by lovely, enthusiastic, friendly people.

i have another reason for not answering those questions, which is that when someone is being enthusiastic and friendly to me, i don't want to be mean to them. but if i'm going to speak from my heart as an odyssey lover, i don't think epic the musical is that good. it doesn't especially interest me as a standalone piece, but i also don't find it provides much insight on, or compelling points of comparison with, homer's odyssey. i'm glad you're all having a good time! please stop asking me about it.

bullet point review below the cut, for those who are more curious about my opinions.

things i like about epic:

astyanax's murder doesn't get brought up a lot in stories that are sympathetic to odysseus. it's optional when adapting the odyssey or the iliad, but i am definitely of the opinion that odysseus did it, and even if he didn't, he convinced the other greek leaders that it needed to be done.

the athena/odysseus duets.

i found the reframing of polyphemus' blinding compelling, where he's doing the same thing he does in the odyssey for a different reason. i also liked that the audience doesn't learn his name until he reveals it to polyphemus. that's a neat touch.

earwormy as hell.

the fanart! i saw odysseus fanart maybe 3 times a year before the troy saga dropped. i'll take that trade (for my sanity when i try to navigate the tags).

jorge seems to be invested in odysseus/penelope, which is like the bare minimum to hold my attention, but still.

anyhow jorge seems charming; all his videos and interactions with fans seem nothing but excited about what everyone can contribute. commissioning wolfy to animate a trailer? widely regarded as a great move.

things i don't like about epic:

as gutsy as i think it is to start with astyanax's murder, the main thing to me is not whether his hands physically threw the baby, but whether he is in some way responsible for it. more than that, astyanax's death isn't divinely mandated: it's a ruthlessly pragmatic preemptive strike against vengeance that the greek leaders are afraid of. it's 100% human. so framing it around zeus, known troy stan, forcing odysseus to do it and he feels so so bad about it ????????

baffling to me to start with a moral conflict about infanticide, and after committing it, odysseus is still like... maybe kindness is brave? maybe i'm not a ruthless person? please be serious. you murdered that baby.

(been talking to @littlesparklight about this but you could have started out with some version of sophocles' ajax, a death caused by the gods that odysseus actually is complicit in when he didn't necessarily want it to happen. i digress.)

don't like the way the fandom talks about astyanax, specifically, as if odysseus raising a kidnapped trojan boy whose people were destroyed and whose mother was sold into slavery in another land is ever going to be a fluffy au and meanwhile odysseus did very much murder that baby, so!

the songs are not... good. like i said, they're earwormy, but that's also because they're repetitive and predictable. the lyrics are distractingly bad at times, not only from a character perspective, but in the sense of using words wrongly or awkwardly to try to fit them into a rhyme scheme.

i like the reframing of the polyphemus episode. not so much the aeolus one. at that point, you have odysseus doing the opposite of what he did in the odyssey for opposite reasons, which makes him a character bearing no resemblance to odysseus at all.

and this happens while other characters (mostly gods) try to drag him kicking and screaming into his actual homeric characterization.

like, odysseus is haunted by the war in the odyssey, but not because he regrets what he's done as a moral injury. he chose violence on purpose. the gods did not force him to be this person. it's a narrative throughline that serves only as a bid to make odysseus more sympathetic.

... and in doing so, strips away his agency — in sacking a city, in lying and obscuring the truth with his crew (his lies are more than a quirk that endears him to athena, they have consequences!) — some might say his personality. i do have sympathy for odysseus, even at his worst moments morally, because i find his character as a whole compelling. you don't need to try to absolve him of these things! they tell you about what kind of person he is! they are evocative (and provocative) already! take them away and he is boring, because he is not choosing to do anything.

the new wave of odysseus fans seem unable to handle homeric odysseus' complicated aspects and character traits, and to a degree i blame this on the musical characterization. it's allowed to be its own thing, certainly, but now i regularly get people arguing about whether he's a good person when all they know is something epic made up and that was never the fucking point, anyway.

are we really going to pretend he didn't have sex with circe and calypso at all

#anna.txt #a tag for bitching

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allykatsart · 1 month

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It's other anon and yes yes yes, please more about Peccantum and his life! I know authors often don't think their OCs are interesting for audience, but I'm pretty sure there's plenty of people here, who'd like to know more abt him;

Also I'm bad at coming with specific questions, since I'm interested in literally any info lol, may be more about his day-to-day life in the Hotel, if that's not too broad? Like, what he does while working, like, his duties etc, do he sometimes leave Hotel to go to the city for smth, where he spends most of his free time when alone (except for working on paranoid theories abt Alastor) and when with others (except science fun with Pentious), how his room looks, may be what group activities (like those trust exercises was in ep 3) likes/dislikes? (i think this is already too much lol, srry in advance, ofc any amount of ifo would be cool ^^" )

(also, want to add that I really like his design - he's cute, but also obviously a serious and kinda tragic character even if only judge by appearance)

Who is Peccantum?

