#i’m writing this at midnight

[perpetualcynicism]

“May I hold you?” you ask Jing Yuan one afternoon as you lie sun-warmed in his garden. 

You almost think he is asleep until he invites, “Please,” carrying a smile in his voice. 

With ginger movements, you reach over and place your hands on either side of his face. It begins as mere holding, but soon you find your touch roaming. You smooth your fingers over his eyebrows and trace down to each side of his jaw. From here your hands climb up again, and once more back down, mapping out each crevice and dip of his face, his skin, his bone, until you are certain there is no part of him remaining that you do not know better than you know yourself.

You play this game with yourself, sometimes. You imagine people not as people, but as planets. After all, what is a person anyway, if not a world of their own? You trace the ridge of his nose, and imagine there lies a mountain range. Around his eyes you find oceans. Where his cheeks dip, there are valleys, and a river runs between his lips.

“What are you doing?” Jing Yuan asks. There is an element of amusement to his question, but his voice is primarily gentle. Endeared.

You still your hands. They rest on his cheeks while your thumbs brush back and forth over his skin, holding him. Though the world melts back into the familiar shapes of his face, there is still an assured sturdiness to his features which is grounding; a gravity which draws you towards him, as if you were the moon to his planet. Small, perhaps, and bare, but casting light on him wherever you can.

You answer, “I think I’m holding the world in my hands.”

You feel Jing Yuan’s smile through the way his cheeks press into your palms. Two hands cover yours, large and calloused, but gentle, and hold yours securely in place against his face. There is the tender press of lips to your skin as he turns his head enough to kiss the inside of your palm.

You hear Jing Yuan’s smile through the way his words come warm and bright and filled with adoration. You wonder why you thought him a planet, when he is so clearly the sun.

“And I am being held by the universe.”

#i’m sorry i don’t know what this is #it’s past midnight and i needed to get this brainworm out #my thoughts are literally comprised of jing yuan these days and i don’t know how to fix it #enjoy this random and hopefully not-too-pretentiously-written drabble i suppose #(my writing style goes weird after midnight sometimes and i mistake myself for a poet (which i am most certainly not)) #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan

[hilsoncrater]

the levels of repression in both house and wilson…yet they are opposite of one another. house routinely makes gay innuendos (whether sexual and/or romantic) towards wilson, yet wilson doesn’t take him serious at all.

and this constant rejection from wilson is both a buoy as well as a giant wall. house pushes their relationship time and time again. wilson refuses to let the nature of it change. house brings up a romantic getaway, wilson shoots him down. house sabotages wilson moving out, wilson doesn’t stay. house allows himself to be The Other Woman regardless of how bonnie or wilson’s other ex-wives feel. in a way, it boosts his ego and makes him feel special. he is allowed to have wilson in this way.

amber is an extension of house; she is house in a woman’s body. house can accept it because he has expressed before that if wilson were a woman, they would’ve been married already. so why can’t the same be true for wilson? let him find a woman version of house. house loves wilson so much that he goes into a risky surgery to try and save amber. this is his Place simply because wilson and him cannot escape the confines of compulsive heterosexuality.

and it is compulsive. wilson never feels good enough or secure enough in a relationship outside of his and house’s. he cheats, he lies, he manipulates. all because at his core, wilson’s insecurities render him into a selfish person. he has affairs and he prioritizes house over his wives, because he doesn’t feel like his own wants/needs are met by his wives. or that they should/deserve to be met. he doesn’t know how to communicate them!! he maybe even feels guilty for having them. because even to house, he communicates these desires in metaphors or pranks or whatever other indirect way he sees fit. but the difference between house and his wives is that wilson has no tangible, legal sense of obligation to house. if house doesn’t meet his expressed needs, fuck him!! they don’t owe anything to each other!! the rejection will sting less.

wilson chases women on such a compulsive level that it’s nearly a reaction to whatever house has done. it’s affair after affair. wilson moves in with his patient during the time house is on a ketamine treatment. house, his patient who seemingly no longer needs vicodin. no longer needs him. if wilson is no longer needed, he parasites to the next host. why? because he doesn’t know who he is on his own. why? because he has trouble expressing his own core needs as a person. and as a result, these core (repressed) needs seep out sideways.

so why threaten this sense of safety he gets with keeping house at a platonic level? if they were to entangle into a relationship, wilson would be wrapped under an Obligation Gauze. there is a fear he’d lose house because, historically, all of his relationships end in loss. because, historically, he cannot express his needs to his partners due to his fear of rejection.

and then wilson becomes terminal. and then death becomes bigger than an anxious fear of loss/rejection.

“i need you to tell me that you love me.”

wilson, my brother in christ. house cannot say those words to you because for all the years you’ve known him, you’ve denied him it. the only way house can tell you that he loves you is by burning his home down and faking his death. he is nothing without you. you know it as well as he does. these things remain unspoken because that is the way you’ve molded the relationship to be.

wilson has house on a leash. house runs as far out as possible until the leash yanks him back. when wilson finally trusts house enough to let him go off-leash, house is too conditioned to act as expected.

and this conditioning in house is not just wilson’s doing. it’s primarily house’s own doing. his own self-loathing chains him to wilson’s side. as an addict, yes, but also as a support system. house hates himself so viscerally that it affects every interpersonal relationship he has, including with wilson. but wilson never, ever leaves no matter how bad it gets.

also. who else other than wilson gives him a sense of bodily autonomy? not stacy, not cuddy, not his fellows. wilson doesn’t pity him. wilson enables him. wilson lies for him. house will selfishly keep wilson forever because wilson is all he reliably has.

so house can push and prod wilson into gay romantic/sexual innuendos, but when wilson yanks that leash, he’ll drop it. it’s a buoy for reality checking where he is with wilson. it’s a giant wall for enabling his self-hatred thought process that even his boy best friend has limitations to his love for him (or at least what is acceptable). addict line of thinking.

they both eat each other up like an ouroboros. where does wilson’s repression end and house’s begin?

#is this making sense????? it’s after midnight and i’m. a little tipsy while writing this lmao #wilson is Deny Deny Deny (internal) while house is Deny Deny Deny (external) #house md #hilson

[daffi-990]

✨ Inspiration Saturday ✨

So instead of working on the WIPs I already have, my brain decided to think up a new one 😅

Current working title is LA Lonely and here is a mood board and a rough little summary:

Buck meets Eddie and they hook up. Buck feels an instant connection but doesn’t pursue it because he’s only good for one night, no one wants him for keeps. Cue him running into Eddie almost everywhere he goes, like the universe keeps putting Eddie in his path. And Eddie is kind and never makes their interactions feel awkward and the way he smiles at Buck has something warm fluttering to life inside him. Eddie eventually asks him out on a proper date and Buck is so confused because no one wants him for more than a fun time. They don’t want to keep him.

(snippet under the cut)

“Buck!”

Buck turns towards the voice calling his name to find none other than Christopher from the class field trip at the station last week walking towards him, red crutches click clacking against the floor.

“Hey Chris! What brings you here? Another school field trip?”

Chris scrunches his face up, looking at Buck like he’s grown a second head.

“It’s Saturday.”

“Right. I knew that, I was just checking to see if you did.” Buck says as he points his finger at Chris causing the boy to giggle.

Buck scoots over on the bench making room for Chris to sit down beside him.

“Are your mum or dad with you?” Buck asks as he scans the room behind them for a frantic parent.

“My mum’s dead.”

Oh. Well. Buck has no idea what to do with that.

