#inking is hard and i hate lines more than anything

[petit-etoile]

Oh oh I have an AU I haven't had the chance to write anything for. It's pre-vampirism magistrate Astarion and criminal tav who is incredibly well-versed in law. They keep committing crimes and getting caught in purpose just to see Astarion who fucking hates their guts because he can't ever convict them of anything bc they find loopholes and somehow manage to evade the law. It's an "at each other's throats" kinda romance and they kiss with teeth between cases

darling,  if  you  love  me  say  it  back

pairing  .  ⊱   astarion x tav wordcount  .  ⊱   3,604 content warnings  .  ⊱  canon compliant temporary character death,  tav isn't a human but can be whatever else you like,  astarion isn't a vampire yet,   tav is gender neutral other tags  .  ⊱   canon compliant,  canon temporary character death,  introspection,  p.orn without plot,  oral s/ex,  desk s.ex,  inappropriate use of a cravat,  c.reampie archiveofourown  .  ⊱   here.

taglist  .  ⊱  @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added  .  ⊱   here .

summary  .  ⊱   The Magistrate Judge Astarion Ancunin has a soft spot for you. You like to exploit that fact.

‘I need to see you in my office,’ Astarion hisses  —  and the tips of his ears are so red you think they might catch flame. He grabs you by the elbow roughly and tugs. ‘Now.’

‘Let’s do it, baby,’ you say smugly. ‘I know the law.’

Knowing the law might be an overstatement. You have studied the law for only one purpose, and that purpose you know like the back of your hand. So when Astarion presses you, you don’t argue. You do as the magistrate says and allow yourself to be dragged across the court. He admonishes you like one would get onto a dog who misbehaves. You can’t help but laugh.

It isn’t like Astarion isn’t a super serious magistrate with a focus on criminal prosecution. He wants to nail you for your sins, for your crimes. The only catch is that no matter how amazing Astarion is at his job, you’re simply better. If you’ve stolen something, you’re more than capable of hiding the evidence. If you’ve murdered someone, you know all the best ways to hide a body. It comes naturally.

Astarion is wearing that ever familiar frown as he marches through the elegant halls. It’s a frown that says you’re in trouble and there’s nothing that I can do. But that isn’t necessarily true. Astarion will do anything you ask so long as you ask nicely, and you’ve been getting good at asking nicely lately. He prides himself in training you even if it isn’t that simple. He calls it rehabilitation. You call it sex.

‘You can’t keep doing this, you know,’ Astarion snaps at you. ‘At some point you must give it up!’

He isn’t good at whispering when he’s riled up. He runs his free hand through his curls in anger, pushing them away from his face like his bangs being wild make it hard to think. It makes him more attractive.

‘You don’t mean that,’ you say with a shrug.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘very much mean that.’

You grin. ‘You would miss me,’ you tell him lasciviously, and he groans. ‘I know you would.’

He huffs. ‘The only thing that I would miss is the peace after the headache you’ve given me. It’s as though you aren’t even aware of how vexing you are.’

You laugh, and the fine line of Astarion’s temper snaps. He all but throws you in his office and locks it behind him. He’s annoyed with the way you stagger dramatically to one of the velvet couches before his desk. You lean over the arm and kick your feet up.

‘Does the idea of cuffs around my wrists excite you?’

You look over your shoulder. Astarion clenches his jaw. It must hurt to frown as hard as he is. You pull yourself onto the cushions and sit demurely. You study him. His rigid lines, tense gaze. He comes and sits on the edge of his desk, pressing his forehead into his hands as if that will relieve him of his headache. You’re determined to make it worse.

‘I apologize,’ you say sweetly. ‘I’ll behave from now on.’

‘We both know that you are not capable of behaving,’ Astarion says thinly.

He shouldn’t have said that. You can’t help yourself, but most of the time, Astarion makes it so easy for you to dig into his weaknesses and exploit them. You stare at him with wide, innocent eyes.

‘You should teach me,’ you suggest.

Astarion’s patience snaps. ‘I beg your pardon? Have some decorum, please!’

‘Having decorum is so boring,’ you say, pouting. ‘Life is much more fun when you live freely.’

‘And committing crimes is your definition of living freely?’

‘What is the point of living if not to live?’ you ask. ‘Why confine myself to rules of good or bad when I can choose what makes me happy.’

‘What exactly makes a criminal like you happy?’ Astarion asks bitterly.

You’ve always been possessed by a sense of otherness. You rise from the couch and carefully twist your fingers in his cravat, tangling yourself in him as he has become entangled in you. The Silverymoon lace tickles your skin. You pull Astarion closer and he begrudgingly caves to your strength. Your lips barely brush against his and already you can sense it. The barely contained restraint. The hunger. Astarion longs for you. He’s carefully hidden it beneath the scent of bergamot.

Slowly, you slide him free of what pressures him most. The cravat slides from his neck easily. It excites Astarion. His eyes glitter like you’ve never seen before. Being a magistrate isn’t about caring about the laws he’s vowed to uphold. It’s about power. You give it to him. You hold your wrists together with a wicked grin.

You balance the fabric on your fingers. Astarion swallows. Being proper isn’t really his thing. It’s thrilling to watch as he changes his mind. You annoy him  —  he detests you, wishes you gone. You are the object of all his improper late night dreams.

But as if he’s moving through water, he takes his cravat from your hands. You almost think it’s going to be a rejection. Astarion bundles your wrists together with an expertise that suggests he’s done it before. The binding becomes tight but not too tight and you relish in the way it twists your wrists. He fastens the knot into a pretty bow.

And then he kisses you. He grabs you so roughly by the back of the neck that your teeth slam together, but Astarion sighs so prettily against your mouth you decide you could withstand anything.

It’s a passionate kiss made up of teeth and spit and tongue. Astarion is both pushing you and pulling you. He can’t make up his mind. Does he want you and the stain you’ll bring to his reputation? A magistrate with a weakness for a criminal is such an interesting dynamic, but Astarion is a proud man. You are almost certain he would throw you into harm’s way if a situation ever occurred that deemed it necessary. You would do the same given the chance. This is simply a tryst.

You like to pretend it is, at least. You hate coming across as a romantic. You chase a freedom so exquisite no one will ever understand it, but when Astarion pushes you towards the couch, you don’t complain. You fall across the cushions with ease and catch him as he falls between your thighs.

‘You,’ Astarion accuses hotly, ‘are an irrevocable annoyance I may never be cured of.’

‘You are so very frank in all the ways you despise me,’ you say, moaning softly as he kisses your neck. ‘I think you’re capable of being freed after all.’

‘I am glad to see you are finally aware that it is hate that drives me,’ Astarion murmurs thickly. ‘It repulses me that you think you could possibly be endearing.’

You laugh and Astarion sucks a bruise into your collarbone. He’ll pretend to be aloof and noncommittal to your very presence, but he’s invested. You can feel the weight of his pleasure against your thighs even as he denies his feelings for you. Astarion doesn’t bother with your shirt or his own. He clings to your waist as he finds the lace of your breeches and tugs you free.

Astarion pushes his hand inside of your smallclothes and touches your flushed skin, spreading his fingers so that he can touch every inch your body has to offer. The fervor of the motion is what causes you to gasp. He’s a man on a mission, and he touches you at your core so adoringly it makes the bite of his words all but disappear. He fondles you like he’s never touched your skin before. Your gasp turns to a sultry whine, and he bites your neck like a punishment. You almost think he’s going to admonish you, that he’ll say your silence is worth more. He doesn’t. If anything, the echo of your voice spurns him to go further.

Astarion presses two fingers inside of you and the laughter dies in your chest. He’s trying to rearrange you through a perverse method. If he fucks you good enough, crime’s appeal will turn to dust within your mind. It makes you wonder what it would be like to dote on a magistrate. Would it be enough? Could it be enough? Sinning feels just as sweet.

He curls his fingers against your core and your back arches prettily off the velvet cushions. You bite your bottom lip and try to quell the pining, but then you catch a glimpse of him from beneath your eyelashes. Astarion is watching your every move. His lips are parted. His pupils are dilated. His cheeks have colored at the sound of your voice. He is torn between watching your face for your reactions and glancing down at his hand underneath your breeches. You meet his gaze bravely, chin lifting, and smile.

He adds another just to watch you struggle. The angle, the curve of his wrist, and the situation are enough to make your thighs squeeze together, but Astarion doesn’t let you. He roughly throws himself between your legs so that you can’t, and it’s hot, too hot that you cry weakly. He grins at the sound like he always does, like he always will. It’s his victory this evening. 

But as quickly as Astarion deigned to touch you, he releases you. He stands up and drags you by the wrists, turning his cheek the other way when you try to taste his skin.

‘The prosecutor is ineffectual  —  ’

You snort without meaning to, and Astarion digs his fingers into the swell of your hip. You allow him to maneuver you, bending at the waist while he presses you forward, chest against the chilled wood of his desk. You have to rise on your toes to stand comfortably.

‘Is that what you’re thinking about?’ you ask breathlessly.

‘I’m thinking about the necessary reform,’ Astarion snaps.

You press your cheek into the wood and stare at his door. The prosecutor, the defense. It doesn’t really matter, does it? Astarion is the only one who cares. You’re somewhat glad he does. It means he’s taken your case to interest, and when he presses himself to your lower back, you’re excited. He shoves your breeches to your ankles.

‘Are you going to take me here?’ you murmur. ‘On your desk. Where is your propriety?’

‘You dare speak to me of decency?’ Astarion snorts.

‘The weight of my sins will be forever embedded on your desk,’ you say. ‘You flatter me, your honor.’

‘Do you ever stop talking?’ Astarion asks. You can hear his patience snapping.

‘Well, you’re just so boring,’ you say, laughing. ‘Why don’t you do something that  —  ’

Astarion kneels down behind you and shoves his way between your legs. You shiver when he presses his lips against your core. He mouths at you hungrily. He grunts low in the back of his throat and digs his nails into your thighs. It steals your breath away. He’s so determined to change the very essence of your being that his tongue and mouth searching where his fingers first were makes you go weak in the knees. You whine.

You press your fingers into the dark, rich mahogany of his desk and try to keep focus. You want to taunt him. You want to tease him, but that wanton desire is almost forgotten entirely by the way Astarion feasts upon your flesh. He parts you with his thumbs and groans against your skin and you almost forget who you are. This is what he wanted. He wanted to pull your desires from you and replace them with his own.

You let him. He works you up as easily as anyone can be worked up, his fingers and his mouth exploring every inch of your skin that’s exposed. He goes to slide a finger in curiously, but you twist your hips away. Astarion is all work and no play. He will tease you relentlessly as it suits him, and he will do what interests him. You interest him more than he’s willing to confess. That’s why he works so hard for your pleasure.

When he’s done with you, he kisses the base of your spine soothingly. Your legs tremble beneath you. Astarion smooths his hand across your hip. You glance at him.

‘Perhaps I can fuck some sense into you now,’ Astarion mumbles.

He has the audacity to sound inquisitive. It’s not like it’s possible, but he seems determined enough to try it out regardless of his intuition. His hands are warm against your skin, and the excitement only builds in the pit of your stomach as you feel Astarion’s skin touch yours. You hear his clothes rustle and his breath catch in his throat. You hide a smile against your arm.

When Astarion slides into your core, it’s like a possession. The breath steals from your lungs. His touch is a familiar constant  —  you would recognize him anywhere by scent alone. You cry weakly. Your toes crunch from the angle, but there’s nothing you want more at this moment than to learn to be good.

Astarion hums behind you as well, his fingers digging into your hips as he tries to steady himself. The desk crunches uncomfortably against your belly but it’s a welcome pain. It keeps you focused. You still have the energy to wiggle back against him as his cock slowly pushes in until there is no more room left to explore.

‘Be good,’ he whispers, ‘and I will give you what you deserve.’

What do you deserve exactly?

It’s hard to say. You enjoy your life of crime almost as much as you love the way Astarion bends you over his desk. You’re good at stealing, you’re good at killing, but you’re good at being soft and pliant as well, giving in to that sentimentality that keeps you coming back from more.

At first it was an elaborate game. What could you do to ensure that Magistrate Judge Astarion Ancunin looked your way? He was a noble elf, and your hands were covered in fresh dough from the baker you stole from. There was a curious glint in his eyes when he looked over you, yet somehow the gods had deemed the yeast and honey on your fingers was not honest enough to be proof.

You are smitten. You bounce taller on your toes with every aggressive thrust, arms struggling to support your weight. Astarion fists his fingers into your hair and pulls until your throat is exposed. He wants you to sing for him, so you do. You arch your back and moan loudly. The sounds of it bounce around his little office.

‘You wouldn’t shut up before,’ Astarion says breathlessly, a hoarse laugh.

‘Do something  —  worth talking about  —  ’

Astarions laughs incredulously, but he does fuck you harder for it. He releases your hair without much flourish and focuses on dragging your hips back onto his cock, punching forward so hard you see stars. It’s wonderful, it’s powerful. If Astarion’s entire goal was to make you forsake the world, he’s done a good job of turning your life around. The cravat rubs against your wrists as you try to seek purchase on the desk. Your fingers drag across the polished wood, and you shudder as you clench down around his cock.