💜❤️❤️💜❤️❤️❤️💜❤️💜❤️❤️❤️ thank youuuuuuuuu!!!!! I love my boi dearly and I'm happy to answer questions about him!

Tbh I am a little hesitant to post stuff on him. It feels incredibly self indulgent and I always worry I'll not be respectful to the canon characters. I've been really surprised at the reaction to him though! Usually you only get like 10 likes max when posting OC stuff. Thanks for all the love tho! 💜

There's a lot here so I'ma take it point by point below!

Peccantum's Duties

Peccantum is the bellhop, but it's more of a title than anything. Mostly he helps out with whatever is asked of him. He helps out Nifty with cleaning when she can't reach spots. He makes sure Fat Nuggets gets fed when Angel is in the studio for hours on end. He cleans up the bar for Husk when the former overlord is uh.... Not functioning and unable to.

Peccantum has also taken it upon himself to do most of the grocery shopping. The hotel crew takes turns cooking, but Peccantum really enjoys when it is his turn. Cooking is one of the few skills outside of magic that he's proud of!

Other than that, he's basically another set of hands to help wherever needed!

Peccantum's Room

For his hard work, and because his shitty, piss stained apartment is on the other side of the Pentagram, Peccantum has a room in the hotel! Technically this makes him a guest, but he always claims that he just works for Alastor, and Alastor wants him on call.

His room in the hotel is nice. Better than the crap studio apartment that he was barely able to afford. Yes, there's bugs, but after a few months Peccantum has his room looking nice. He even starts collecting bits of furniture that others have discarded, and personalizes it with enchantments. Slowly, the space starts to feel like it's 'his'.

The ceiling looks like outer space, a foggy mist of an incantation dotted with white stars and galaxies. Constalations shift and weave themselves in and out of existence. Golden suns burn bright until they turn red and swallow planets whole. When he has trouble sleeping, Peccantum will spend hours getting lost in that night sky...

One wall is covered in a red, plush curtain. Specifically, it's his 'Stalker wall' and Peccantum tries to hide it, just in case a certain Radio Demon comes into his room. When he's very stressed, Peccantum will fling the curtains wide open and start obsessively reorganizing his 'evidence'.

The City

Peccantum goes to the city for three things. To get groceries, to run an errand, or go visit his old neighborhood. Not any old friends, the closest thing he had to a friend was the cafe owner he stole a recipe from, but the area does remind him of when he first allowed himself to be free. It's where he had the first taste of independence. It's nice to revisit when things are getting a bit too much.

Grocery shopping is always an interesting experience. Sure, on a month to month basis, Peccantum can be sure to go to the market at least once, but Alastor will sneak some uh... Suggestions onto the list that Peccantum has to go out of his way for. There have definitely been a visit or two to Rosie's to pick up an order for the Radio Demon.

The Activities

Peccantum doesn't like to participate in the hotel's trust exercises. He's technically only working there for Alastor, so there's no need for him to participate, right? Not wanting to hurt Charlie's feelings, he ducks out before they begin most of the time. (If Charlie catches him and asks him to stay, though, he has no choice in the matter. Polite requests from her are a weakness of his.)

That's not to say he doesn't bond with the other residents though, he just does it in his own way. With Pentious he's quick to befriend with curiosity and genuine interest. With Husk, he slowly forms a co-worker type of relationship. Angel gets a bit more suspicion, but after episode 4 Peccantum would be willing to be a bit more open with the spider. Nifty gets herself into a lot of trouble, and Peccantum and the others keep having to get her out of it.

It's slow going, but the hotel crew slowly learns to trust Peccantum.

Free Time

Peccantum really isn't used to having free time. He worked his ass off to survive for those seven years, doing what he had to do. But now that his safety is secure and he's got time on his hands... He's kind of lost. Alastor hasn't told him what to do in that time so... He's unsure.