“Uh, I’m sorry buddy, that’s uh- that’s rough.” He looks around the room again. “What about your Da-“

“Christopher!”

Buck’s head whips around to find a man striding towards them. As he draws closer, Buck's eyes widen in recognition and disbelief because shit, Buck knows him - has seen him naked, felt his body pressed against his own as the guy shoved his cock so deep inside Buck he swore he could feel it in his throat. The memory of their encounter is still fresh in Buck’s mind a week later because it was that good.

“Dad!” Chris says happily, smiling bright and big and holy fuck his hot hookup who gave him one of the best orgasms of his fucking life has a kid.

And is standing right in from on him.

Buck scrambles to his feet, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he smiles nervously at Eddie. “Uh hi.”

Eddie looks shocked to see him but it quickly melts away, his eyes softening. “Buck, hey.” His mouth quirks up in a small smile and Buck remembers exactly why he brought Eddie home last weekend. He’s so fucking pretty

No pressure tagging: @diazsdimples @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @wikiangela @puppyboybuckley @exhuastedpigeon @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz @evanbegins @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @athenagranted @rainbow-nerdss @rewritetheending @shortsighted-owl @steadfastsaturnsrings @thewolvesof1998 @try-set-me-on-fire @theotherbuckley @tizniz @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @ladydorian05 @loserdiaz @captain-hen @bekkachaos @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @mellaithwen and as always, anyone else who wants to share something -> consider this your official tag ❤️

#daffi writes #wip: la lonely #working title inspired by a song of the same name -> LA Lonely by Fly By Midnight #buddie wip #buddie #I’m trying something different and am aiming to keep this cute feel goody and hopefully short 😅 #haven’t written much for this #just what’s here and one other little bit #still tip tap typing away at Rivals and Fantasy AU and the Eddie breakdown fic

[midnight-moth]

I hate finishing something and then feeling like I can’t post it cause it’ll tank. But good news, everything I post now tanks! So who cares! (I swear I’m being light hearted. Right now at least.) anyways the Cowbell brainrot is strong. And I was too sleepy to write but not too sleepy to draw. I couldn’t stop thinking about @iamthecomet fic (thank you for answering my ask and fueling my brain rot) and the moment when he pulls his mask off. It makes his rats nest hair messier. He tries to look unaffected, casual, but he just ends up staring from under his eyebrows and half grinning like an idiot whilst being observed. Anyways. Here’s a quick one of my beloved.

#cowbell ghoul #the boy #I love him you don’t understand #everyone give me more #yeah I’m writing a fic but I want YOUR fics #yes yes I bbgirled him #no I can’t stop #I literally tried to give him wrinkles idk #midnight moth draws #the band ghost fanart #nameless ghouls

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

#this got. so long. sowwy #but I thought about this ummmm Sunday night #but I was DRAINED from writing 7k words of scorned past midnight and then having to edit it skdjfkf #so I was like. okay. put this idea in the drafts. NOW ms dory memory #anddddd I love this so very much #would’ve loved to turn this into a full fic #but it’s so exhausting trying to write long fics recently bc of this multichap #I’m just not used to it and I can’t do two things at the same time #and I already have like 9 fics on my list to write!!!! lol #but there is something so alluring about film major bkg 2 me #I think hes awkward and comes off as mean but he really is just that serious about his work #but he’s #also a creep for you LOL #definitely think he agrees to become ur muse for art as like a trade off #and you get that boy into SO many humiliating positions 😵‍💫 #I need. to lie down. anyway. #I wrote this at 1am and was scared to post it then cause I didn’t think anyone would see it #so here it is in the morning :) #bakugou treats! 🍬 #—new treat in the streets! 🍫

[soapskneebrace]

Gimme your favorite Soap HC’s sfw and NSFW 👀

Drawing HEAVILY from the unhinged conversations @guyfieriii and I often have about making Soap whine. This’ll be entirely NSFW because hey, I’m in the mood for it.

What is John “Soap” MacTavish like in bed?

The first thing you need to know about Soap is that sex is an incredibly positive outlet for him—he loves every aspect of it, loves the mess and the smell and every tiny awkward thing that can happen. It’s about having fun to him, not being the best or proving anything about himself. Soap loves to have a good time with his partners, and that’s all that really matters to him.

Because of this? He’s really, really great in bed. Communicative, eager to please and to encourage, Soap is the kind of partner you might have thought you could only dream of.

He’s perceptive, too—he’ll figure out your tells very quickly, and will end up surprising you with how easily he can figure out how much you might like it if he touches you this way or that.

Also, he’s really down to try almost anything. Positions, toys, sensation play—he’ll give it a fair shot if it sounds like fun. He can’t roleplay, however, to save his own life. He cracks up too often to stay in character.

In between rounds, Soap is handsy, stroking your body and kissing you all over. His love language is touch, and the last thing he wants to do is take his hands off you. He just genuinely loves to feel the dips and curves of your body, loves getting to know your shape in such a tactile way.

Oh. Pull his hair. Pull his hair. He will blush a deep red, all across his face and down his chest, and his eyes will go glassy and unfocused with pleasure. He really likes it when you manhandle him.

Remember when I said Soap loves the mess of sex? Yeah, what I really meant is Soap loves to make it messy. Meaning, Soap loves sex when it’s sweaty, when he and you are sticky with each other’s cum and slick and saliva. If neither of you need a shower after you’re done, then you’re not actually done.

Soap’s the kind of nasty that is not deterred by the musk of exercise. In fact, he’s pretty eager to go down on you after you’ve being working out or doing chores all day. “Just like a bit a’flavor, bonnie, don’t I?”

On that note. I said before in my alphabet, and I’ll say it again—Soap is a panty thief. A borrower, he’d insist, if you ever confronted him, and that’s true enough since your underwear does eventually make it back to you, usually when your smell has worn off, or he’s finally home from a long mission and doesn’t need to settle for them anymore now that you’re back in his arms.

He is also the kind of nasty undeterred by menstruation. He’ll put a towel down and fuck you as enthusiastically as he does at any other time of the month. If you mention the blood, he’ll tell you very sincerely that he’d rather see it coming from you, like this, than from any of the usual times he sees blood on the job.

Because he’s in great shape, Soap not only can last a long time, but he can go again pretty soon after finishing. If there’s time, and if you’re willing, three rounds is pretty normal for your sexual encounters with him. It will surprise you very often, just how eager he is to go again after he’s just practically blown your back out.

But Johnny, in the end, is really just insatiable. He can’t get enough of you. After you’re both finally tired out, he still wants to go for another round, and it’s slow and a little sloppy and it’s entirely possible that neither of you can actually come again, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to draw this out for as long as he can, seize every moment of pleasure with you that he can get ahold of.

#answered #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap #I want to write more but it’s past midnight and I’m about to black out

[themidnightghoul]

Movie Night

Dew wants to braid Phantom’s hair for completely innocent reasons. Phantom is excited to watch the new scary movie they’ve been wanting to see and letting Dew play with their hair. Dew absolutely does not have an ulterior motive whatsoever and they watch a movie together. That’s all.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2341 CW: Breeding talk

Authors Note: This started off as a ficlet when @forest-rot said something about braiding hair and I got an idea. Then it evolved into…this. And by very pretty request, @sexy-sea-basss here is what I was working on, sweetheart 😘

Read below or on AO3 (coming soon)!

“You wanna braid my hair?” Phantom tilted their head, confused. Dew had to exhibit a ridiculous amount of control not to throw the little Quint over his shoulder and lock them in his room for a week. Something about their innocence just absolutely wrecked Dew and it drove him insane when they did things like tilt their head like that.