You sound so breathless and silly, groaning while he fucks you against his desk. He fills you full until you’re certain you can take no more. You press a hot cheek against the wood and try to catch your breath. You hook a foot around his ankle for support, twisting on his desk. You tuck your arms beneath your chest. You feel as though you’re coming undone. All your years of villainy, and it comes undone by the consistency of Astarion’s presence.

Your arms are stiff from constantly being up, but you’re almost grateful when Astarion pauses. He helps you turn on top of his desk so you’re on your back instead, and even though the edge digs into your lower back, you prefer that to anything else.

You meet Astarion’s gaze. He tells you he hates you, that he wishes you were out of his hair, that he despises you, but the gentleness of his eyes tells you otherwise. He slides back into you with a small moan, and you wrap your legs around his hips to guide him in further.

‘It’s good,’ you gasp. ‘It’s good, you’re good  —  ’

Astarion doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. You can see it clear as day in his eyes. Astarion won’t say he loves you, that in his ardent fervor he seeks you out, but he knows that you know. Why else would fate lead you back together? You reach for his face with your hands, and his eyes flutter closed to avoid the wistfulness. He leans into your touch.

You cry softly as Astarion begins to grind into you again. He helps carry you as he does so. And it feels so good, feels so overwhelming that you briefly consider the fact that he has changed you for the better.

A spirit that slides into your very marrow. Astarion is hauntingly beautiful, and if he is a spider then you are a fly tangled in his web. He calls you a pretty thing and you give into the struggle. You press your wrists against your forehead and strain against his cock, unable to hide from the waves of crashing pleasure.

Astarion finishes inside of you with a low moan. He presses a rough hand against your belly to stabilize himself, and shyly, you touch his wrist with your bound hands just to feel his pulse. As soon as he’s caught his breath, he releases you from your bonds.

You almost miss him when he pulls away from you. He uses one of his hanging cassocks to clean himself with and is kind enough to do the same for you. You’re almost certain that your legs won’t work, so you sit up on his desk to rest and damn his paperwork to the hells. You kick off your breeches from around your ankles and sit, legs crossed, while Astarion tries to fix his reflection in the mirror.

‘You are truly an astute teacher,’ you say casually. ‘The art of lockpicking is all but gone from my mind. Thank you, your honor.’

Astarion snorts and shakes his head, torn between ignoring you and giving into your wiles. He curls his hair back into place and then walks back to you, leaning forward until you’re nose to nose.

You think he won’t kiss you, but then he does. His lips taste like summer oranges and you taste him until it’s the only thing you can think of. He hugs you tenderly. It isn’t the same as when he admonishes you. It makes your chest feel warm. You almost feel weaker for it. Your bite is being taken away.

‘I can’t keep protecting you,’ Astarion says softly against your cheek. ‘You torment me day and night. When I lie down in my sheets, I find myself consumed with worry.’

‘You think about me?’ you tease. ‘In your sprawling manse?’

‘Move in with me,’ he murmurs. ‘Then you can be inferior yet vain inside my sprawling manse.’

Astarion is not there that evening. You try to wait as long as you can without seeming suspicious. There are maids, family members, and their admirers who come inside and out throughout the evening  —  but not Astarion, never Astarion. You wait until the sun sets and fireflies light up the streets of the Upper City but eventually, the malaise of abandonment guides your feet away. You walk the streets aimlessly until a shiver runs down your spine. A chill so violent turns you away from the courthouse.

But in the morning, there’s a fuss. It draws you back into where you left and you can’t help but to lose yourself. Astarion is dead. His mother sobs. The members of the city watch who bear the bad news look equally as morose. Astarin’s father nearly falls to his knees in despair.

When you break into their manse that evening, you look for one thing. You steal a cravat from his wardrobe and tie it around your neck.

Then, you leave Baldur’s Gate.

You aren’t sure where your feet are going to take you.

Part of your yearns for the Underdark. Baldur’s Gate is a cursed city, you decide. You wander back to it after two hundred years of avoiding it like the plague, and not an hour within the city are you spirited away on an adventure you never longed for.

You have changed. You can’t really remember who you were all those years ago, or the hopefulness you might have felt in your chest once. You’re different now. A folk hero. You used to steal from the rich and give to the poor before the mindflayers fed you their parasite and stole that part of you. But you aren’t alone this time. You wander the beach for hours searching for anything that can be of use and pause over a love letter that makes you sob.

It isn’t all bad. You meet a half-elf who scowls as much as she mumbles to herself.

On the other side of the beach, you meet a ghost.

His eyes are different from what you remember. The warmth he once looked upon you with is gone and replaced by unfamiliar sanguine.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion smut #bg3 smut #from ，carcosa . #my fic #hyliandreso #you know i hit the prompt square on & then threw in a plot twist #is it really a carcosa fic if there isn't a plot twist somewhere #* say what you want，even if it's bad

[i2ycat]

way too late

pairing jake x gn!reader synopsis in which you come to the realisation that you’ve been loving jake all this time way too late genre angst, fluff, friends to ??, hurt w comfort word count 0.7k warnings little mention of blood, kissing with a bloody lip main masterlist

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

Jake’s hand softly caresses your face, tears brimming his eyes as he holds his suitcase in the other with a vice grip. It was evident that he didn’t want to leave either, not with how your relationship was starting to blossom so beautifully in the spring.

“Can’t you just stay?” you plead, finally mustering up the courage to reciprocate the intensity of his stare. You could see his face soften even further, brows furrowing and gaze dropping to his feet in an attempt to choke down the impulse to drop everything and run back to your open arms, to where everything would’ve been in its place and nothing else would matter. It would just be you two against the world.

Your heart clenches almost painfully in its place. “Can’t we just go back to where we were?” you continue, even though you know that it is damn near impossible. This was the last page of your shared chapter, ink no longer tracing the lines of his name or the crinkles of his eye smiles; the last paragraph of his current existence—the boy you met in your first year of college, the boy that loved you more than anything.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, throat constricting as he continues to stare at the ground.

You bite into your lip harsh enough to draw blood because you were frustrated at the world, at the entire damn universe for presenting you with the one boy who understood everything about you without much toiling and then taking him away the moment you realized just how much you’ve loved him and wanted him in your life.

He didn’t even need to try hard to make you forget all about your problems; just his existence was comfort enough. He was your only safe place as you navigated yourself in this confusing world.

The absurdity of it all made you want to laugh, even through the tears.

“I hate you,” you say.

Jake looks up and searches your eyes for any confirmation, which he obviously doesn’t get because you love him and he knows that you love him more than just any friend would.

He releases his grip on the handle of his suitcase and brings you into a hug. His perfume and warmth engulfed you almost entirely, which made you damn near sob like a baby in the middle of the airport.

Your chokes drowned and died down in Jake’s hoodie as you proceeded to tell him that you hated him.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, bringing your face from his shoulder towards his own. “I know you don’t.”

It felt like the world had stopped then and there, much like the first time you met him. You didn’t want to admit it at the time, but you fell in love at first sight with Jake, in his baggy jeans and hoodie, adorning an expression akin to that of a lost puppy. You were the ultimate fool for only realizing that now.

His dewy brown eyes drew you physically closer, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. You could taste the irony of your own blood against Jake’s own lips, but you were not in the right headspace to be caring enough about proper hygiene.

This was your personal euphoria, but in a few hours time, it was just going to be the last line you wrote as you reminisced, so you hurried to savor his cherry-flavored chapstick and commit it to your memory forever.

Everyone else in this space and time was just a part of the flurry of emotions that you felt as you kissed Jake. This was the first time, but you’ve already acknowledged it as the last, even if you didn’t want it to be.

Even through the dull ache in your lungs, you kissed Jake, and only until you'd used up the last of your oxygen did you stop for air.

The two of you panted and huffed, your arms wrapped around his neck and his arms around your waist.

The cold air of the airport brings you back to the reality that Jake will no longer be in your arms like he is right now, so you take the opportunity to finally say what has been on your mind the very moment you met him: “I love you, and I hate that I do.”

“Even when you’re admitting that you love me, you still won’t hold back on the ‘I hate you’ stuff.” his lips crack into a smile. “Well then, I love that I love you, Y/n, more than anything in this entire world.”

© i2ycat 2024

#i2ycat #jaeyun fluff #sim jaeyun #jake ff #enhypen imagines #enhypen ff #jake enhypen #enhypen soft hours #enhypen x reader #jake x reader #jaeyun x reader #jaeyun imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #enhypen jake #jake sim #jake soft hours #jake soft thoughts #enha jaeyun #enhypen angst #jaeyun angst #enha imagines #enha scenarios #jake imagines #jake enha #lyn’s archive

[idontknowwhattoputasmyusernameee]

Intimidation

Word Count: 3K

Pairing: rots!Anakin x fem!reader

Warnings: none just fluff, but let me know if I've missed anything.

A/N: I have had this sitting for so long and I've been itching to post it. It is my very first imagine, so we'll see how this does. Probably have many more to come.

He was intimidating.

There was something about him that was hard to place. 

The way he looked was something out of a fairytale; his eyes were hard and steely, his jawline strong and sharp, his lips pink and pouty. He moved with confidence in the room, his steps controlled yet graceful. His presence seemed to demand respect from those around him.

He was definitely attractive.

Too attractive to be a Jedi. 

You felt a heavy, electric pressure on the side of your face. Every time you tried to sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eye, he would be looking downward or up towards the ceiling, avoiding any kind of eye contact.

You tried to ignore the magnetic pull of Anakin's gaze, but it was impossible. Every time his eyes met yours, you felt a wave of heat wash over you and your heart seemed to skip a beat. You knew deep down that this couldn't be real, that perhaps your infatuation with him was causing you to imagine things that weren't really there.

Mace Windu's deep voice cut through the daydream,“That's all for today," he said firmly. He gave you all a slight nod. “May the force be with you,” he added before turning away.

You stood up stretching your aching limbs. You hated these debriefings, feeling drained after every one. A quick glance showed the faces of the Jedi Knights in the room were heavy too, etched with fatigue. Reports flashed on the hologram in the middle of the room, grim reminders that loss and death had become unavoidable realities in this war and there was no end in sight.

Not something you would want to hear at eight in the morning. You were just glad that you had the day off, so a nap sounded like an amazing idea. 

The crowd around you began to surge forward, and you were soon engulfed in a sea of people, all jostling for the exit. Suddenly, your foot caught on something and you stumbled, throwing out your arms as you tumbled forward, into the broad chest of a large man. He caught you quickly, his grip strong and sure.

As you started to apologize, you looked up into the face of none other than Anakin Skywalker himself. He was standing there holding your arm, smiling kindly.

"Careful there," he teased, you felt his fingers slowly slid from your forearm to your shoulders to steady you.

A flush crept up your cheeks as you tried to look away, the intensity of his cerulean eyes too much to bear. You were suddenly acutely aware of the sound of your own breathing and the warmth radiating from his body.

You avoided eye contact, mumbled an apology, and scurried away from him as you felt your face heat up. You tried to disappear into the background but could feel his piercing gaze burning a hole in your back.

Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi Knight renowned for his exceptional piloting skills and his connection to the Force, had always intrigued you. From afar, you had admired his bravery and determination, but up close, his presence was overwhelming. His mere gaze sent shivers down your spine, and his captivating smile left you momentarily breathless.

It was safe to say that Anakin Skywalker intimidated you.

…

The Jedi library was a grand room, encompassing almost an entire section of the temple. Shelves adorned with ancient manuscripts, scrolls, and books lined the walls; each tome a repository of knowledge from across the galaxy. The scents of parchment paper and aged ink filled the air, while glowstones illuminated the space in a soft, ethereal light. Tables were arranged in circular clusters like small islands in a sea of knowledge, beckoning exploration. It was as if all the secrets of the universe had been contained within these walls, offering solace and tranquility for those who sought it.

And yet...

There had been another encounter earlier in the afternoon.

It embarrassed you to no end how awkward you were with the man. But something about him made you freeze, run away, and hide. 

Earlier before coming to the library you had just left the meditation chambers, relaxed and fully focused for whatever study sesh you were diving into. Stepping into the elevator , you hit the button for the ground level. Not even two seconds later a voice called out to you. 

“Hold it for me please.” The voice, you recognized to be Anakin’s called out for you.

Maybe it was a slip of your finger, or the instinct to run away. Whatever it was, the doors closed right in Anakin’s face.

The moment you realized what you had done you let out a sigh of frustration. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just be normal? 

Now the situation was eating you up inside as you flipped each dusty page of one of the thousands of books in the library. The frown on his face engraved in your mind. He probably thought you were a freak. 

You groaned into your hands, earning a shush from other people around you. 

“What’s got you in such a sour mood?” A female voice suddenly questioned, causing you to jump slightly. 

Ashoka Tano stood above you a brow raised at your stressed out figure. Although she was barely sixteen and you nineteen, the two of you were very good friends.

“Kriff Ashoka, why are you in here? Aren’t you banned from the library?” You questioned.

She rolled her eyes,”Actually it was a one year ban, and not that it matters but it was mostly Anakin’s fault.”

“Right, he knocked half of the shelves down and destroyed a quarter of the ancient language books.” You snickered. 

“He started it !” She exclaimed defensively.

“Shh!” You whispered harshly. “Keep your voice down, unless you want to get banned again.”

“Okay okay,” she whispered back,”what are you working on?”

“Master Yoda asked me to give a quick rundown on a newly charted planet, so far I haven’t really found anything worth mentioning.” You answered, flipping open another book.