Peccantum finds things though. He practices magic, he makes things with Pentious, he reads. After a month or two, he ends up taking an interest in an old radio he finds, and listens to the Radio Demon's broadcasts. For evidence, of course! (Partially because he actually enjoys the music lol)

And sometimes... He uses that free time to further his own goals.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #headcanon #headcanon list #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel original character #oc #Peccantum #ask #answer #anon #sorry this took so long #i spent multiple days writing this and thinking about it

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sallysavestheday · 19 days

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20 questions for fic writers

Thanks very much to @nocompromise-noregrets for the tag! This is always an interesting exercise and I haven't done it in a while.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 182, but a goodly subset of those are collections of very short works (drabbles, my beloveds!).

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 137,372. I average around 700 words per ficlet (counting those that are collections of drabbles). I have only two works over 2,000 words -- one at barely 2,100 and one at 5,600 by dint of TRSB last summer.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Tolkien only. Mostly Silmarillion but occasionally Lord of the Rings, as well.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? I'm splitting this by fandom because the older LoTR stuff has more kudos simply as a function of time.

For LoTR: Deep in the Ancient Forests of the World; Light a Little Fire in Me; I Do Not Grudge You the Game; Rash Words and Bitter Hopes; Sing, O Stone and Air. These are all Legolas/Gimli ficlets.

For Silm: When All Other Lights Go Out (the aforementioned TRSB Feanorian family drama); What We Make, Makes Us (Caranthir and Feanor); What Keeps Us Here (Celeborn and Thranduil); Still Plenty of Good in the World (Sam Gamgee fixes Feanor and Nerdanel); and It Is the Opinion of this Reviewer (Finrod critiques the research of his peers).

No method to the madness here, it seems. Some shippy, most not. Some angsty, some humorous, mostly canon compliant. Range of Silm characters. Interesting to see the variety, actually.

5. Do you respond to comments? Always. Usually within a few days. Comments are a great way to get to know other people in the fandom, and it's always a pleasure to see familiar names pop up. It's nice to know I have a bit of a following. But I also love seeing new people appear, and I welcome everything from a single emoji to a full blown rant. I reply to them all.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Only one? Impossible to choose. I love an angsty ending. Killing Fingon off is always a delight (like this, or this). Sending people off to their dooms (like this, or this) is another. Making them consider might-have-beens, too (like this, or this, or this).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I do also like happy endings! I write many happy post-canon returns, to tie up all the loose ends. Also happy moments within canon, but you usually have to pretend you don't know what comes next (blame the Professor, not me). For LoTR, These Our Braided Lives has a very happy Gimleaf ending. For Silm, try In These Altered States, Rejoice.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Spitting over my shoulder on this one, but no. Even the people who don't agree with my takes on particular characters have always been polite. Thank you, kind readers!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I don't write anything explicit. I'll read a wide variety but am more restrained in my writing. I've snuck a little bit into the mature range for a few things recently, but I prefer allusion and metaphor, really. It's the spirit of the intimacy that interests me, not so much the mechanics.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Nope. Canon compliant or canon adjacent always.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes, I've had a few requests. My Thranduil seems to be quite popular in other languages.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I haven't but would be happy to explore the possibility.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Can't pick just one. Legolas/Gimli, Glorfindel/Ecthelion, Maedhros/Fingon, Finrod/Edrahil. The much rarer Egalmoth/Rog. And I'm pleased to have originated the tag for Amrod/Aredhel. Spitfire fans, get on that! (thanks to chestnut_pod for the horrible, wonderful ship name)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Not a WIP, even, just an idea that I've mentioned before: an AU in which Fingon, returning from Thangorodrim with Maedhros, can't hold onto him, and he falls from the eagle's back into Lake Mithrim. I won't write it, but I sure hope someone else will.

16. What are your writing strengths? Brevity, ha! Condensing a great deal of emotional development into very few words. Figurative language. Ripping your heart out and stomping on it, tidily.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Dialogue. I don't write much of it, and it takes a long time to get it right.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I'm not likely to do so. I don't like the way it interrupts the flow. I'd rather indicate the language that is being spoken than try to craft compelling dialogue in it. This is especially fraught in the Tolkien fandoms, where the linguists WILL come for you if you get it wrong, lol!

19. First fandom you wrote for? LoTR. I've only been doing this for a couple of years.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? Impossible to choose! But my comfort series is The Flower and the Fountain: 16,000 words of Glorfindel and Ecthelion in 32 vignettes. I love those guys.

Thank you so much for the tag! @polutrope @eilinelsghost @melestasflight @tathrin @thelordofgifs @zealouswerewolfcollector, what about you? And anyone else who'd like to share, hop in!

#asks and answers #my fics #fic recs #tolkien fanfiction

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