“Yeah, just, you know, if you want.” Dew shrugged, stammered his way through his words. He couldn’t think of an easy way to explain exactly why he wanted to braid their hair. At the moment, he genuinely did just want to play with their hair, run his fingers through the numerous layers. He loved the stark white chunk at the front, a beautiful contrast to the inky black and shimmery purple of the rest of their hair. He loved the way the layers that Aurora had cut into it curled after they washed it. He loved holding on to it as he-

“I’d love that, Dewy. Can we do it in my room? We can watch this new horror movie I’ve been waiting to see!” Phantom’s eyes lit up and Dew felt his heart flutter. Phantom was just so fucking cute and it drove him crazy.

“Sure, Baby Bat.” They stood from the sofa and made their way to Phantom’s room, the little Bug excitedly rambling on about the movie they wanted to watch. All Dew could think about was what he wanted to do after he braided their hair and he had to shift his walk a few times, trying to hide a different kind of excitement than the one Phantom currently had.

When they stepped in to Phantom’s room, they immediately flipped on their LED strip lights, changing the color to a dim purple color, and hopped on the bed, grabbing the TV remote and looking for whatever movie it was they wanted to watch. “Come, sit.” They tapped the spot next to them and Dew felt his stomach flip. Something in the way they said that just…did something to him.

Dew sat and immediately pulled them back into his lap. His fingers pulled through the strands to dislodge any tangles, rubbed gently over his scalp. The movie started, something about a haunted pool, and Phantom leaned back into Dew, a soft purr kicking up in their chest the more relaxed they got. Dew had gotten quite good at braiding, having practiced on himself for when he needed it up during shows and no one was able to help him, and he was able to work fairly quickly most of the time. But with Phantom, he slowed himself down, allowed himself to take his time and make sure they were nice and relaxed, their focus more on the movie than Dew.

One braid in and Phantom’s purring had gotten louder. Occasionally, they would jump a little at a particularly loud part of the movie and Dew would chuckle, gently rubbing their back and kissing the top of their head until they settled again. When he finished the second braid and tied it off, he put his arms around them and just held them as they watched the movie together. He tried to focus, really he did, but all he could think about was tugging on the now finished braids and how beautiful the sounds that they would make would be when he did. Thankfully, it seemed like they were too focused on the movie to notice Dew shifting around in an attempt to relieve the pressure on his increasingly aching cock. The more he thought about it, the worse it got. Eventually, Dew began to play with Phantom’s hands, kissing his way down from the top of their head to their face. Phantom’s purrs became soft whines, torn between wanting to watch the movie and focusing on Dew.

“Just watch the movie, Bug,” Dew whispered in their ear, gently nipping their earlobe and chuckling when they shifted their body against him in search of more contact. “Such a good boy, aren’t you?” He ran his hands up and down their chest, sliding under their shirt and dragging his claws across their skin, smiling at their full body shiver as he touched them.

“Off, please Dew,” they whined, raising their arms for Dew to remove their shirt. 

He couldn’t help but groan at how easy they were making this as he slid off the shirt and threw it to the side. Slowly, he kissed and nipped his way down their neck, biting just enough at their shoulder to leave a mark, and shifted his way to their front. He propped himself up on his arms and kissed each of the scars on their chest, let his tongue trace the beautiful white patches that decorated their body. “Like my own personal galaxy, you are.” He kept his focus on Phantom’s reactions to his attention and how desperately they tried to remain focused on the movie. “Doing such a good job. You enjoying the movie?”

Phantom whined louder, their hands running up and down Dew’s back. “Dewey I can’t-“

“Good boys watch the movie like they were told to do,” he whispered against their chest and reached up to tug on one of the braids, chuckling when they arched their body against him. Their response to the tug gave Dew an idea and he sat up, moving back behind them and tapping their back. “Lean forward, on all fours.”

Phantom immediately sat up and leaned forward on their arms, their tail flicking around excitedly. Dew drug his claws down their back, reveling in the way their skin broke out in goosebumps where he touched. He tugged down their sweatpants and boxers, dragging his claws the rest of the way down the curve of their ass, over their beautiful thighs that he leaned in and nipped at, causing Phantom to let out the sweetest moan. He sat up and used one hand to trail up the scratch marks on their back, the other sliding between their legs and loudly groaning at how wet they were.

“Someone’s excited, hmm?” He slowly moved his fingers through their folds, chuckling at how easily they writhed under his touch.

They tried to push back onto his fingers and he immediately withdrew, tutting disappointedly when they whined. “Dewy please.” Their voice was so sweet, so needy, and it sent Dew’s mind into a frenzy. He almost gave in right then and there, if he was being honest with himself.

“Tell me what’s going on in the movie like a good Bug and I’ll give you what you want.” He let his hand hover back where they wanted it most, leaving featherlight touches across their skin with one hand and kneading their thigh with the other. Their frustration was palpable and it only served to drive him more insane with need. He moved his hands away and popped the button on his jeans, pulling them down just enough to relieve the pressure on his aching cock. When that wasn’t enough, he grunted in frustration and pulled himself out fully, giving himself a few lazy strokes.

“Something is in the water…” they whined, their legs shaking as they tried to hold still. “The dad is s-sick, fuck Dew please.” They turned around to look back at Dew with tears in their eyes and when Dew pulled his hand away and licked the slick he had gathered on his fingers off, Phantom fell face first into the bed and whined so loud Dew was sure their throat would hurt.

Dew reached down and grabbed both braids, tugging on them to pull their head back. “Ah ah, you’re not hiding those beautiful sounds, Baby Bat. I want to hear every noise you make, you understand?” 

Phantom’s body sagged a bit and they let out another whine. “Yes, yes Dew, please will you touch me again? I need it so much.”

He let go of one of the braids and brought his hand to their mouth. “Spit.” Immediately, they spit into his hand and he swore he could feel their excitement pulsing through the air. “Such an eager little Bug aren’t you? Fuck you’re so cute.” He ran his spit covered hand up and down his length, hissing at the feeling, and slowly guided it to Phantom’s entrance. Running it up and down their slick covered folds, he tugged on the braid he still had in his hand. “Color, baby?”

“Green green green, please Dew I’m so green.” 

Chuckling, he tugged once again. “Good boy, using your words for me.” He pushed the head of his cock against them and left it there for a moment, testing the little Quint’s resolve. When they didn’t move, even though Dew could tell they were desperate to push back, he finally slid in with a loud groan that he was sure the entire den would be able to hear. “Fuck, baby, how are you so wet already? I’ve barely even touched you.”

Phantom could only make unintelligible noises in response. Dew knew that praise was one of the things that they got off on the most and he couldn’t help but take advantage of them already being most of the way to being fucked completely stupid. He gripped their hip hard enough to bruise with one hand and slowly started moving, gathering both braids in the other hand in order to keep them from falling into the bed as he slid in and out of his sweet little Ghoul.

“Satanas you’re taking me so well, such a-agh- such a good fucking boy, aren’t you?” He could feel the familiar coil in his abdomen tightening, faster than he wanted it to, but he couldn’t bring himself to slow down. “So fucking tight, baby. Fuck you’re so-” Phantom clenched and Dew saw stars, his head falling back as a wanton moan escaped his lips. The control he normally exerted had slipped and he couldn’t stop himself from pounding relentlessly into them, his movements getting harder and faster the more he let himself go. He could feel his knot beginning to swell as he fucked into Phantom and by the sounds they made, they could feel the base of it pressing against them.