“Boo, sounds boring,” she said, with a mischievous gleam in her eye. She grabbed your wrist and tugged you up from the chair. “Let’s go get lunch.”

“Right now?” You asked in shock.

“Yes now, I heard they’re serving pasta.”

Your eyes widened with excitement and you leaned forward, intrigued. "What kind of pasta?" 

A mischievous grin spread across her face and she ticked off on her fingers, "Lasagna, fettuccine Alfredo, spaghetti carbonara..."

“Alright I’m sold,”you grabbed her hand,”let’s go.”

…

“Then he had the audacity to ask me if I’ve been paying attention,” Ashoka shook her head,”The nerve.”

“Mmm,” You hummed in agreement,”Well were you?” you asked, taking a sip of blue milk.

She gave you a coy smile,”Well…I was staring at Enzo's ferociously large biceps.”

You choked on your drink, taken aback by the words that slipped out of her mouth. 

Ashoka gently rested her hand on your back and gave a few light pats as you coughed. She smiled with amusement,"Oh look, how convenient."

She pointed over to Anakin who had just walked into the cafeteria. His eyes swept across the room, then stopped when they met yours. He started walking towards you with a determined stride. You felt all the air in your lungs disappear, and your stomach seemed to somersault inside of you. Every step he took felt like an eternity as his gaze stayed locked on yours.

You felt your heart hammering in your chest and a wave of nausea fill your stomach. As every ounce of common sense told you to bolt away from the table, you were physically unable to move anything except for your hands, which trembled as your fingers tightened on the edge of the table.

What was happening to you?

“Sorry I took so long, I got caught up in conversation with Master Mundi," Anakin sighed heavily, sitting down across from you and Ashoka. "Also the elevator took a while ,” he added, looking directly at you.

You almost went into another coughing fit. 

“Master, what a nice surprise,” Her face then broke into a mischievous grin. “You remember Y/N, right Anakin?”

Your cheeks flushed red as he looked your way.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “How have you been Y/N?”

You smiled politely, “Good.” 

“Y/N was just about to-"

"Leave, actually," you interrupted her.Your plate was still mostly full, but you couldn't bear the tension and discomfort that had already set in. You didn't dare meet Anakin's gaze again, and instead busied yourself with gathering your things. 

Ashoka shot you a confused look, but didn't try to stop you as you stood up from the table.

Anakin looked taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Oh, alright. See you around, then," he said with a small smile.

"Uh, yeah. See you." You managed to squeeze out the words before practically sprinting out of the cafeteria.

Once outside, you leaned against the closest wall and took deep breaths to steady yourself. You couldn't believe how much power Anakin Skywalker had over you - a mere acquaintance at best. You had never been so thrown off balance by anyone before.

...

With your overthinking mind, you had concluded that they were playing a prank on you. It was probably your sleep deprived mind or your coffee addiction that fueled this thinking. But, Anakin and Ashoka were up to something.

Every time you showed up to see Ashoka, she would beam from ear to ear and let out an excited, “Oh, Anakin’s here!” You could feel your cheeks flush as the Jedi Knight appeared and you scrambled to come up with a plausible excuse to leave.

Even when you weren't with Ashoka, he would somehow be conveniently around you. It was as if he were seeking you out.

No matter where she went, Anakin seemed to materialize out of thin air. In the vast hallways, as soon as he appeared at the corner she'd quickly turn around and hurry in the opposite direction. When walking around the temple grounds, there he was again; standing tall against the rising sun, his features illuminated by a solitary ray of light.

It's been two weeks, and quite frankly you were starting to become exhausted with this charade or whatever thing this was. 

The only places where you could find solitude were your quarters and the library. 

So that's were you found yourself today, in the Temple Library.

Your fingers were tangled in your hair, which fell wildly around your face. Crisp pages of books lay open amongst a scattering of pens and highlighters on the table.

Two hands slammed in front of you, making you look up. You jumped in surprise.

“Alright spill,"Ashoka demanded with impatience.

“Spill what?” You tried to act nonchalant.

Ashoka rolled her eyes, “You know what. Why are you avoiding Anakin?"

“I’m not avoiding him,”You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, looking away from the other girl. 

"Not what I heard," she countered, folding her own arms, matching you stance. When the silence continued, she sighed,” Y/N, I know you like him."

You stared blankly at Ashoka with disbelief clear in your stare. She knew. Of course she knew. It was so obvious. 

"Plus he's been whining to me for the past couple of weeks."

"Whining?" You repeated, taken aback.

Ashoka nodded, "Yeah, he's been complaining about how you've been avoiding him like the plague. He thinks you hate him or something." Her voice grew n octave lower, trying to imitate him,"Does she not like me? Am I being too forward? Did I do something wrong?"

You couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Anakin Skywalker whining to Ashoka about you.

"I don't hate him," you finally admit. "I just...don't know how to act around him."

"You act the same way you always do," Ashoka shrugged. "He's just a person,Y/N. It pains me to say it but... a really attractive person." she made a quiet gagging noise.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help but feel a small flutter in your chest at her words.

"Just talk to him," she encouraged. "I promise he's not that scary." 

"Alright," you nodded,"I'll try."

...

This was not what you were expecting. You hoped to corner him in one of the many hallways, but instead you were stuck with him and Ashoka in an elevator.

"How long has it been?" Anakin asked.

"Five minutes,"Ashoka answered.

The air inside was starting getting thick from all of the carbon dioxide being exhaled from your lungs. You shifted uncomfortably, finding yourself caught between Anakin and Ashoka. The small space felt too intimate, and you could feel Anakin’s eyes on you even if you refused to look his way.

"Alright, I've had it," Ashoka quickly stood up, igniting one of her sabers to cut a large enough hole to jump through. "I'm going to get help, be right back."

"Ashoka!" Anakin yelled,"That's not smart."

But she ignored him, jumping above the elevator and vanishing out of sight.

You had just been left alone in an elevator with Anakin Skywalker. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you couldn't help but wonder if this had all been a setup. Ashoka's sudden exit made it feel like an ambush, as if the two of them had planned to leave you alone together.

The silence between the two of you was agonizingly uncomfortable. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Anakin, so you kept your gaze trained straight ahead.

"So," Anakin finally broke the silence. "You've been avoiding me."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. It wasn't like you could tell him that he made you nervous just by existing.

"I haven't been avoiding you," you lied, feeling guilty for not being truthful.

Anakin let out a small laugh, "Right. Because turning around and walking the other way every time you see me is totally normal."

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment. He had noticed after all.

"I'm sorry," you finally admitted. "I don't know what to say around you."

Anakin turned to face you, his expression softening,"That's alright."

"I've been meaning to talk to you actually,"you started, finding a sudden burst of courage. "I um... well Ashoka said that, you..."

He waited patiently, raising an eyebrow in encouragement. You took a deep breath before continuing.

"Ashoka said that you might have feelings for me," you blurted out, feeling your face heat up even more at the admission. 

"Well its about time you noticed,"he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I've been waiting weeks for you to figure it out."

Even though you knew it to be true, you couldn't help the wave of shock that passed over you at his confession. You had never expected Anakin Skywalker to have feelings for someone like you.

"So you do like me?" you stupidly asked.

He laughed, his eyes lighting up in a way that made you feel like you were the only person in the galaxy. "Of course I like you," he said, slowly stepping towards you. "Was it not obvious?"

You felt your heart beating faster as Anakin drew closer, finally standing right in front of you. You could smell the musky scent of his cologne and it sent shivers down your spine.

"I never realized," you admitted sheepishly, feeling ashamed for not noticing something so obvious."I honestly thought it was some cruel joke."

His smile was soft and warm as his hand reached up to slowly smooth a piece of your hair out of the way.

"Do you like me," he softly asked,the intensity in his eyes making it hard to form coherent thoughts.

You nodded your head, unable to find words as you stared up at him. His hand trailed down from your hair and cupped the side of your face gently, bringing it closer to his own. 

"Can I kiss you," he whispered,his breath hot against your skin. Your heart was beating wildly and you could feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Please," you breathed out, barely louder than a whisper. 

His lips brushed against yours tentatively, hesitantly testing the waters. You closed your eyes and parted your lips slightly, giving into his advances. A tingling sensation rippled all throughout your body. It was almost electric as you ran your hands through his short curls, his fingers curling around the back of your neck. He pulled you closer to deepen the kiss, and it only fueled your desire.

Every inch of your body was on fire as Anakin's hands started trailing up and down your sides, sending shivers through you. 

You could feel his need for you in the way he kissed you - a sense of urgency and raw hunger that made it clear this was not just any ordinary kiss.

As the intensity grew, so did your own desire rippling through your veins like an inferno. The air around you felt electric with attraction as if nothing else mattered in that moment except for each other.

You broke apart gasping for breath, Anakin's voice husky as he spoke quietly into the space between you. "I've been wanting to do that since I first met you."

A dazed smile broke out on your face,"Me too."

A loud bang from outside drew both of your attentions away.

"Alright lovebirds, I'm busting you out." Ashoka yelled from the other side.

The loud groaning from the metal doors echoed throughout the elevator. Revealing the light from the hallways on the other side.

"Alright come on out,"Ashoka yelled, hidden and out of sight.

Anakin made one last move, kissing your cheek, your nose, and lastly a longing kiss on your forehead before leaving the elevator.

He paused looking back with a smirk,"Until next time." 

Feeling the warmth radiating from his parting words, you smiled and watched him disappear into the hallway.

"Well, well, well,"Ashoka said with a grin as you stepped out of the elevator. "Looks like someone had a good time in there."

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, trying to hide the blush that was creeping up on your cheeks."Shut up."

#anakin #anakin fanfic #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x jedi!reader #anakin x fem!reader #anakin x jedi reader #anakin x reader #star wars fandom #fanfiction #star wars #star wars prequels #reader insert #jedi reader #x reader #fem reader #fluff #sw anakin #sw fanfic #writers #writeblr #writers of tumblr

[hum-suffer]

I'm Yours 2

Ishan has always been a light sleeper. His mother was proud of him and his dad, a man who craved snacks at midnight, bemoaned his habits.

So when he wakes up on Sunday morning with a fresh gajra tied on his wrist, for a moment, he wonders if this is a hallucination or a dream. He blinks and pinches his thigh, the sharp sting reminding him that it's reality. He frowns, and touches the gajra. It's real.

Ishan takes a deep breath.

"Let's bathe first and then deal with this," he says to himself. Another beat passes as he reconsiders his promise to himself. "Maybe have some tea first."

____________________________________________________

He's so fucking glad that he had the tea first.

The moment he was more awake, he was panicking.

Someone fucking broke into his house? His house? His ancestral, beloved house that had marble flooring which made clancking sounds everytime he walked? Ishan cracks his neck and takes another fortifying breath, staring at the discarded gajra on the dining table. It feels very audacious. And flattering.

The thought is horrifying and for a moment, Ishan imagines his grandfather shaking his head at the bloody idiocy Ishan possesses. Wryly, he says outloud,"I'm a very good source of entertainment, aren't I, Dadaji?"

The house obviously remains silent. In a surprising turn, the loneliness he often feels seeps right back in.

He glances at the gajra again. "Hey, at least, someone alive gets entertainment from me."

He knows he should report this. But for now, he doesn't want to care. It's a bloody Sunday and he will be damned if something ruins his Sunday, even if it's a stalker/admirer.

A message pops on his phone just as he's about to wash his cup. 'Did you like the gajra, love?'

'don't have the hair for it, dude.'

He probably shouldn't antagonise a probable sociopath.

But hey, what is life, if not had decisions taken in the spirit of loneliness?

____________________________________________________

When he's more settled, in the evening, Ishan goes out for a walk. His body aches in protest and the ink marks on his fingers dictate his profession to anyone who cares to see.

End of semester season is horrible, but more so when he already has to plan so much. Tomorrow's the seminar for something techy— Ishan doesn't know, he's the Hindi teacher, and he'd rather prefer not to know. Those things just rot his brain and he hates the seminars more than students, probably, but he'd do just about anything to take some load off of Virat bhaiya. Jaddu almost always lightens the mood at seminars, and he's back from his holiday to Jamnagar, and Ishan is counting on him to be the better part.

Apart from Shubhman, that is.

Ishan cannot get over his silly little crush, no matter how hard he tries and he hates it. That's a celebrity. A good looking, smart philanthropist who also owns a registered firm.

Ishan doesn't know the name of the firm, he realises with a groan. He gets his phone out, shoots a quick text to Shreyas to prepare the introduction speech for Shubhman.

The admirer, has sent him another message.

'Do you have any favourite colour?'

'yes, it's the shade stfu of the colour mind your business.'

'Lol. Really, tho. Don't make me dissect your wardrobe and make a guess, love'

Ishan's eyes narrow. He's not going to be ordered around by this bullshiter.

'Be my guest, love'

'i'm gonna overlook the rudeness for that endearment'

'Im gonna kill u'. Ishan doesn't even realise he's smiling until he casts a random glance at the windows of parked car. He controls his smile instantly.

'your looks already have'

Ishan scoffs at the blatantly cheesy line. Ew. 'Stay dead.'

____________________________________________________

'You have an awful amt of blue clothes'

The message greets Ishan early in the morning, and so does the smell of jasmines. He looks down and there it is— a gajra tied on his wrist.