“D-dew I’m c-close please-“ a high pitched moan filled the room as Dew nailed the sweet spot inside of Phantom and he could tell that they were about to completely fall apart. The swell of pride that rushed through Dew’s body knowing that he was the one to make them feel this way had him slamming his hips against the whimpering Quint even harder.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, you feel so fucking good.” He tugged on their braids again, his other hand smacking down on their ass hard enough to leave a mark. “You gonna come for me, Starshine?”

Phantom could only whine and nod as they shifted their hips the slightest bit to get Dew to hit the same spot again. “Y-yes!”

“That’s right, good boy, come on my cock. You can do it, baby.” 

“Knot…please…” Phantom’s words were slurred but they were begging so sweetly and how was Dew supposed to deny them when they asked so politely?

“You want to take my knot, baby? Want me to fill you up until you’re leaking all around my cock?” He snapped his hips forward, his knot swelling even more at the idea of being locked inside of his pretty Quint. “Fill you up so good-“ he grunted, pushing a little more and pulling a soundless scream from their lips. “See if you catch, yeah?” Dew ran his hand down their hip to their stomach, pulling them up until their back was against his chest. “Want to see this belly full of my kits. Would you like that, baby? Want to carry my kits for me?”

Dew felt Phantom clench one final time before they came with a shout, his name on their lips. As they shuddered, Dew worked them through their orgasm, holding them up as their legs shook. He pulled the shaking Ghoul down on to his knot as it finally popped, locking them together and coming as his hand squeezed their throat. The sensation of filling Phantom was enough to make him come harder than he had in a long time and the idea of them carrying his kits? It had him weakly thrusting against them, desperately trying to keep as much of his come inside as possible.

Slowly, the two Ghouls came back down from their high and Dew lowered the drooling Quint to the bed. He gently brushed their hair out of their face, kissing their cheeks and nuzzling his face against their neck. “You okay, Starshine?” He kept his voice soft and smiled when Phantom started to purr and snuggled back against Dew.

“Never better, Dewey.” They ran their hand across their stomach almost absentmindedly. 

“I can hear that brain working overtime, Baby Bat. Talk to me?” He put his hand over theirs, lacing their fingers together.

“Did you mean it?” It was almost a whisper but Dew knew exactly what they had said.

He was quiet for a moment before he pulled them against him hard and hummed, nodding his head against them. “Yeah, baby, ‘course I did. But only if you wanted me to mean it.” Phantom was snoring softly before Dew had even finished talking. He smiled, rubbed his hand across their stomach again, and laid beside them as he waited for his knot to go down. When he was able to pull himself out, he quickly cleaned up the sleeping Ghoul and put their sweatpants back on, covering them up with their bat blanket. He put their favorite horror movie on and went to clean himself up, returning to the bed and climbing in next to them when he was done.

“Love you, Dewey.” They mumbled, turning to face Dew and nuzzling their face into his chest.

Dew smiled, pressing a kiss to their forehead and holding them close. “I love you, Starshine. Always and forever.”

#midnight writes #this was supposed to be a quick little fic #and then they got into my head #and then someone else got into my head #and then it got filthy #but I’m not complaining #spicy tag #cw: breeding #phantom ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #phandrop #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction

[eiochevart]

Winry?,,, from fma???,,, in 2022??????????? It’s more likely than u think babe

Also I understand that anime has its own art style and such, but I’m tired of characters in their early teens looking like young adults. I find it way more fun to try and draw a 15 year old as, well… a 15 year old?? Also because this is fma, I feel like it makes the story way more impactful bc their literally children???????

It doesn’t need to be anything super specific or hyper realistic, but I just think it’s more interesting to find ways to show a character’s age in their design (among other traits and qualities ofc)

#can you tell it’s past midnight and I’m tired? #writing skills go brr (in a bad way) #like the brr symbolizes the decline of the quality of my sentences #fma #fma winry #winry rock bell #fma fanart #full metal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist #fmab #fanart #art #illustration #character art #anime art #anime fanart

[th3archivist]

Writing is like watching a mildly interesting Netflix program.

It’s fun, and when you start you spend hours on it, but if you make the mistake of taking a break before you’re done, say goodbye to finishing it that month.

#ao3 writer problems #writer things #writer pains #writers block #finally got round to that newtmas fic #about half way through and now it’s midnight and my eyes are closing #h e l p #newtmas #ao3 #byler #steddie #soukoku #fyozai #drarry #jegulus #sterek #wolfstar #lumity #yes i’m just listing off a bunch of ships i’ve written / wanted to write about but got distracted #fucking sue me #archive of our own

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Screaming from the crypt (or how the past haunts the present on Midnights)

I know it's been discussed so much since Midnights came out but just.

I love how there is such a clear narrative throughout the album (and perhaps especially on the 3am/Vault tracks). About questioning and regret and choices and coming to terms with all of it. It is one long story about how we're all a mosaic of the choices we make, each one taking something from us and leaving something else in its place.

(And now a disclaimer: I'm looking at this mostly through a narrator/subject lens, and trying not to dive too deeply into real-life events or speculation except for in a general sense. For this purpose I like to look at the body of work as art, like literature, because I find it makes it easier to see the common threads in the different songs and cohesion in the narrative.)

In looking at the 3am+ tracks in particular, it's fascinating how some turns of phrases or themes repeat themselves in different songs, in different contexts. (I'm only focusing on the non-standard tracks because there are too many songs and I'd be here all day but I bet I could do a part two lol.) I know many people have pointed out the parallels throughout her discography already and I’m not saying anything groundbreaking by writing this, but I love how these parallels run through in the same album, because it makes it seem like it's one long story, or at least, one long rumination on many different stories that are coalescing into a single narrative.

Battle (let’s go)

For instance, the one that jumped out at me when I started writing this post the other week was, "Tore your banners down, took the battle underground," in The Great War and "If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Years of tearing down our banners, you and I," in Would've, Could've Should've. It's a story about staying stuck in the same cycle of reliving trauma and coping mechanisms and bad habits over and over again and fantasizing about how taking the “antagonist” out and gaining the upper hand for good would bring closure (WCS), but the truth is that nothing ever will. All that cycle does, though, is repeat itself in other situations, and in this case pushes someone away the narrator cares for (TGW). The difference is that the imagined battle in WCS is a two-way street in her mind (that is ultimately unwinnable because it was never a fair fight), but in TGW it's one-sided -- she's the one fighting dirty, taking shots, the way she'd been doing in her imagination (or nightmares) all these years. But the person in front of her isn't fighting back the way the person in her mind in WCS would, because their intentions are honourable instead of exploitative.

And that's paralleled in another pair of lyrics from the two songs, "And maybe it's the past talking, screaming from the crypt, telling me to punish you for things you never did," (in TGW) and "The tomb won't close, I fight with you in my sleep," (in WCS). In both cases, the funeral imagery makes it seem like this past event should be dead and buried in WCS, but it keeps rising from the dead, haunting her no matter what she does and in TGW, another (or perhaps the same?) tomb that won't close keeps unleashing new ways to hurt her and in turn the new person in her life. In other words, the trauma from the past continues to bleed into the present.

(Again from a literary point of view, I'm not saying the events of the two songs are linked IRL, but they're fascinating textual parallels on the album as a string of chapters, which is why Dear Reader is so compelling, but that's a whole other essay.)

To keep the battle motif going, there’s yet another parallel, this time between TGW’s "[You were a] soldier down on that icy ground, looked up at me with honor and truth," and You’re Losing Me’s "All I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier, fighting in only your army.” In the former, the subject is laying down his armour in the war she’s projecting onto him, waving the white flag, and she realizes that she’s about to destroy something if she doesn’t put her sword down too. By the time we get to YLM, the roles are almost reversed; at the very least they’re supposed to be on the same team, but in this case she’s doing all the heavy lifting, fighting for their relationship in contrast to his apathy killing it. It’s also pretty interesting (if not outright intentional) that one of the 3am+ editions of the albums starts with The Great War, where they find themselves in conflict (even if it’s in her head) that ends in a truce, and ends with You’re Losing Me signalling the end of the relationship, evidence that the resolution in the first song wasn’t an ending but merely a ceasefire before the last battle.

Putting the rest under a cut because this is waaaaay too long now ⤵️

(There’s also another metaphor there in The Great War with its battle imagery: World War I, aka The Great War, was supposed to be the war to end all wars, because loss on its scale was never seen before and when it ended, most thought never again would the world embroil itself in such battle, the horrors and implications were so devastating. Two decades later, the world found itself in WWII, with an even larger scope and more horrific consequences, the intervening time between the two a period of festering conflicts and resentment leading to some of the worst acts the world would see. Bringing real life into it for a second, there’s something a little poetic, though sad, about The Great War the song being about a fight that could have ended the relationship that they ultimately resolved and was meant to be evidence of the strength of their love, but so too did it end up being a period of détente, the greater battle coming for them years later. But that is not the point of this post.)

If one thing had been different

Another major theme in these editions is pondering the "what ifs?" of life, but I think it takes on even more significance in the broader context of the album in the lyrics of "I'm never gonna meet what could've been, would've been, should've been you," in Bigger than the Whole Sky and the repetition of would've/could've in Would've, Could've, Should've (I would've looked away at the first glance, I would've stayed on my knees, I would've gone along with the righteous, I could've gone on as I was, would've could've should've if I'd only played it safe, etc.) In both songs, the narrator is mourning an alternate course their life could have taken* and questioning what they could have done differently, in the aftermath of trauma and loss, and the regret that comes with that loss, and with the loss of agency in the situation because ultimately it was never in their hands. In an album full of questions, wondering about the path not taken, or the forks in the road that have led to a different version of your life, it's digging deeper into the contrast of choice vs. fate, action vs. reaction, dwelling on the past vs. moving on. When you're supposed to let go of the past, what do you do when it is holding your future hostage?

(*I know there are different interpretations/speculation about BTTWS which I am not getting into on main. I'm just saying that whatever the song is about, it's grieving something that never came to be. The literal origin of the song is less important to the album than the sense of loss it portrays. Whatever the inspiration is, it's crafted to tell part of the story of Midnights of ruminating over how, to borrow from her previous work, if one thing had been different, would everything be different?)

(Also I was today years old when I realized that the words are inverted in the two songs. Apparently I've been hearing BTTWS wrong this whole time.)

There's also an interesting tangent in the role of faith in both songs: in WCS, the events of the story cause her to lose her faith (e.g. "All I used to do was pray," "you're a crisis of my faith,") and question all the things she felt had been unquestionable until that point in her life (e.g. "I could have gone along with the righteous"), whereas in BTTWS, she questions whether that very lack of faith is to blame for the loss in that song ("did some force take you because I didn't pray? [...] It's not meant to be, so I'll say words I don't believe"). It's like pinpointing the moment her life changed and upended her beliefs (WCS), but as a result then leaving her unmoored in times of crisis because ultimately there's no explanation or comfort to be taken from what she used to hold true before that (BTTWS). The words she once relied upon to guide her have long since lost their meaning, but in times of trouble it leaves her wondering if that faith she once held then lost could have prevented this pain.

(Shoutout to WCS for being Catholic guilt personified lol.)

To keep on with the vaguely faith-y notions, an obvious parallel is the line in Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve about, “I damn sure never would've danced with the devil at nineteen,” and, "When you aim at the devil, make sure you don't miss," in Dear Reader. All of WCS is about her fighting with an antagonist who haunts her, with whom she wholly regrets ever becoming involved. DR could be seen as a reflection on that fall from grace, warning the audience that if you choose to go after the person (or thing) haunting you, make sure you do so clearheaded enough to be decisive. Again, these “devils” may not be related in real life: the IRL devil in DR could be speaking about her naysayers, or Kim*ye, or Scott & Scooter B, etc., meaning not to cross your enemies until you know you can win. But taking real life out of it and looking at it textually, I am intrigued by the link between WCS and DR, so that’s what I’m going with here. And perhaps that’s even the point in a wider sense; there will be multiple “devils” in your life, or threats to your well-being. If you’re going to commit to taking them down — whether it’s an actual person, or the demons inside you that refuse to let you go — make sure you have the right ammo so that they can no longer hurt you. (Of course, one lesson from these experiences is that sometimes you can’t win, and you have to live with the fallout.)

(Sidebar: I know that “dancing with the devil” is a turn of phrase that means being led into temptation and engaging in risky behaviour, as opposed to describing the actual person. Given the religious metaphors in the song, that could very well be/is the intention, particularly when it’s preceded by, “I would have stayed on my knees” as in she would have continued to follow her faith — in whatever sense that means — had she never met this person, which could also be a more eloquent way of saying she would have continued to be live her life in a way that was righteous (even naive) and seen the world in black and white. Either way, it’s a force she wholly rejects. Like I said, multiple devils, same fight.)

Regret comes up too: in WCS, she says, "I regret you all the time," obviously directed at the person who manipulated her and led to her perceived downfall, citing him as the one impulse she wished she'd never followed, because it won't leave her no matter how hard she’s tried. In High Infidelity, she tells the person to, "put on your records and regret me," and on the surface, it’s like she’s turning the tables, painting herself as the one now causing the regret in someone else, the one inflicting the pain this time. Yet the verse preceding it and the lines following it in the chorus depict a partner who is also emotionally manipulative and vindictive like in WCS (“you said I was freeloading, I didn’t know you were keeping count,” “put on your headphones and burn my city,”). It’s not so much that she’s intentionally harming the person (the way the person in WCS does to her), but rather that the venom in the subject’s feelings towards her seeps through; she’s imagining the way he’s going to feel about her when she leaves, hating her just for by being who she is. (There could be another tangent about how in both songs she’s there to be a “token” in a game for both of the men, who play her for their own purposes.) The regret is dripping with disdain. It’s as though she’s picturing how the person is going to hate her for doing what she’s thinking of doing the way she hates the person who first hurt her.

Sadness, unsurprisingly, shows up in a few lyrics. In BTTWS, “Everything I touch becomes sick with sadness,” sets the scene of a person so overcome with grief that it permeates everything around them; they cannot see their way out of it and feel like the fog will never lift. In Hits Different, it’s, “My sadness is contagious,” the result of a breakup where the person’s grief again touches everything and everyone around them, pushing them further in their despair and loneliness. The reason behind the grief in either case may vary, but regardless of the source, the feeling is overpowering and isolating. They may be different chapters in the story, but the devastation is hauntingly familiar. (As is a recurring theme in Midnights as a whole: there are situations and feelings that present themselves at different points in her journey and colour in the lines in different ways along the road. Like revisiting an old vice and realizing the hit isn’t quite the same as it was in the past.)