The pounding headache that he already has becomes more pronounced as he passes through the motions of his schedule, the message a background chatter in his head until he has the cup of tea in his hands.

So.

That happened.

Yesterday's gajra and today's gajra, side by side, stare at Ishan. Ishan gulps. He should not have done that— any of that.

"Kya kar Raha hai tu," he mutters to himself as his thumb hovers over the block button. Why is he hesitating?

(Maybe because he doesn't care of he's dead or alive. Maybe because he wants the attention. Maybe because the idea of being so desired makes him warm. Maybe because someone only focusing on him makes him feel cherished.

Ishan doesn't dissect these ideas.)

He blocks the number and reports it for good measure.

He's already almost late— the quest to find his beloved oversized blue silk shirt had taken too much time. He's probably left it back home, maybe. He doesn't remember taking it there but he's always been clumsy so who knows? He'll continue the quest later.

The smell of jasmines cling to his nose even after he's deliberately choosen a woodsy perfume.

____________________________________________________

Shubhman is at perfect time.

Avesh, the admin staff manager, came almost running to Ishan when Shubhman, bless him, called in advance to say that he'll be at the college withing fifteen minutes.

If Shubhman keeps this up, Ishan will do something embarassing— like quoting Hannibal or something. The sheer appreciation Ishan feels for the man is beyond words.

As always, Rohit bhaiya had forgotten the matchsticks somewhere but Jas had come through and Ishan is now running around only making sure the height of the mic and the placement of flowers.

Siraj drags him forcefully to the gate of the faculty, to greet Shubhman. A volunteer student clicks photos as Virat Bhai hugs Shubhman, who always appears star struck at the attention from their resident King. Rohit bhaiya squeezes Shubhman in a tight hug and the smile Shubhman has on his face is blinding.

(Ishan wishes someone was as happy to see him. His colleagues are always fun, but they have lives— Ishan doesn't.)

When Shubhman turns to him, Ishan can't help but stare. He's wearing a navy blazer over a white shirt and dark blue jeans. His eyes, they're dark and intense. Ishan feels frozen.

"Ishan." His voice sounds so fucking good. He steps forward and before Ishan can hold his hand out for a handshake, Shubhman steps in his personal space and gives him a side hug.

Ishan breathes in, to calm his heart, and catches a distantly familiar scent from Shubhman. It's probably a kind of perfume Ishan knows, he's obsessed with scents.

"Shubhman. It's a pleasure to meet you again."

What the FUCK is he saying. Ishan wants to dig a hole in some lonely ground and bury himself. A pleasure to meet him? Could he be anymore obvious?

"Trust me, the pleasure is all mine."

____________________________________________________

The seminar goes on for two hours, perfectly adhering to the scheduled time and Shubhman has prepared enough to be also able to do a QnA. Ishan will marry him.

The students rush out of the seminar hall without a second thought, all of them sleepy and wanting to enjoy the rest of their day after the cancellation of their classes.

Ishan hums to himself as he wraps up the extra papers and wires, the bag for Shubhman ready to take. "Tulsi, reusable pen, certificate." He counts everything outloud and puts the bag aside. Someone lifts it up instantly. Ishan whips around, seeing Shubhman standing there grinning at him.

"Hello, there."

"Hi, Shubhman. How long have you been standing here?"

"Just long enough to hear that aap Mumbai aa sakte hai."

Ishan feels his face heat up instantly and shakes his head. Shubhman laughs. "Come on, I feel like we should close this hall before someone closes us inside it."

Would it really be so bad?

Oh god, when did he turn into a desperate teenager?

Ishan follows Shubhman out, talking about measley things like movies and songs, to see him off and help him settle with the gifts but they're met with Virat bhaiya and Rohit bhaiya standing at the gate of the faculty and a thundering rain.

Fuck.

They both despise the rain. Ishan does too, to be honest. Almost everyone at the college hates it. Mostly, because after rain, their usually pristine college roads turn into water holding corners at some areas and the greenery in their college always allows for mosquitoes after a good rain.

Virat bhaiya shakes his head,"Unnatural rains, at the time of diwali no less! Kya zindagi hai yaar."

"Why are you being dramatic?" Ishan asks with a groan,"I have to go back on my bike! I'm already applying for sick leave for tomorrow, Rohit bhaiya."

Before Rohit bhaiya can say anything, though, Shubhman frowns at him. "But why do you want to get soaked? I have my car, I'll drop you off at your place."

"Absolutely not, I'm not going to impose on you like that. And what about my bike?"

"I'll send Rutu or someone with it tomorrow to pick you up, bhai." Rohit bhaiya says. "Don't get sick uselessly! Shubhman is right, you don't need to get soaked for nothing."

Shubhman nods along,"And it's not imposing if I offered. Come on, let me do my good deed for the week."

Ishan looks helplessly at Virat bhaiya. He lifts his chin and gives him a reassuring look.

"Okay."

____________________________________________________

Tagging: @mayakimayahai @kyayaarkiraa @ispeakmorelanguagesthanyou @onthecloudseven @khwxbeeda @ek-ladki-bheegi-bhagi-si @fortunatelycrazyyouth @ishkrisq

#desiblr #suffer ye suhana nahi #desi tumblr #ishman #shubhish #shubhman gill #ishan kishan

[film-in-my-soul]

Can I request 'the "oh" moment' for IceMav? 💙

.⋆｡°✩ Ice figures it out.✩°｡⋆.

They don't see each other very often. They can't. Not while Ice is stationed halfway across the world from where Maverick is at any given month of the year. Still, they meet up when time allows. Ice likes to spend his shore leave on the West Coast, as far from his family home as he can get, and Maverick saves up leave requests to line up with him, not that they plan it, not out loud, at least.

They pretend it's some kind of serendipity, Ice showing up in town and then Maverick, the next day, showing up at his door with a smirk and a case of beer to split between baseball games and traded, secret intimacies for however long they can swing it.

For Ice, it's good, it's more than he'd ever thought he would have. A bed to lay his head on, a city that he can relearn when he sets his feet on solid ground, and a man who takes his face in his hands and kisses him like it's not a chore, like it couldn't get them court-martialed, or worse...

Ice doesn't think about it and tries not to hold onto it too hard. A part of him that remembers the sounds of bottles breaking and too much shouting, muttered words filled with so much ink-black venom it scares him. Being with Maverick scares him. And Ice knows, deep down, that he's not all that brave, that despite throwing himself into a cockpit and taking to the sky at speeds that'll probably kill him one day, when he's touching the earth, he's human. Maverick's not like that, and Ice doesn't know what to do with it.

He doesn't know how he's supposed to feel when Maverick knocks their shoulders together and holds the contact for two seconds longer than he needs to. He doesn't know the right script when Maverick's teasing words slip too far into an undoubtable flirt. More than that, Ice doesn't know how to ease the vice closing around his heart every time their fingers brush, their mouths meet, Maverick's eyes catch his from across the room, and pure sunlight pours from them when he smiles.

Ice hates that sometimes when he gets his new orders, when he's back on a boat and is sustaining himself with stolen phone calls and coded postcards, he can breathe again. Still, he doesn't stay away, doesn't want to, refuses to let those shadowy places inside him win. Because even if he can't be brave, Maverick's got plenty of that to spare.

Or at least stupidity disguised as bravery. Either way, Ice allows himself to cling to that, to use it for himself, to think about it like he doesn't let himself think about anything else.

And it's thinking about all of it, about Maverick, laying on his side in the bed that Ice only sees four times a year if he's lucky, snoring with fresh morning sunbeams striping his face in golden light, that Ice feels the hold on his heart loosen. It's tracing the contours of Maverick's peaceful expression with his eyes and then the barest touch of a fingertip, Maverick stirring only enough to shuffle further into Ice's chest that it hits.

And oh.

Oh.

It's this, isn't it? He thinks, mouth softening into an 'o.' It's the answer to the questions he can't stop himself from asking but has never wanted the answer to. Always so sure, he'd convince himself that the hand-me-down bravery wasn't enough, and he'd let it slip, let Maverick slip, right out of his fingers. But that's not it because it's here, in his bed, swelling like the curtains of his open windows do.

Love.

#icemav #icemav ficlet #top gun ficlet #ficlet bingo #this took longer than i thought it would .-.

[ilguna]

☼ lucky charm (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; believing that he'll fail the next game that'll win hufflepuff the quidditch cup, Finnick comes to you asking for felix felicis.

warnings; swearing, rule breaking

wc; 2.9k

notes; hogwarts au

–

Ever since you found out you could make money from illegally selling potions to other students, you haven’t stopped.

You didn’t realize there was such a demand for potions, otherwise you would’ve started sooner. You could be rolling in more galleons than you know what to do with—not that you aren’t already. You will say, though, that it’s extremely time consuming, and they’re lucky you have nothing better to do at Hogwarts.

You’ve tried joining the extracurriculars, but they’re not nearly as entertaining. You don’t have the talent for quidditch, and you were told that by the Captain when you tried out last year. And the last thing you want to do is try out for the frog choir, that’s a ticket to get laughed at.

Actually, you were hoping that Snape would finally come out with a potions club that you could go to instead of studying in the library. As much as he hated to admit it, he told you that you were one of the best potion makers that he’d seen in years. He called you a bright student and then made you promise to never repeat those words to anyone else.

If you could, you’d shove it all in the slytherin’s faces. You’re sure that they’d be pissed a hufflepuff is accomplishing feats they should be doing with their eyes closed. After all, Snape is their house professor, not yours.

You draw a line through a name in your notebook, drawing an arrow to an empty space to write a note on why their order is cancelled, when you hear your name. You look up, closing the notebook in the process to hide what’s inside.

There’s not a lot of people that know you make potions under the table. There’s only a select few people that do, and that’s so you don’t end up getting caught. Your closest friends try to keep their ears out for those who are serious about buying, and they subtly lead them to you.

The only house that you refuse to help so far are the ravenclaws, because they believe in fairness more than the other houses do. They’ll turn in cheaters without a second thought to it, because no one should have an unnatural disadvantage. It’s bullshit. 

You get by without them, anyway. This is just a side hobby, it’s not like you’re saving up to buy anything. You could stop whenever you wanted to, but that just risks losing the monopoly you have on the business. You’re the only one that willingly sells the potions at a low price without complaining. And also, your potions aren’t fake. You’re a reliable source.

You’re met with the faces of a few of hufflepuff’s quidditch team. The one that’s standing closest to you is the one and only, Finnick Odair. Lately people have been saying that he’s going to be the huffelpuff seeker prodigy, and your house hasn’t had one of those in a long time.

“What can I do for you?” You ask, placing your quill in the ink bottle to hold it temporarily.

“Can we talk privately?” Finnick asks, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Sure, I’ll meet you in the hallway in just a moment.” You look between him and his friends, “Are we all talking…?”

“No, just me and you.” He smiles.

He walks off with the other two, you make a funny face at their backs. You’re not sure why all three of them approached you if he wanted to talk to you in private. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he needed moral support to talk to you. You can’t imagine you’re a hard person to approach, though.

You flip the notebook back open, taking the quill to write the note quickly. He cancelled because he needed the potion for a later date, and would prefer for it to be freshly produced. You write the new date next to the note, and then you leave the notebook open to dry while you put the rest of your things away.

You like to use lunch and after dinner as times to catch up on the potions. You refuse to do them in the morning because you’re too tired to operate. You tried a couple of times, and those were the times you set the bathroom on fire and exploded a hole through the stall doors. Your hair still hasn’t grown correctly since. 

You pack the rest of your bag, and then head out of the Great Hall to find Finnick Odair. You have a feeling that it’s going to be about the potions. The people who approach you to ask usually start with wanting to speak in private, because that’s what they’ve been instructed to do by your friends.

You pass by Finnick’s friends, and every single one of them has their eyes on you. You ignore them, leave the doors, and find that Finnick isn’t hiding too far away. You follow him into an empty hallway. 

He takes in a breath, “I heard that you sell potions.”

“Yup.” You stop a few feet away, “Who told you about me?”

“Annie. She said that you’d be able to help me.” He says.

Your eyebrows twitch, “What are you trying to fix?”

“Well, it hasn’t happened just yet. Hufflepuff could win the quidditch cup next game, and I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.” He runs a hand through his hair.

You know what he’s looking for. He wants Felix Felicis—liquid luck. It’ll ensure that everything he does in the game works in his favor so that they win. The only issue is that you don’t sell liquid luck to the quidditch players because it’s a sport aimed for talent, and it’s cheating. It’s the same reason why you didn’t take it before your tryout, it’s unfair.

You can feel your face fall, already beginning to shake your head to tell him no. He must’ve known this was coming, because he clasps his hands together.

“Please, (Y/n). I don’t want to lose this game.”

“And I understand that, but I don’t sell to quidditch players. It seems like Annie already told you I was going to say no, anyway. So why are you bothering?” You cross your arms.

“Because I thought you’d understand the pressure to succeed.” He says, “Everyone is expecting me to get the snitch, and there’s no way I stand a chance against slytherin. They crush hufflepuff every year.”

You almost want to tell him it’s a talent issue, but that’s a sure way to get on the bad side of Finnick. That’s the last thing you want, considering he’s fairly popular in the hufflepuff house, and a lot of people would turn on you for it. Although, you’ve gotten mouthy with plenty of other quidditch players before, and they’ve never turned around and gotten you in trouble.