Death by a thousand cuts

She also writes about wounds on this album, which isn't surprising I suppose given that the whole conceit is that these are things that have kept her up at night over the years. WCS is perhaps the driving narrative on this never ending hurt when she sings, “The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign, I regret you all the time,” suggesting that no matter what she does, the pain of this experience has permeated everything she’s done afterwards. (Not unlike the overwhelming grief in BTTWS, for instance.) Elsewhere, in High Infidelity she sings, "Lock broken, slur spoken, wound open, game token," and in Hits Different, "Make it make some sense why the wound is still bleeding.” Again I'm not suggesting they're about the same events; the line in HI is about a situation where a partner crosses a boundary, hits below the belt, picks at an insecurity (or creates a new one) and treats the relationship like it's transactional, opening the floodgates in turn. In HD, the wound seems to be more self-inflicted, where she's pushed the person away. (Over a situation real or imagined she feels she needs distance from.) But again, something has picked at her like a raw nerve, and just like in the past, she's hurting, even in a different time and place and person. Almost like the wounds of the past break open over and over again to create new scars. If one were to extrapolate further, it wouldn’t be the biggest leap to wonder if the wound open in WCS, then torn apart in HI makes the one in HD hurt even more.

(I once wrote a post about how I think as time goes on, WCS is going to turn into one of those songs that will be found to drive so much of her work, because it’s just… kind of the unsaid thesis statement of so much of her songwriting.)

Another repeated theme is that of the empty home and loneliness. In High Infidelity, she sings, "At the house lonely, good money I'd pay if you just know me, seemed like the right thing at the time," painting a picture of someone who may have everything they'd want to the outside world, but in reality feels metaphorically trapped in their home (or at least alone amidst abundance), a symbol of a relationship gone sour and a failure to build connection. She just wants someone to understand her, want her for her, but as she's written earlier in the song, she's just a pawn in the game, a trophy from the hunt. Home, in this case, is lonely, isolated, an emblem of her fears. In Dear Reader, she continues this thread, then singing, "You wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking, if you knew where I was walking, to a house not a home, all alone 'cause nobody's there, where I pace in my pen and my friends found friends who care, no one sees you lose when you're playing solitaire." It's the same idea, admitting to listeners that the gilded cage she lived in kept her distanced from her loved ones and real connection, keeping her struggles close to the vest but feeling desperately lonely amidst her crowning success. She's pushed people away and it may have felt like the right thing at the time, but in the end maybe felt like she was trapped. And when you push people away, eventually they take you at your word and stop pushing back; you’re a victim of your own success at isolating yourself. What starts out of self-preservation then further perpetuates the underlying problems.

(There's another interesting link about "home" also feeling unsafe with HI's "Your picket fence is sharp as knives," which further leads into the theme of marriage/domesticity feeling dangerous, which is a whole other thing I won't get into here because it's another discussion and may derail this already gargantuan word salad.)

In a slightly similar vein, we have the metaphor of bad weather for a rocky road or unstable relationship, in High Infidelity again with, "Storm coming, good husband, bad omen, dragged my feet right down the aisle" and You’re Losing Me’s "every morning I glared at you with storms in my eyes.” They aren’t speaking of the same situation or even same kind of breakdown, but it is pretty interesting how the idea of clouds/storms/floods/etc. play such a role in Taylor’s music to signal depression, apprehension, fear, uncertainty, etc. In HI, I think the “storm” coming is the looming threat of commitment to a partner who makes the narrator uneasy (if not fearful). In this case, the idea of making a life with this person is not one that incites joy or comfort, but instead makes the narrator feel that dark times are ahead if she continues down this path. Perhaps in some way, the “storms” in YLM have made good on the threat in HI in a different way; it’s a different home, a different relationship, but the clouds have settled in regardless, and some of her fears have come to fruition in ways she did not expect. The person she once trusted no longer sees her or her struggles (or worse, doesn’t care), and the resentment and pain build with each passing day.

Coming back to heartbreak, one of the obvious "full circle" moments is the beginning of a relationship in Paris, where she says that, "I'm so in love that I might stop breathing," clearly enthralled in a new love that allows her to shut the world out and grow in private, capturing the all-encompassing nature of the relationship. This infatuation has consumed her in the most wonderful way (in contrast to the sorrow of some of the previous songs), and it feels like a life-altering (or even life-sustaining?) force that is so strong she may forget what it’s like to breathe. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.) By the end of the album, though, in You're Losing Me, that heart-stopping love has become a threat: "my heart won't start anymore for you." In the former, her racing heart is full of excitement, but by the latter, her heart has given out completely under the weight of the pain she bears. (YLM is full of death/illness imagery which I already wrote about awhile ago so I won't hear, but needless to say that song deserves its own essay for so many reasons.) She's gone from the unbridled joy of the beginnings of a relationship to the unrelenting sorrow of its end, two sides of the same coin.

Love as death appears elsewhere in the music too, for instance, in High Infidelity’s, “You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough" and You’re Losing Me’s “How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying? […] My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick.” Though not completely analogous situations, they both tell the tale of one partner’s apathy (or at least denial) destroying the other. In the former, the partner’s actions (or inaction) are more insidious, if not sinister; in the latter, the lack of momentum (or admission of a problem) is passive. In both cases, the end result is the narrator’s demise; it’s a drawn out affair that chips away at her morale and her health and her sense of self. (Breaking my own rule about bringing in alleged actual events into the discussion, but the idea that the relationship in High Infidelity, which was obviously fraught with unease and even fear, ended in a similarly excruciatingly slow and hurtful death by a thousand cuts as the relationship in You’re Losing Me almost did at that time must have been so painful. It almost feels like YLM is wondering why what used to be a source of light in her life was mirroring a situation that caused her such pain in the past.)

From the same little breaks in your soul

I said early on that part of what is so compelling about Midnights is that it feels like an album about ruminating — on choices, on events, on people — and the two final “bonus” tracks of the album depict that as well. In Hits Different, she sings that, “they say if it’s right, you know,” an ode to the confusion of a breakup and struggling with the aftermath of calling it quits. It’s a line that has always intrigued me, because the typical use of the phrase is in the sense of, “you’ll know when you meet the one,” but here it seems to have a double meaning, a reassurance perhaps from the friends (who later on tell her that "love is a lie") that she’ll know if she’s made the right decision in calling it off, but could also be her wondering if the relationship is right, she’ll know, and want to reconcile. In the final bonus track, You’re Losing Me, she sings, “now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it’s time,” this time leaving no doubt about the dilemma she faces, though it’s no less fraught. She’s wondering, perhaps for the last time, if now is finally the moment to end the relationship for good. They say that if it’s right she’ll know, and now she’s wondering if that feeling inside her (that once told her her partner was the one, which is why it hit differently), is telling her that it’s time to go for good. Wait Alexa play “It’s Time To Go.” These are not only the things that keep her up at night, but the things that play over in her mind like a film reel in her waking hours.

Midnights as a whole is a deeply personal album, as is most of Taylor's work, but the 3am+ edition tracks seem to dig even deeper to a lot of the issues raised on the standard album. Almost like the standard tracks are the things she wonders about on sleepless nights, but the bonus tracks are the things that haunt her in the aftermath. The regret, anger, sadness, grief, relief, even joy— they’re the price she pays for the memories she keeps reliving. Midnights might be the most cohesive narrative of all her albums, and really does feel like we’re watching someone work through her journal over time, stopping short of outright naming those giant fears and intrusive thoughts (except for when she does) but making them plain as day when you connect the songs together, and perhaps never more clearly than in the expanded album. It’s incredible how the songs stand on their own to relay a specific moment in time, but that they are also self-referential to each other (whether thematically or overtly) to weave a larger web over the entire work. We’re so lucky as fans to have these stories and to keep peeling back these layers as time passes. (And my literature-analysis-loving ass loves her even more for it.)

This is obviously by no means an exhaustive list, and I know there are more parallels and probably even stronger links (particularly when you add the standard version into the mix), but these were the ones that particularly struck me and I’m just glad I’ve had a chance to sit with this and think it through. ❤️

#writing letters addressed to the fire #me thinking too hard about taylor lyrics #taylor swift #midnights #long post #lyrics analysis #song parallels #Gabby this one is for you friend <3 #here goes nothing #Happy Friday or something idk! #(also i know i said there are things i wouldn’t discuss on main but my dms are open lol) #this is not as structured or well plotted out as I wanted it to be #and turned out to be more stream of consciousness than legit essay #but whatever at least i got my thoughts out there and it can release some plot of land in my brain for other stuff to think over lol #If anyone ever reads this thank you! And I’m sorry? #The best compliment i ever got in school #was when we were doing an analysis of a poem in English lit in college #And i brought something up casually #and my prof went ‘I’ve been teaching this class for eight years and that’s the first time anyone’s ever brought it up like that’ #’and that just blew my mind’ #and i was like ‘who me?’ #so that’s all you need to know about me lol #Midnights: The Great War #Bigger than the whole sky #bttws #Midnights: Paris #Midnights: high infidelity #would’ve could’ve should’ve #Midnights: dear reader #midnights: bigger than the whole sky

[tainebot01]

Another Ace Attorney animatic, this time inspired by a video by @arcticflakes here!

#my art #ace attorney #sebastian debeste #yumihiko ichiyanagi #miles edgeworth #ace attorney investigations #aai2 #aai2 spoilers #spoilers kinda? #all it really spoils is that Seb ends up back at law school #but I’ll tag it anyway just in case #Kay’s filming this all go down #the world needs more AAI2 animatics #especially with Seb #used the Themis Law Academy bg from DD because I wasnt feeling confident in my background skills #but I at least added some nice colours :) #also used the official sprites as reference for the poses #except for the last 4 Miles poses #because the sprites don’t really convey the emotions I wanted #namely: #Slight Amusement #Concerned Intrigue #Captain Picard levels of exhaustion #and Outright Discombobulation #respectively #not really sure how to write an image ID for a video - will try look up a guide? #I crammed to finish this on April fools and just got it done 30 minutes before midnight #and here I am uploading it on April 2 #so I guess I’m the fool here #Youtube

[dandylovesturtles]

Hi.

The CAS update made me real sad.