“Did you tell the other quidditch players that you were planning to ask me this?” You ask.

“No, I told them that you were going to lend me notes for potions.” He says.

You reach into your bag, pulling out your placebo potions notebook, the one you use for class. The real one you have is filled with every detail on how to make a perfect potion. If Snape ever had that in his hands, and found out that you were studying like that, you’d get questioned for it.

You hold it out for him, “Here.”

“Please, I’ll do anything.” He says, taking your hand in his, “I’ll pay extra, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want is to not get in trouble because you’re reckless.” You raise your eyebrows, “So you’ll promise me that you will not breathe a word of this conversation to the professors. If they find out that I gave it to you, you’ll be banned from quidditch, and I’ll be in huge trouble.”

There’s a cute smile forming on his face, “I promise.”

“You’ll be paying triple the price because it’s last minute, and it’s against the rules.” You pull your hand away, “Felix Felicis takes six months to brew.”

“Thank you, (Y/n), I mean it.” He says.

“I’ll see you before the quidditch game on Saturday to give you the dosage so that you don’t kill yourself.” You give him a smile, “I want my notebook back after you win the game.”

“Sounds like a deal.”

—

You honestly thought that Finnick Odair had to be one of the most confident quidditch players you’d seen in your life. While everyone else hesitates when it comes to the snitch, he never does. He’s always on top of searching, even if there’s nothing to look for at the moment.

He might think that he doesn’t stand a chance against slytherin’s seeker, but he’s the reason why the hufflepuff team does. If it weren’t for him, they would’ve lost the last game that was played against gryffindor. The gryffindor’s had scored so many points against hufflepuff, and if they’d made another ball through the hoop, they could’ve won the game despite the fact that you guys caught the snitch.

There’s nothing scarier than being neck in neck with points. Gryffindor was behind by ten points, and right when they went to make another score, Finnick caught the snitch, letting you win by ten whole points. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a game that bad in a long time.

Besides, it’s not necessarily Finnick’s fault, it’s his teammates that are a bunch of dead weight. If they could block the hoops like they’re supposed to, then there wouldn’t be any close calls.

That’s why you’ve decided not to give him the potion. 

Finnick comes around the corner, and you immediately reach into your bag to grab the vial of pumpkin juice you dyed to look like Felix Felicis. You don’t think he’s seen a genuine bottle in his life, but you wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t call you out for it.

“Hey,” He breathes, shaking his hands to get the nerves out. They’re supposed to play any minute now.

“Hey.” You smile, carefully pouring a tablespoon’s worth of pumpkin juice. He takes it from you, making a face as he downs it. And just in case he’s done his research, you pour him one more spoonful.

“Doesn’t taste very good.” He murmurs.

“I could’ve told you that.” You laugh, “Got a breath mint?”

“No time, I’m going to be smelling on the field anyway.” He pulls out the galleons from his pocket, dropping them into your hand, triple the payment, just like you asked. When he wins the game tonight, you’ll give it back and tell him the truth. “When does it take effect?”

“You should feel it soon.” You shrug, “I’ve never taken it myself, but that’s what everyone else says. You should get back to the field.”

“Will you be watching?”

“Yeah, I’ll be sitting with Annie and them. I’m sure you’ll see us.” You nudge him to get walking, “We’ll be cheering you on. Good luck!”

“Thank you!” He waves, and then jogs off.

You drop the galleons into your back, cap the pumpkin juice, and then head for the stands, where you’ll be sitting for the next few hours. At the top of the staircase, you find your friends, who have chosen front row seats to ensure they’ll be able to see you.

As soon as you sit down, Annie is turning to you, “You better hope that he wins, he’ll be pissed if he finds out. I’ve been hearing the slytherins are planning to be aggressive today.”

“They’re always aggressive. And he doesn’t need luck.” You hold onto your bag tighter, “I believe in him.”

The game starts when Professor McGonagall throws the ball into the air. The balls and the quidditch players are nothing but a blur as they zip around. As promised by Annie, the slytherin’s aren’t even trying to hide the fact that they’re borderlining breaking the rules.

From the very moment the game starts, you’re on the edge of your seat. The quidditch commentator keeps everyone up to date with the score because the balls are flying back and forth. The scores are continuously going up, without a hint of slowing down. The hufflepuffs will be in a fifty point lead, and then the slytherins will pull moves you haven’t seen before, and then they’re in the lead.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so into a quidditch game before. All the other times you got bored halfway through and opted to go brew potions to catch up on orders. You guess it’s different now, because it’s personal. You just shorted Finnick Odair out of liquid luck, and if he loses, he’ll know it, too.

He’s already acting differently out there, he’s doing more than he usually would, and it’s helping his teammates keep consistent, while he searches for the snitch. Hufflepuff is currently at a seventy point lead, if they caught the snitch now, you’d win. However, neither team has even seen the snitch yet.

Hufflepuff scores another ten points, and you watch as a few of the slytherin players share a look, which is the sign they’ve given each other to step up their game. It seems as if Hufflepuff has caught onto it, though, because it’s a tough match. The bludgers are hit back and forth at players, nearly causing several concussions. And no matter how many times they throw the quaffle, it never makes it past the hoops.

This goes on for thirty minutes, everyone is getting increasingly frustrated, which means that the game needs to be ended before someone actually ends up getting hurt. You can see Finnick searching, and then his head suddenly darts to the left, and he takes off.

“Yes!” You cheer, getting to your feet to peer over the stands. This causes the whole crowd to follow you, realizing that Finnick could win the hufflepuffs the cup.

Finnick chases the snitch in between stands, around the hoops, under beams. He disappears several times, and comes back, still pursuing the snitch. The slytherin seeker has caught onto this, and he tries to keep up with Finnick’s pace, but Finnick’s always been persistent.

The slytherin seeker gets too close, Finnick slams his foot into the girls’ broom, sending her spiraling away into the tarp that covers the stands. While she tries to recover from this setback, Finnick has gained another inch on the snitch.

When suddenly, he reaches forward, and grabs it.

“Hufflepuff has secured the snitch!” The commentator roars over the microphone, “The game has ended! Hufflepuff wins with four hundred points, while slytherin loses with two-hundred and fifty!”

Everyone in your section erupts into noise, celebrating Hufflepuff’s win. There’s cheering, a few stray whistles, clapping and stomping to show pride. Finnick finds you in the crowd, and points at you.

You laugh, and then turn to Annie, shaking her shoulder, “I told you!”

“I’m sorry for doubting you.” She mutters.

“I’ll see you in a few, we should go get butterbeers.” You tell her, starting down the aisle, “You know, to celebrate.”

“Let’s meet at the fountain!” She shouts, you give her a thumbs up.

You’re one of the first people out of the stands, allowing you to get to the bottom much faster. You can be in there forever, taking it one step at a time because people like to fuck around on the staircase.

The quidditch players have already cleared the field, so you hurry to go and find Finnick before you lose your chance. You’re sure that they’re all going to go and hang out together to celebrate, and you won’t be able to speak to him alone until tomorrow. It isn’t that big of a deal, but you’re sure the guilt’s got to be kicking in at any minute.

A hand grabs your wrist, yanking you back. You turn to shout, expecting it to be an angry slytherin, but you’re met face to face with Finnick, who’s as pale as a sheet.

“I shouldn’t have taken that.” He mutters, you look behind you to make sure no one’s coming before pushing him behind a corner to talk to him. 

“Finnick—”

“What was I thinking? What if they find out?” He runs a hand through his hair. His breath still smells like pumpkin juice. And he wasn’t wrong when he said that he’d smell, he needs a shower.

“Listen to me—” You start.

“Why would you sell that to me?” He asks.

“Finnick!” You grab his arms, “It wasn’t Felix Felicis, I lied to you.”

He stares at you for a long second, blinks once, and then his eyebrows push inward, “What?”

“I gave you dyed pumpkin juice, I didn’t give you the real thing.” You tell him, reaching into your bag to pull out what he paid you. You take his hand and drop the galleons into his palm, “I’m not stupid enough to break the rules like that.”

He shakes his head, “You gave me pumpkin juice? What if I lost?”

You beam, “I knew you could do it without the luck, Finnick. You’re a talented seeker, you don’t need potions to win games. Did you see yourself out there? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play better!”

Finnick laughs, “A placebo effect.”

“No, your true potential!” You smile, “I’m sorry for lying to you, but I couldn’t go through with it.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” He rubs the back of his neck, “Do you have any plans?”

“Yeah, Annie and I are going to go to the Three Broomsticks.”

“Would you mind if I joined you?” He asks.

You shake your head, “No, I wouldn’t.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x you #finnick imagine #finnick oneshot #finnick fanfic #finnick x reader #thg #the hunger games #requested #fluff

[greenishghostey]

Oh, cute idea! Reader and eddie... getting married. But reader hates the feeling of jewelry, super uncomfortable with even tiny pieces. So they get matching tattoos instead.

This idea is SO SO SWEET!!! Personally, I don't really like having jewellery on my hands, so yeah love love this idea 😊

///

“You’re 1000% sure about this?” Eddie stressed, his nose almost pressed to yours. “There’s no backsies with ink. Can’t throw the ring at me if I piss you off later.”

You bumped your nose against his and stared back at him, hard and with comically wide eyes. “This was my idea, of course I’m sure.” You smiled. “Besides, wouldn’t throw anything at you, I’d tackle you. Big difference.”

“Brave words for someone I’m about to stick with a needle.” Eddie smirked, cleaning a small section of your bicep with an alcohol wipe.

You weren’t a fan of rings - on your own hands anyway. Eddie’s eclectic jewellery was totally fine. The weight and pressure of the metal around your fingers felt restrictive and a little bit gross. You had really sweaty hands and your sense of touch was sensitive at the best of times.

When Eddie proposed to you, he didn’t get you a ring because he knew you wouldn’t like it. Instead, the two of brainstormed ideas to replace the symbol of a ring.

He suggested getting a pet, a cat to roam around the apartment. You weren’t opposed to having a pet, but both of you worked so long that the little feline would be lonely most days.

Another option was necklaces. Both of you would have a small ring on a chain around your necks. This was the idea you were going to go with until Eddie misplaced his guitar pick necklace. He started ranting and raving that he’d end up losing the ring necklace too - the very thought of it stressed him out beyond belief. The guitar pick one had been through the laundry one Sunday in a pair of his jeans. The crisis was averted thanks to you.

So, it needed to be something on your person at all times and permanent. It was you who suggested tattoos at home. Eddie had done a few stick and pokes on himself and others over the years and he had gotten pretty good. You only had crescent moon you got tattooed on your ass cheek as a dumb act of rebellion. Another, more meaningful, addition would be more than welcome.

Eddie held his most simple silver ring against the cleaned area of skin, trying to decide where would look best and be the least painful. You and Eddie had gone back and forth about matching designs. Simple line circles is what you agreed on. It’s basically the same as having a ring - but it’s permanent and needs to be cling wrapped after you get it.

“Babe, this is gonna sting. You sure sure?” Eddie asked, furrowing his brows.

“It’s only a little circle. Plus, it’s you doing it, so I’m in the best hands I can be.” You reassured him. It was the truth. When it came to tattoo care, Eddie was so on the ball it was impressive. He said it was because he got a rash on his demon head tattoo and “felt like nearly rip a tit off from itching.”

“Been told I’m good with my hands, you know. Never had any complaints.”

“I’m the only person who you’ve had your hands on. Like, ever, dude.”

“And you’ve never complained, point proven.” Eddie stated, tilting his head at you to further his point. “Get my greasy mitts on ya and it’s all “uh huh, god yeah - fuck fuck yeah.”” As much as you hated to admit it, Eddie’s impression of your sex noises was actually pretty good. All the years of doing voices for D&D had done wonders.

You swatted at his thigh that was pressed to yours and chuckled with him. The cosy lamp light of your living room was the perfect atmosphere for the evening. It was just… everything. Eddie was always a bit of everything, and you savoured every second with him.

“Okay, back to the undying devotion ink.” Eddie smiled, pressing the ring firmly into your bicep so it would work as a circle guide. He really wasn’t confident enough to do a non-shitty circle free hand. You wouldn’t have minded either way. He could draw a square for all you cared and you’d still love it.

“I promise I’ll be fine, I’ll say if it hurts too bad.” You said, nudging his leg with your foot lightly and giving him a soft smile. “Gremlins is on at 8 and we’re not missing the start again.”

Eddie just looked you over fondly. It was a quick sweep of his gaze, but it was thorough. You had been worried about not wanting a ring - everyone wanted a ring when they got engaged, it was normal.

However, you and Eddie had never really done “normal”, you guys worked so well because you both went with the flow of each other and no one else. Matching energy beat for beat. Melting into each other’s existences and moulding something entirely new. Eddie liked to think that’s what love really was. None of that fake mushy stuff that came from guys who didn’t even really like their wives.

“Remember you’ve gotta do mine after this. Then you can sit and tell me about how they made gizmo move in the movie.” Eddie quipped. Whenever he watched a movie with extensive effects in it, you would always talk his ear off about the ins and outs of how they worked. He called them your fun facts - because they were fun, to him.

“You like my commentary, hush.” You grumbled. The technology and skill behind the gremlin puppets was super cool, anyone would be lucky to hear all about it. “You’re mighty brave wanting me to stick you.”