Cass Apocalyptic Series owned by @somerandomdudelmao

~~~~

Included in all the manuals and lists and endless instructions Donnie left them had been those for repairing Raph’s generator. Casey learns fast and so Donnie taught Casey. In turn, Casey teaches Leo.

The skills Donnie imparted to keep his brother’s heart running will now be used in reverse.

Leo will not put this on Casey. Raph took the decision out of his hands, but he’s still the leader and this is his responsibility.

They say their goodbyes and then Raph shuts down. Like he’s going to sleep.

(He had thought Donnie was just going to sleep.)

The twist of a screw unlocks the panel in his chest. Exposed veins and vulnerable organs. Leo picks them apart like a surgeon.

Like a mortician.

Donnie’s assistants help. He doesn’t let them root around inside Raph, but they take the wires and they take the chords and they take his brother’s life and feed it somewhere else.

There’s a static flicker and then the lamps flare back to life.

Leo has never hated the light more.

#dandy fanfiction #cass apocalyptic series #writing shit at almost midnight on my phone because I’m that sad #byyyyeeee

[daincrediblegg]

What I really love as another theme in Mike Flanagan works is that death is never a punishment (as it tends to be for a LOT of horror films) but instead an equalizer. That death by in large is a comfort and peaceful and not something to fear on the whole and many of the characters who DO die get that out of it. The villains often make death their own enemy in their denial of it and the meting of it out on others. But the heroes and the innocent and everyone else in between? When they go they get to go with love written all over them. And that is more potent to me than anything that anyone’s done with death in stories ever.

#mike flanagan #meta #egg’s meta #doctor sleep #midnight mass #the haunting of hill house #the haunting of bly manor #yeah so the rewatch of doctor sleep is going really well #in based mike flanagan forever we stan #anyway I’m gonna write a Dan Torrance doesn’t die fix it au now like a chump 😂😂😂

[flowercrowngods]

Prompt that has been eating my brain: Eddie finishes his book, and he hasn't shown it to anybody. Steve knows about it, but he doesn't really know much about it at all. And of course, dedications and acknowledgements. Eddie has been wandering around the apartment grumbling to himself for the best part of two weeks trying to figure them out. What if they fall apart the week after the book comes out? What if they end up hating each other? What if every time he goes to sign his name he's reminded of the boy he lost? I need your thoughts because you have better thoughts on this than me.

you have better thoughts on this than me what the fuck dude 😭 i mean i do have thoughts. i hope they get the bats out of your brain

“Eddie,” Steve’s voice gently breaks through the eerie silence that has oh so mockingly settled in the room. It’s silent because Eddie is staring at the screen, unmoving and petrified. He’s been staring at the word Acknowledgements for so long it has long since stopped looking like a real word, the concept disintegrating while its meaning is only gaining weight, cutting off his throat at the worst of times and making him frown in frustration at the best of times.

The book is finished. It’s done. How come he’s only hitting the hardest part now? It’s fucking laughable.

“Babe,” Steve says again, and this time there’s a warm body at his back, leaning into him until arms wrap around his shoulders and Steve’s cheek comes to rest on the crown of Eddie’s head. “Come to bed,” he whispers, and Eddie leans back briefly, soaking up Steve’s warmth.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he murmurs.

“Liar.” Steve huffs against him and then shifts to press a kiss to Eddie’s hair before moving back to his original position. He must be looking at the screen, and Eddie wants to reach out and hide it, close the windows, shut it all down. “I thought you were done?”

“I am,” Eddie says and sighs.

“But?”

“But I’m being stupid about it.”

Steve makes an unhappy noise and wraps his arms tighter around Eddie. “Wanna talk about it?”

Does he? He doesn’t, it’s stupid, it’s literally not a big deal. He’s just all up in his own head about acknowledgments, because that’s like breaking a wall. Writing a book can be all about the characters, about the setting, about the message or the journey or whatever.

But when you open a book and on the first page it says, For Anna, then that makes it a real thing that happened in this world. It’s not isolated anymore. And when you finish the book and are about to close it, but then it says, I’d like to thank a whole bunch of people without whom this would not have been possible, then that’s sort of the most mortifying thing Eddie has ever had to confront.

Because what if he thanks Dustin but then something happens and they stop being important to each other? His name will forever be in this book, immortalised as long as people know to read these letters and words. What if he dedicates this book to Steve and then they fall apart? Eddie doesn’t want to build the immortality of art on the fragile pillars that are his heart and soul.

But he can’t tell Steve that. Because Steve would look at him, cup his cheeks and tell him not to acknowledge him like that, then. Easy as that, Eddie, now come to sleep.

But it’s not easy as that.

“That depends,” he says at last. “Are you feeling particularly philosophically inclined tonight?”

“Hmm? How’d you mean?” Steve sounds sleepy and wonderful, and Eddie wants to wrap himself up in it. Wants to write a thousand more books and dedicate them all to Steve, because even if it doesn’t last, it exist right now. Their love is worth to be immortalised for what it is.

Okay, maybe he does want to talk about this pretty badly.

“Let’s get ready for bed and then will you let me ramble at you until we fall asleep?”

“Hmm, deal,” Steve says, smile evident in his voice, and he presses another kiss to Eddie’s hair before they head into the bathroom to get ready for bed together.

When Steve pulls the covers over them and cuddles into Eddie’s side, they spend a few minutes just basking in each other before Steve pulls back to look at Eddie.

“Okay, what’s got you so up in your head, hm?”

Eddie explains. And Steve listens. And he doesn’t take Eddie’s face in his hands to tell him not to worry about mentioning him. Eddie is glad he doesn’t.

“There’s enough of everyone I know in these characters already, but still somehow this is different. What if you’ll hate me some day? What if we don’t make it? I don’t… I don’t want to immortalise something that will cause me pain. But I don’t want to run from it either, because no future version of either you or me could change what we have right now, right this second. You will always have been lying next to me just now. Nothing can change that. So it’s really not a big deal, but…”

“But it sort of is,” Steve finishes for him, and Eddie sags into the mattress a little because Steve understands.

If not everything, then the part that matters.

But Steve isn’t done yet, and he has tis thinking face on, the rare one that allows Eddie to lie back and listen as his Stevie will be the one with the rambles tonight.

“I get why you would obsess over that, but I think you might know the answer already, too. And maybe you’re running from that? Because no matter how hard you try, you can only ever immortalise the present. Or the past. But you can’t do that with the future. So what you have to do is to hope and to trust and to try.”

He intertwines their fingers and Eddie pulls him close, nudging Steve to lay his head on his chest the way he loves to do even as he continues talking the thoughts right out of Eddie’s head.

“I mean, obviously I can’t promise you that we will last forever. I wish I could, but time and life are just too tricky to be recklessly challenged by such promises. But I can promise you that no one will leave you because you loved them hard enough to put it in black ink on a paper in the back of your first ever book, Eddie. I know it’s terrifying to communicate to the world that you care about people and to hope that they care right back, but in the end that’s what… That’s what got you to write a book, isn’t it? You talk, very dramatically at times by the way, about the relationship between art and love and life. Obviously, writing the book is art, influenced by life and love. There is no shame in framing your art in a little bit of life and a little bit of love. With the dedication and the acknowledgements. Because you’re you. And you’re loved and you love. No future will change that. Maybe the people will vary, but what you immortalise aren’t necessarily the people themselves. You immortalise for yourself a reminder that good things exist in your life.

And when they leave? They’ll be replaced. And maybe you’ll have a collection of acknowledgements one day. Of all things good. All things life and love and family. And, I don’t know, but I don’t think that’s too bad. Mortifying, sure. It makes you vulnerable, definitely. But most good things do when they’re worth being acknowledged.”

It still baffles him an unfair amount, time and time again, how existential Steve can be sometimes. How much he listens to Eddie to use his exact terms, how much he understands from the barely intelligible mutterings and ramblings that Eddie loses himself in almost immediately, getting all wrapped up in the golden thread until there’s no unwinding anymore and he has to give up.

Buts it’s fine if he gets it all twisted because Steve will be there, right there by his side, and carefully disentangle Eddie’s limbs with a confused little frown because to him it all makes sense somehow, and he doesn’t really understand how Eddie got here.

So when Steve says all of this, Eddie feels gutted. He feels seen. He feels a bit stupid for worrying so much. The weight on his chest is lifted and the obsessive worrying that has made his head all fuzzy is retreating.

Can it be so easy? Can it just be a collection of who he is, whom he loves and who cares for him enough to let themselves be immortalised by a shapely blotch of ink? Can it be okay in the end? Can it be that sixty years down the line, Eddie looks through all his books and reads the dedications and acknowledgements, and think kindly of everyone?

The image makes him long for that kind of peacefulness. A serenity, a love, a lifetime acknowledged.

“No, that’s not so bad at all.”

Eddie’s eyes begin to sting for some reason and he wraps his arms tighter around Steve. A silence settles between them that tastes a lot like freedom.

“Hey, Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

Eddie swallows and smiles into the darkness of their room. “I think I’ll dedicate my first book to Wayne.”

A happy hum reverberates through Eddie’s chest, and Steve, half asleep by now, says, “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

“Thank you, Stevie.” For being the smartest person I know. For loving me. For acknowledging.

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #this is not exactly 4am floaty fic but i do intend to get a couple more hours of sleep tonight so you’ll excuse me i hope #okay it’s a written between midnight and 1am floaty fic. is it even floaty? just steve being existential smart #dio words #at this point i’m writing all these weird little fics for your eyes only and you might be the only one who reads them but that’s fine 🤍 #we’re both lucky i didn’t include the ‘almost acknowledged’. wasn’t ready to spiral again lmao i should sleep

[midnight-moth]

If you didn’t know, right now 12P/Pons-Brooks, AKA. the Devil Comet is currently visible in the night sky. Depending on where you are, with the naked eye, but a telescope would help. It will be visible until April 2. It’ll disappear but then be visible again on April 8 during the total solar eclipse. So here take my rare pair, they’re both stargazing.

#I was going to write something #but I’m feeling very what is the point #I know so negative #phantom ghoul #cowbell ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fanart #the band ghost #midnight moth draws #drawing like this is v hard for me and is far from perfect but I’m trying #yes I drew each individual star and it took a long time and made my hand hurt

[crybaby-bkg]

sorry I’ve been on such a Dabi high lately but I almost croaked earlier at the thought of being his college gf and just being so opposite of each other!!!!!! you’re all good grades and perfect attendance, easily approachable and sweet smiles. and he’s all grumpy faced and dark clothing, makes people nervous whenever he stands outside smoking right by the doors.

who the hell would’ve thought you two would end up together? it just didn’t make a lick of sense seeing you two from the outside. but when they get a glimpse of you guys together, alone, everything just falls into place.

he’s so supportive of everything you do, no matter how dumb or nerdy he thinks it is. he keeps count of your stitches for you when you crotchet, doesn’t mind being your model for a cropped hot pink sweater you’re creating, wears the knitted beanie around campus that you made for him. he hates not having your attention but he takes some of the same classes you take so that he can help you study, quiz you when you’re not too sure of the subject, maybe even help you cheat if you want (you don’t, but he always offers).

he buys you your favorite drink at the cafes and always carries an extra laptop charger in case you forget. he helps you pick out your outfits when you’re unsure, and loves the opposite aesthetic whenever you stand hand in hand with him. he praises you when you succeed, and comforts you with your failures. he looks like a dirtbag that hangs around campus to be a creepy bum, but he’s there for you through and through <3

#sorry I just cannot get enough of him #I wanna write another fic for him which is terrible #bc I already have like 8 on my list :( #but he’s just so :((((( #I want him to be my opposite but so supportive bf so bad #he’s all cigarette smoke and I’m all strawberry scented lipgloss :( #why is talking about self shipping so hard for me AKSJDKDJDJ #I changed I’m to yours and back to I’m like nine times lmfao #BUT SERIOUSLY I need him so bad or else I’ll combust #I don’t need to write another college bf touya au I DONT!!!!!!!(?) #I’m being tempted��…..he is my temptress in my hero journey……….and I am weak…… #okay bye I wrote this at midnight but didn’t think anyone would see it until this morning anyway lol #I will attempt to do my own cluster lashes so wish me luck #if they fuck w my sensory issues then they are immediately coming AWF #—new treat in the streets! 🍫 #dabi treats! 🍬