“I’ll use the safe word if it hurts too much, promise.” Your soon to be husband was one weird guy, but he was your favourite brand of weird.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #my writing #fic #fluff #eddie

[mithclearwell]

Just out of curiouse, do you have any tips for beginner artists? I would really appreciate one

Of course! ^-^ I'm more than happy to help!

Let's see...without the ability to have a conversation, I'm not sure where exactly you are in skill level, so I guess I'll start with some basic quality-of-life tips.

General:

You don't have to go to college to get good at art. I didn't go to art school!

Watch youtube videos from good artists, or those you admire!

What kind of art do you ultimately want to produce? This isn't an instance of "I can only pick one thing", it's more like...each type of art requires different skills, and if you know ahead of time what you want to do FIRST, you can narrow down what you have to learn.

learn proper sketching and use of circles and other shapes to build the figure, don't just jump in making the final lines right away! It's not a "cheat", it's proper technique. It's "caring about your work".

Same for references. Google up some images of what you want to draw and look at them while you draw your own picture. It's not only okay, it's what professionals do. You need to train your EYE as well as your hand.

It's okay to mimic styles you like! But be aware that each artist may stretch or squish or exaggerate proportions to fit what they personally like to see. This is why it's IMPERATIVE that you learn realism alongside any manga style you want to try. Once you learn where the eyes sit on the face, the different facial planes and what bones they relate to, and different sizes and builds for the face, you can then manga them up to any style you want!

For real paper:

Use a protector sheet, or wear a glove on your drawing hand. You want to make sure you don't get graphite or colored pencil on the side of your hand, and then smear it on your drawing. Placing a piece of paper under your hand will protect your work!

Don't touch your art with your fingertips. Fingertips have oil and gunk on them, and will smudge your drawing. (If you're working with charcoal, this could work to your advantage! But you're probably not using charcoal. It's messy and usually limited to college art students.)

Get the right tools! You can buy a small eraser set in the art section of Wal-Mart for like $3 -- it has a polymer eraser, a smaller white eraser, and the all-important KNEADED ERASER. This thing can be squished and torn apart and it'll pick up graphite like a champ! Do not bother with hard pink erasers, they're trash.

You don't need special paper to learn. I used to draw on the backs of my dad's extra math photocopy papers. Copy paper is smooth and not too fussy and I like it. "Sketch pads" usually have a rougher grain, and I hate the way the paper feels. Also there's a lot of ugly white spots when you try to shade or use colored pencils. Only use that if you're keeping a cute little book or using pastel crayons or something (or it's all you have). Don't fuss over it too much while you're learning. It won't make much difference until you're ready to specialize!

Blending stumps are cool and even pros use them.

Get a small electric pencil sharpener. They're less than $10 at places like Dollar General, and those stores are literally everywhere.

If you get a manual sharpener in an "art set", that's fine, too, but it hurts my hand to do it manually. I like the ones that have little covers.

It DOES matter what kind of ink pen you use. Gel pens will smear. Most markers are washable, and you better believe they will run at the first hint of moisture. India Ink also smears and runs with water. I recommend Sakura Micron pens, Zig Mangaka pens, or my favorite --- the Kuretaki Bimoji felt tip brush pen. You can get all that on Amazon, and it's like $6. I got the superfine tip.

LET YOUR INK DRY BEFORE YOU PUT MARKERS OR WATERCOLOR OR ANYTHING AT ALL OVER IT. It takes maybe 20 minutes.

If you don't plan to color it, you CAN draw with a ball point pen and it'll look just fine.

Do a tiny little water streak test with any markers you plan to use with watercolor. Just brush a tiny bit of water over the mark after it's dry to see if it bleeds. I use that bleed to my advantage sometimes, but you just gotta be aware of what's what.

Digital:

You can buy a small, cheap tablet from HUION for less than $40. MAKE THE INVESTMENT. IT'S WORTH IT.

Clip Studio Paint is EXCELLENT. Well worth the $50-$60 price tag. I think you can try it before you buy it, too. It gives you access to the Asset Store -- which is the single greatest artistic sharing tool I have EVER seen, and I've used SAI for ...probably a decade... I've used dozens of custom brushes and even made my own, and I just can't even believe what is available with CSP. Do yourself a favor and get it.

"But I can't use a tablet! I can't look at a screen while I draw!" Yes you can. YES you can. Yes you can, if you'll just try it. "but I tried once and it didn't work" Well YEAH, if you only tried a handful of times, OF COURSE it didn't work. Do you know what practice is? HUION screen tablets are over $300!!!!! Do you have that kind of disposable income lyin around? (plz donate some to me if you do lololjk =u=; )

Start saving a folder full of refs.

Ask people to tell you what to draw. Let them request something for free. This makes you draw things you wouldn't normally draw, and there is INCREDIBLE value in stepping outside of your comfort zone. You will level up in no time.

Whew...that covers most of the basics, I think. If you have something specific you want me to go into more detail on, please let me know! I love helping ;w;

#mithart #tips #art help #asks

[thiswasinevitableid]

On the Hunt (Sternclay)

Runner up in the humans and mers at sea prompt was: human and mer rival treasure hunters. Stern's design is based on a Spotted Drum fish. This fill is NSFW

The Yeti bobs in the cove as Barclay winches up the net, looking over his shoulder every two seconds for the authorities. Technically he’s not doing anything illegal, but he doesn’t speak enough Spanish to explain what exactly he is doing. 

His basic answer would be that he’s running a net along the sandy bottom in hopes of picking up stray coins or other artifacts that will tell him if the wreck of a sunken galleon is anywhere nearby. 

There’s tension on the winch, and for a wonderful moment he thinks he’s found more than just some fish and driftwood. Then he spots the black and white tailfin thrashing in the net and all he can do is laugh. 

“Having some trouble there, Joseph?”

The thrashing finishes with a roll, and a merman glares out at him as he claws at the tangled strands, “Mr. Cobb, did you do this on purpose?”

“Nope. Didn’t even know you were here. Guess I shoulda assumed you were, since you’re always swimming around where you shouldn’t be.”

“I could say the same of you.”

Barclay smirks, “Still pissed about that wreck near the Keys?”

“I had the key to that sunken chest in my hand.”

“Yeah, and you shoulda held onto it tighter. Lots of things can bump you around in the water.”

“You tackled  me.” Stormy blue eyes flash for a moment, and then the mer closes them and takes a deep breath, “look, this situation isn’t making it easy for me to be professional. If you let me out of the net, we can talk about this like gentlemen.”

“Okay” Barclay pulls a lever and the net tips, dropping it’s passenger unceremoniously on the deck. 

“Shit” Joseph hisses, flicking his short, ink-black hair from his face as he sits up. He’s the only merman Barclay’s seen wear it this short, and he always pushes it back over his head, like he’s trying to ape Bogart or someone. 

“Now we’re even for Tortuga Bay.”

“I didn’t mean to knock you that hard with my tail. You startled me and I acted on reflex.”

“Right, sure.” Barclay leans on the rail, “just like you didn’t get into my net on purpose to fuck up my search.”

“I already–oh, nevermind.” Joseph sighs, “if you’re looking for the wreck of the Mariposa, it’s nowhere in this cove. I thought I found some items from it, but they’re too new. That’s what I was examining when you picked me up.”

Barclay studies his expression; Joseph is a hell of a liar when he needs to be. Barclay’s not falling for it again. The merman simply watches him in return, expression pleasant. 

Their stalemate is broken by voices in the distance. The Reconciliation, a far larger vessel, has just rounded the Southern end of the cove. 

“Fuck. I do not wanna be around when they get close. Someone took a shot at me last time.”

“I can’t get within a hundred yards of their divers without a speargun pointed my way.” Joseph hauls himself up the railing, “Even if the Mariposa is close by, what’s on it isn’t worth dying for.”

“Hate to say it, but you’re right. Now get the fuck off my boat.”

Joseph’s tail disappears over the side before he finishes the order.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Nothing in the mer or human records said anything about the golden cutlass being on land. But there it is, stabbed into the ground at the base of a palm tree, a good fifty feet from the waters edge. 

Joseph reaches into his satchel, pulling out a length of rope. Every other mer at his work  thinks he’s ridiculous for carrying it on missions, but he’s learned the hard way that being unprepared can be frustrating at best and deadly at worst. 

He ties one end of the rope of a boulder halfway in the surf and the other end around his waist. It won’t make his crawl up the beach any more dignified, but this way he can pull himself along the line back to the water rather than risk being stranded and dying. 

Two-thirds of the way up the sand, the brush at the treeline rustles. Barclay emerges, sweat dripping down his neck and his half-bare chest, leaves clinging to his tan shirt and a hat covering his eyes. 

There’s no way Joseph is getting there before him. Barclay doesn’t even acknowledge his presence, instead wrapping the artifact in a cloth and tucking it into his rucksack. Then he disappears into the trees and all Joseph can do is curse and start dragging himself back to the sea. 

When feet crunch on sand he freezes and looks over his shoulder to find the human coming down the beach. It’s unlike Barclay to go out of his way to rub in a failure, and so his curiosity makes him stay put. 

“Sorry, blue eyes” Barclay scoops him up, ignoring his protests, “better luck next time.”

“It wasn’t luck! It was bad information! And put me down right now.”

“I’m not the only person hunting around this island, and I bet some of them would love a captured mermaid. So” he drops Joseph into the surf “in you go.”

Joseph would love to splash him with his tail. But he’s a professional. So he settles for a flat “thank you” and slinks into the sea. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Fuck whoever said this cove wasn’t that deep.

 Swimming in the clear water, Barclay sees the wreck he’s looking for. A good sixty feet or more below him, too far for him to dive without a suit. He’s the only one on this trail, so maybe he can get back to port, rent a dive suit of some old salt, and be back before anyone else even finds the wreck.

A flash of black and white darts along the seafloor.

He surfaces and mutters “fuck” before diving back down to make sure it’s not just a dolphin. 

Nope, there’s Joseph, weaving between rotting boards like it’s nothing, picking up treasure and tucking a few pieces into that bag he’s taken to wearing. There’s no point in watching, but Barclay stays anyway, hating himself for enjoying the way Joseph looks as he twists and glides from find to find. 

Eventually, Joseph swims away from the wreck, offering Barclay a polite nod and a not so polite smile of triumph. Then his eyes widen and he drops below Barclay, shepherding a Bull Shark back towards open water. Going by its initial position, it had been deciding whether to surge up and taste Barclay’s leg. 

He calls out “thanks” the instant he surfaces, wondering if Joseph even hears it, and then swims fast and calm to the boat.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

After two successful hunts without any sign of Barclay, Joseph assumes the human is on the trail of something big. After four, he’s worried but not overly so; maybe what Joseph’s been after lately isn’t of interest to people. He’s still working out exactly what humans think is valuable and what they consider unworthy of salvage. 

After six, he swims the short distance from the reef he calls home to Kepler, the coastal town Barclay calls the same. Joseph knows the mers and humans alike here see him with suspicion, as he hails from a mertropolis that hasn’t always been kind to humans. 

He didn’t do himself any favors by betraying Barclay the second time they met. 

They’d both lost out to the Reconciliation in retrieving anything from a wreck from what the humans now called the first world war. So when he got word of a smaller wreck containing a supposedly cursed, diamond necklace, he asked Barclay if they could work together to find it before anyone else did. They’d found it, and the instant the box was in his hand he was gone, Barclay unable to pursue him in his dive suit. 

At the time it had felt like a necessary evil. Now he just feels guilty. 

A few other mers are in the water near Amnesty Lodge, and while one or two wave hello, the rest ignore him. On the back patio of a small, waterside cabin, he finds Barclay sitting at a small table under a porch light. Reading glasses perch on his nose and he’s idly scratching his auburn beard as he stares at a map. There are only a few, steep steps from the sea to the porch, but Joseph doesn’t want to disturb him and so he stays in the water. The longer he floats there, the more an ache forms in his chest, one he can’t quite name. 

Barclay looks up without warning, groaning when he sees Joseph in the water. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” A teasing smile, “are you really that obsessed with me?”

Joseph runs a hand over his hair, “I hadn’t seen you in awhile and I wanted to make sure you were okay. Statistically, humans are more likely to die in our line of work than mers are.”

“I’m fine.” 

Joseph knows not to overstay his welcome, but as he pushes off the step that baritone voice comes to him much softer than before. 

“Wait”

He waits. 

“I’ve been staring at this map for weeks and I can’t find what I need. There’s a code but I can’t quite work it out. I’ve got a bad feeling you can.”

“Barclay, as much as this intrigues me, I’m not going to hang around to be insulted.”

“I’m trying to work out how to ask to work together without you fucking me over again!”

He flicks his tail “Then start by telling me what the map is for so I can tell you if it’s even something I want.”

“It’s for the Eternal Oyster.”

“That’s an odd quarry for you.”

“I’m not interested in the oyster. I’m interested in the pearl. According to the record Dani found me” he taps a conch shell, “it’s ‘three times the size of Poseidon's eye.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow, “Well, there’s your answer. ‘Poseidon’s eye’ refers to a statue in Atlantis. It’s a sphere the size of a car wheel. Something three times that would be impossible for me to move on my own. Or you, for that matter.”

Barclay thinks a second, then picks up the map and descends the steps. Sitting on the second to last one, he turns the paper so Joseph can see. Joseph pulls himself onto the step below, peering at the nonsensical shapes. 

“What have you tried so far?”

“A mirror, a book on symbology, and looking at any tide and land maps I can find to see if this was just made by someone who was kind of shitty at cartography.”

“Smart. No leads on the language either?” Joseph scans the writing on the left-hand side

“None. I even went to the library and looked up what Aramaic, phonecian, old Arabic, and a few other ancient languages. No matches.”

The porch light shines through the back of the paper as Barclay holds it up to study it himself. As he does, Joseph notices faint lines criss-crossing the page. 

“We have to fold it. Into a circle, I think, but don’t quote me on that.”

“Talk me through how?”

“Keep some light through it and I should be able to.”

Five minutes later they’re nearly nose to nose, leaning over a circular map with clear headings and a short list of instructions. 

“Looks like we have to go up an inlet a ways. And there’s a cave.” Joseph glances at Barclay, “You’ll only be able to get a two-man ship up there, if that. And you’d be better off with someone who could swim ahead to look for danger while also being on deck if you need help navigating.”

Barclay studies him, eyes reminding Joseph of driftwood shining in the sun, “How long can you be out of the water?”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s three days of sailing to reach the pearl, if the weather holds. Barclay steers them towards their heading, while Joseph does his best to help from the hammock Barclay rigged up specially a few years ago so his mer friends could lower themselves in and out of the water even when the ship is in motion. 

The hammock is positioned so the mer within it can talk easily with the human at the helm. What this means in practice is that Barclay has an unbroken view of Joseph laying in the sun, tail shining like onyx and mother-of-pearl while sea spray clings to the muscles of his chest. This makes it much harder to steer, and to pretend his first idea to insure Joseph didn’t screw him over–chaining him to the rail–doesn’t still hold a new, far filthier appeal. 

They drop anchor in a calm cove to wait out the night. Barclay brings dinner for both of them onto the deck, where Joseph is busy re-organizing the contents of his satchel. 

“You got some nice stuff there, blue eyes. There were guys in basic who coulda learned a lot from you on keeping organized.”

“Thank you” Joseph looks genuinely flattered, “I consider it a professional investment.”

Barclay chuckles, “You’re always using that word. Hate to break it to you, but ‘treasure hunter’ isn’t something people see as a real job.”

“What I do isn’t treasure hunting. It’s archaeology. And anthropology, since I’m in charge of that department.”

“....what?”

“I’m a professor and museum curator. I thought…aren’t you something similar?” 

“Joseph, I’m a cook. I treasure hunt because the rent to keep the Lodge afloat started going sky-high and hasn’t stopped and, uh” he looks at his plate, “some other stuff, too.”

There’s a silence he’s already coming to recognize as Joseph thinking. 

“What was the necklace for? The one we went after together?”

He’s learned it’s better to be cagey about his past. To see unremarkable and fade into the background. Joseph’s always able to draw him out, even when he should stay hidden. 

“There’s some….people in town. Guys who’ll torch everything if you don’t do what they want. Maybe they’re part of something bigger. Maybe they’re small potatoes. All I know is when they were turning the town upside down looking for someone to make dives for them who could pilot a boat, and if someone didn’t help soon, they’d start burning houses. When Reconciliation took that first find out from under both of us, they told me it was find that necklace or stay underwater forever. Think the only reason I’m still alive is I found a bunch of other treasure on that same wreck and that put enough dollar signs in their eyes to give me another chance.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

Old hurt and fear wells up, and so his tone is short when he says, “Yeah, well, not everyone can afford to take what we find and put it on display. Or get away with a slap on the wrist if we fuck up.”

Blue eyes narrow, “Don’t pretend to know what my world is like.”

“At a guess it’s a hell of a lot less stressful than being on land!”

“There are horrible mers everywhere. And they’re more than happy to make others suffer consequences for their own purposes.”

Barclay stands, taking both plates, “Come whine to me about consequences when someone breaks your pinky for not finding what he wanted in a sea cave.”

He storms off the deck, tosses the plates into the sink, and sits down on his small bed, praying for a dreamless sleep. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------

They barely speak the next day. It’s an easy stretch of sea, and he doesn’t need any help navigating. He knows he’s being petty, knows Joseph couldn’t have any idea of what he’d dealt with. But the mer prides himself on his intellect and observation; maybe he should figure some things out without other people laying them bare. 

It’s only after they’ve found  harbor for the night that Barclay brings his chess set out as a peace offering. He remembers the mers excitement when he found one of carved ivory in a sunken desk. It’s easier to talk as they play, about friends and family and what they each do when not getting in the other’s way. Easier to imagine a life where Joseph is a regular at the Lodge and Barclay steals down to the shore  at night to see if all the wild stories about what’s hiding within mer tails is true. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

“We’ll have to anchor her here and take the rowboat” Joseph bobs in the water, looking up at Barclay. The human is painfully handsome in the morning sun, but between their strained small talk yesterday and Joseph’s own guilt at not working out the truth sooner he figures that ship sailed long ago. 

“It’s that bad?”

“Something small is the only way between the rocks, and we don’t want to lose the Yeti if, on the off-chance, I don’t warn you of one in time.”

“How deep is it once we reach the river mouth?”

“Only five feet or so.”

“Fuck it. I’ll swim, wade, and walk.” 

A few minutes later they’re swimming side by side, then Barclay is walking the bank while Joseph pushes upstream. When they reach the cave, the human holds a lantern and Joseph calls out when there’s a deeper patch of water or sharp patch of rocks. After a half hour, they reach a wall of cut stones, blocking all but a few streams of water, with no place for man or mer to sneak through. 

“Atlantian?” Barclay peers at the symbols on each stone.

“Old Atlantian. Which is important because that phrase on the map is ‘welcome esteemed ones.’ But welcome is a very different symbol depending on which form of Atlantian you’re looking at it. And I’m guessing hitting the wrong stone causes that to drop on us” he points to massive, jagged rock above them that’s clearly not part of the original ceiling.

“Okay” Barclay takes a deep breath “okay. Tell me what to press.”

With symbols above and below the water, and Joseph unwilling to risk their lives by hitting one without thinking through it first, the first candle in the lantern is nearly gone by the time the stones part and let them through. 

“Not gonna lie, blue eyes, that was fucking impressive.”

“Thank you. And I’m glad you were here so I wasn’t chucking rocks trying to hit the right stones above the water.” 

They round a corner and both groan: another wall, this time coated with a sparkling mural of the night sky. 

“All the map says is “the sky that sent you here.” Barclay cautiously looks at the wall, “holy fuck, the constellations are made of diamonds.”

“This doesn’t look right to me, but I don’t navigate by the stars.”

“It isn’t right. I think I can move the pieces around to make it be the sky we saw last night.” He sets the lantern on a rock and rubs his hands together, “okay, let’s see what we can do.”

Joseph settles on a rock to watch as Barclay moves the tiles side to side, up and down. He moves one, then shakes his head and moves it back. The instant it moves to the wrong spot, a fin crests the water on the far side of the cave. It’s not a big shark, and so Joseph slips soundlessly into the water and stares it down. The shark knows better than to pass by a larger predator that’s so clearly eyeing it, and so turns and swims the other way. 

He spends the next ten minutes diving and resurfacing to keep the growing number of sharks at bay. To Barclay’s credit, only three are there by the end, but Joseph has had to push the biggest one away more than once. 

“Oh fuck, I didn’t even see them!” Barclay quickly steps through the open door and Joseph swims after him. 

“I suspect that’s the point. Once again, I’m relieved we’re doing this together.”

“Me too.” The human smiles at him, “we make a good team. Wish we always could.”

Joseph sighs internally but doesn’t argue. An apology won’t fix this; only keeping his word will. 

They don’t have to search much farther before warm, golden light spills down the tunnel. In a final room, the Eternal Oyster sits stately and half-submerged, giant pearl bright and gold as the sun.

After checking the room for traps and finding none, Barclay pulls the large sheet from his rucksack that they’ll use to sling the pearl between them. 

“I think we can lift it out together” Joseph says. Barclay nods, positioning himself on the other side, up to his shoulders in water.

“Okay, on three. One, two, three.”

Electricity pulses through his system and he yelps, pained and blind, dropping the pearl back into place. Barclay is cursing like a sailor should, and his voice sounds strange, so strange Joseph fears he might be badly hurt. 

Blinking his eyes brings the world into better focus but worse sense. 

His own body is across from him, shaking its head. And his face, the one he can feel, itches. 

“Barclay? I think we found the booby trap.”

“No fucking kidding. Fuck that hurt. Maybe if…we….oh FUCK” The merman swims backwards in shock, running into a rock in the process, “ow, how do you move with this thing?”

“As easily as you do with legs. Which, for the record, I don’t feel great on.”

“If we touch it again it’ll fix it, right? Right?” Barclay sets his hand on the pearl and Joseph does the same. 

Nothing. Not even a mild shock.

“Shit. Okay, we just need to stop and think through our options-”

“No time” Barclay points to the door that’s not rumbling closed, “let’s go!”

They barely make it through the first door, and Barclay nearly clips his tail in the closing of the second. Their pace doesn’t slow once they make the mouth of the cave, as if they’re under the shared delusion they can move fast enough to catch the past and undo it. 

It’s only when he’s collapsed on the deck of the Yeti, his own face bobbing in the water nearby, that it sets in: they’re well and truly fucked. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes Barclay an embarrassingly long time to get on deck. Josephs’ tail is heavy and it where it does and doesn’t get traction makes no fucking sense. 

He feels a little better when, once he flops onto the sun-warmed wood, Joseph hisses in pain and sits down a moment later, pulling a splinter from his foot. 

“Feet are so sensitive.” He tosses the offending wood overside

“Gotta admit, I thought I’d feel more through this.” Barclay tries to raise his tail but simply flicks it, “no wonder you look like this” he gestures down to the visibly muscled stomach that’s replaced his dark haired belly. 

“I can see where you get the idea, but that’s not quite it.” Joseph is still holding his foot, wiggling each toe in turn, “the mers in my region treat everything as a test of strength and power. You have to be ready to fight over the most pointless things.”

“That sounds miserable.”

“It’s not my favorite.” Joseph stretches out his legs, “when I tricked you…I had been told if I didn’t come back with something impressive within four days of setting out, I could kiss my spot at work goodbye. They’d find someone who could handle the dangers of archaeology. That’s literally how they said it.” He runs his hand over his hair, wincing when it gets stuck in Barclay’s windblown strands, “Never mind that I’ve spent years studying human culture and mer history; if I ‘couldn’t hack it’ they said I’d never work in my field again. That doesn’t excuse what I did but…maybe it explains it.”

“Yeah, it does.” He holds out a far less scarred hand than normal, “to a fresh start?”

Joseph shakes his hand with a smile, then rests against the hull. Barclay wonders if his face looks this tired when it’s not Joseph behind it. 

His companion rolls his shoulder, “Does this always ache?”

“Yep. Pulled it when I was in the navy. Not in a fight; once they figured out I could cook, no one above me wanted to send me out and let the mess hall fall back into being grim.”

“I bet you were dashing in your uniform” His smile seems straighter when Joseph does it.

“I looked like a gorilla in blue.”

“I’m not sure I believe that” Joseph looks down at the body he’s occupying, “you cut quite a figure.”

“Yeah?” Barclay idly pets his tail, enjoying the cool scales against the heat of the sun, “think I’d have better luck treasure hunting if I batted my eyelashes at the competition?”

“Could be worth a try” Joseph’s teasing expression takes on a flustered undertone, “I, um, I’d be careful touching there.”

“OH, ohfuck, sorry.” Barclay pulls his hand back as a patch of scales ripples, sending a thrill of pleasure up his spine.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t occur to humans that ours are hidden, since yours aren’t.” He glances down, “which just seems very vulnerable.”

“I mean it, it is.” His eyes stick to where Joseph’s hand has slipped beneath weatherbeaten pants.

“Softer than I thought it’d be. Then again, mer writing on human anatomy is, well, lacking a lot of the time. Still, feeling it, I’m not sure how you fuck anyone with this.”

“It doesn’t stay that way.” Barclay forces his hands to stay on the deck, “don’t mer dicks need to be stroked or something?”

“That depends; there’s more, um, variety in mer anatomy than in humans, but once the slit is open, whatever is there is ready to go.” He’s obviously touching his dick (Barclay’s dick, his brain unhelpfully supplies, just like he’s wished he would in dozens of angry jerk off sessions), but his expression is more inquisitive than anything else. 

Then, just to bring Barclay closer to making a fool of himself, Joseph’s free hand roams up his chest, rucking up his shirt as it goes. He pets at the hair there with a smile, then gasps when he palms across his nipples, “That’s, wow, you’re very sensitive, big guy.”

“What was that?” Barclay tries to laugh but it comes out a bit strangled. 

“My personal nickname for you. I didn’t want to call you it out loud because it didn’t seem professional.”

“Hate to break it to you, blue eyes, but we blew past professional a few minutes ago.”

Joseph’s hands still, “Should I stop?”

“Not unless you want to. I, uh, I just, I know this might just feel like investigation to you but it’s turning me on and you’re touching me–like, my actual body–in ways it hasn’t been touched in years and…” he meets the brown eyes across from him and sees the truth, “and you knew that and’ve been winding me up on purpose you fucking tease.”

“I know I can be single minded at times, but even if I’d meant for this to be research, it would’ve stopped the second I felt how nice it is to touch you. And when I saw that you liked it.” He tilts his head down. Barclay follows his gaze and finds the slit on his tail open, silvery-pink tendrils curling anemone-like from the sides.

He groans, “Yeah, yeah you got me, blue eyes, the fact you’re kinda controlling my body and doing whatever you want to it is red hot and I, I..” he blushes, “I’ve always wanted to watch myself. I know that’s weird but I just think about being able to see how badly someone wants to touch me and how it looks when someone just takes me-”

As he babbles, Joseph unbuttons his shirt and then shoves down his pants, “There’s nothing strange about wanting to be appreciated for the gorgeous man you are.” He drags his hand slowly up his dick, “you were made to be looked at, so why shouldn’t you get to enjoy the view the same as the rest of us?”

Barclay whimpers, brushing his fingers cautiously over the tendrils and gasping when they try to coil around them.

“I know, big guy, I know. It aches, doesn’t it? Like if you don’t fill the space soon you’ll cry?”

“Uhhuh, fuck, how do you stand it?”

“I got good with my hands.” He laughs as Barclay frantically dips three fingers inside, “though one time it got so bad I found a merman with tentacles instead of a tail and begged him to fuck me with as many of them as he could.”

He imagines Joseph pinned against some rocky outcropping, crying out for more like he’s being paid to beg, and shoves his own fingers deeper. The inside of the slit is ridged and ripples as if it’s trying to draw the digits deeper and hold them tight. 

“Are you still okay?”

Barclay nods, “only thing that’d make it better is a kiss, fuck I’ve wanted to kiss you for months and at this point I don’t care how weird this all is, I still just want to know you’d kiss me back.”

Joseph awkwardly crawls the few feet between them and cups Barclay’s face in his hands. The kiss is sea-salted and swift, as the instant their lips meet the air crackles. It doesn’t hurt as much this time, though all the hair on arms is on end when he looks down and finds himself back in his own body. 

“Incredible!” The merman flutters his tail, “I wonder if the kiss did it? Or maybe the curse is specific to each situation and it decided we needed to understand each other? Hell, maybe it’s time sensitveOH, ohmylord.” Joseph is beautifully wide-eyed when Barclay lunges forward and pins him to the floor. 

“Baby, I love listening to you theorize. Seriously, I do.” He leans down kissing the merman’s cheek, “but so help me if you don’t focus and let me fuck you I’m sticking you back in that fucking net with just your tail free so you can’t run off when I’m getting my rocks off.”

Joseph purrs and arches his back, “you have my attention.”

Barclay kicks his pants free and straddles black and white scales. He thrusts in all at once, moaning as Joseph tightens around him and the ridges and ripples drag him towards his climax. 

“That’s it baby, take it, make all those times I had to watch you swim off with stuff you beat me to worth it, fuck, shoulda, shoulda fucked you before I went on a hunt so you’d be too fucking sore to move–oh, ohfuck, baby, baby.” He cums harder than he thought possible, Joseph moaning happily as he pulses inside him. 

When he raises up on his elbows and tries to pull out, he can’t. 

Joseph grins. Have his teeth always been that sharp?

“You’re not going anywhere until I cum, big guy.” The tendrils coil around his shaft, and one even slips lower to tease his balls, “and since you’re so convinced you could fuck me into submission,” he wiggles his tail but otherwise doesn’t move, “get to it.”

“Figures you’d be demanding in bed.” Barclay teases and bends to kiss him. Joseph returns the kiss sweetly. 

Then he sinks his teeth into Barclays shoulder. And when Barclay jerks upwards, Joseph moves his attention to his chest, pawing and biting and the sensitive skin. Barclay rocks his hips, and when he speeds up the movement the tendrils on his dick pulse and Joseph gives an odd, burbling cry. 

“Yes, yes, like that big guy, just like that. Fill me like a good partner, make me take it all, yes, fuckyes.” A shudder runs up his tail as he moans and cums, tendrils twitching as they recede.

When Barclay is able to pull out, he only gets halfway off the mer before collapsing into his arms. Joseph takes his right hand, kisses it, and then rests it on his chest with a contented sigh. 

A familiar horn in the distance. Reconciliation, somewhere at the other end of the cove. 

“Should we warn them about the oyster?” Barclay looks up at Joseph.

“No. They’re always bragging about how skilled they are. I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Joseph winks at him. 

Barclay kisses his collarbone. “Couldn’t agree more. Partner.”

#mermay #sternclay #agent stern/barclay #taz amnesty #indrid cold/duck newton #terato #monster boyfriend #human/monster romance

[so2uv]

@lo-cinno i’m done. again. took my just under an hour lmao. word count below. now to present my deal to the constellations lol.

yvette, the belothed. 

i know this all comes as a shock, because when did everything go wrong? how did it come down to something as feeble as this, a piece of paper stained with poorly done ink, to tell you how much i hate you? usually i would be so bold as to say this to your face but i have already fled, walked back to the world of the mortal and found myself a place here. one that i could never find with the likes of you. my literacy is my downfall, you know? i analyzed the signs too hard and misinterpreted flags that could have shown me what was real. you know what they say: at the end of the day, all red flags are just flags when you wear rose coloured lenses to hide them. haven’t we been here before? it’s nostalgic to think of the times where i refused advances and pushed you away, only for my own self to come crawling back due to your trickery. all the words in the world, in all the languages present in the languages around us, could never properly describe the burning, the fire, the passionate fire of hate that i feel towards you. 

it’s a strong word, that is what i have always told you; kinder than malice but the intent is still there in the way it falls from the mouth filled with disdain. all the more suitable in this situation. we’ve grown apart, you and i, to neither one’s fault. somewhere down the line, i came upon the truth that this relationship was built on, pulled myself from the depths of this falsehood. i’ve always been such an idiot, too quick to trust, you knew that all too well. i’ve told you time and time again about my troubles with trust, how gullible i’ve been in the past and how i was taken advantage of the one “friend” i truly thought was kind. i should have seen sooner, should have recognized the loathing that sat in my chest earlier. maybe then my misfortune would’ve been avoided. maybe then i could’ve spared myself from being with you. 

you never loved me. it was all a misunderstanding and now, i see where it all comes from. you thought you could fool me, pull wool over my eyes and make me yours, and you did. but i’ve seen it. came to envision the truth and now, i’m done. you’ve been playing chess while i’ve been playing checkers, manipulating the board to how you see fit, sending me on wild goose chases for the ounce of love you’d give back, it’s sickening; i’ve gone simply mad with the weight of these chains and the scars in my chest. i sit here heavy with regret for the amount of time spent on you, for the times i have cherished and ultimately wasted during our “relationship”. can’t you see that i’m done? 

you’ve broken things can’t be replaced, taken something as fragile as a heart and crushed it between clawed fingers and kind smiles. i cannot say i miss anything when all i have known from you were lavish lies and selfish thoughts. how can i crave your hands in mine when you’d never give them anyways? how can i say i love you when you won’t even spare a glance back? 

yvette, i hate you so. i hate how you cling on to my arm, i hate the way you trace shapes along my spine, i hate the touch that you give, and the softness of your words. placate me, won’t you? keep me tied down for another century. leave me quiet and pleading and waiting in the dark for more years to come at your own pleasure. we both know it won’t work again, i hate you. 

i’ve always prided myself on forgiveness. an act as easy as such wouldn’t be a problem but now, i can’t seem to find any trace or speck of sympathy for someone as pathetic as you. could you have not wooed a person like a regular being? were you really so desperate that you had to play games and tell lies to gain trust. it’s no wonder others don’t like you. i’ve always been just, fair, and now look; i’ve grown to hate and twisted views of the world because of a pathetic thing such as you. 

my words of distaste are wasted on you but yet you deserve them all and more. i’d spew these things until the last of my breath if it meant keeping others from my fate with you. 

i hate you like how i hate soup when cold, the flavours muddled and no longer satisfying. i hate you like the barren grounds set ablaze in summer, the heat strong and the sun turned red with the smoke. i hate you and the words the come so easily from your mouth, slip out like nothing and pull apart everything i have known. i hate your smile and laugh, how you act bashful and pull on my hand. i hate the conversations whispered together in the moonlight, drowning out the quips and worried exclamations of the world around me. 

call me a fool, call me stupid, in the end it was always your fault. it was your doing then when everyone abandoned you and left you to rot, it’s your own misguided attempts at becoming something you can’t be now that lead me to this. you talk about troubles in the past but have yet to see the cause. i’ve been warned so many times, i had hoped they were all false. i wanted to believe in you, in us, in what we could have but i was naive. in some sense, i still am. 

i would wish you well but i would be lying to myself, a great deal of pain upon more that you’ve caused. i hate you under the light of a thousand stars, yvette. may we never talk again. 

from, sol.

#💭. mutters ! #lockedebg

[acaseforpencils]

Gustavo Magalhães.

Bio: My name is Gustavo Magalhães and I am a Brazilian illustrator/cartoonist. I live in Caçapava, a small town in São Paulo state. I have worked as an illustrator since 2013.

As an editorial Illustrator, I've been published by The New Yorker, Golf Digest, Forbes, The New Republic, GQ Magazine among others. The first time I was commissioned by The New Yorker was in 2021, for "The Critics" session on a portrait of Sandra Oh" for her new show at the time, "The Chair," which aired on Netflix.

Sketch, refinement, finished piece.

I also have a web comic strip called "Curb Talk." It's published  twice a week in a classic Comic Strip format.

Lately, I am a Senior Illustrator at a Studio called "Fried Design Company ,'' in Springfield, Missouri. But I work from Brazil.

AOIKTYE Procreate Keyboard for Ipad / Apple Pencil / Ipad Pro

Mac Mini / Asus Proart PA248QV Monitor / Huion Kanvas Plus 22 Display

Tools of choice: My process of work is mixed, I like to sketch the first thumbs and sometimes more advanced pieces on paper and "ink" / color them using digital tools. It's been 5 years that more than 90% of my final pieces are done in digital, and along that period I discovered that I'm a person that likes to do a significant amount of tests while inking, and digital tools help me a lot in that.

Lately, I've been trying to achieve an inking process that I could do both on paper and on digital, that way I could do my pieces however I feel on that day, and my comic strip has been a good place for this test field, and I'm enjoying that mix very much.

Pentel .09 Mechanical Pencil / Staedtler Water Brush / Staedtler Pig LIner 0.3 / Royal Talens No. 2 Brush

If you were asking me "You are on a desert island and can bring just one setup with you," I'd say I would bring my iPad. It allows me to sketch with an "analogic feel," where it's important to feel that you are actually crafting something. But it also gives me all the testing possibilities the digital work has.

Huion Display pen Battery Free Pen PW517

Tool I wish I could use better: Coloring in general, but mostly painting. It's always a struggle to translate what I have in mind to the final piece. And there are some aspects of texture and rendering that you can only get in analogical tools like gouache, oil, watercolor. Of course there are excellent artists that do those digitally, but there are certain aspects that you need a physical touch to achieve and I have never done anything like that. Maybe one day.

Tool I wish existed: A chair + desk set that automatically corrects your bad posture whenever your body is hurting or sitting in the wrong way. I hate having lower back and wrist pains while working, haha!

Tricks: One thing I brought from the full analogical days is an adaptation of the "drawing from your shoulder thing." Personally, I found it very hard to do, so I use a bandana on my pen hand, and use the other hand to pool this and drag. This is a thing that helps me a lot when drawing straight lines with a handmade feel, instead of just using shapes in Photoshop or any digital tool for precise lines.

Misc: "Go easy on yourself and have fun!" I never thought I could work with illustration. I spent almost a decade working in the aircraft industry (half of it doing freelance illustration jobs for local bands and brands) and the factory mentality lever left my mind, just now (after 10 years as an illustrator, 7 as my main activity), I'm recovering the passion that I had as a young doodling kid. Everyone sees artistic careers as this romantic thing, but it's always a struggle (at least for me) to face your passion as an obligation day to day, and make this trade of time and love for money. So after several years going hard on myself I am finally learning how to be lighter and having more fun and joy in my work.

(Outro/Editor's note: I asked Gustavo if he would care to discuss how working in the aircraft industry affected his work as an illustrator):

I think the biggest influence I got from this industry was the routine and how to deal with work. Artists naturally tend to be less rigid in the aspect of routine because of the nature of creativity, and I think that having almost a decade working in another industry in a more conservative environment helped me in how to take it more serious in all aspects, from my day to day process, to how to treat my clients and deadlines.

That's basically the biggest influence and learning I got from this period. How to understand that the work isn't just the drawing and thinking, but everything that happens behind it, from the clothing choice I pick to work at home, from the time management I need to have in order to balance all simultaneous projects I have.

Website, etc.

Portfolio

Curb Talk Comics

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Twitter

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If you enjoy this blog, and would like to contribute to labor and maintenance costs, there is a Patreon, and if you’d like to buy me a cup of coffee, there is a Ko-Fi  account as well! I do this blog for free because accessible arts education is important to me, and your support helps a lot! You can also find more posts about art supplies on Case’s Instagram and Twitter! Thank you!

#Gustavo Magalhães #artists on tumblr #illustration #illustration process #art process #comics

[rydenfanfiction]

Ryden Recs Part Three

Sit Tight (I’m Gonna Need You To Keep Time) Despite the drumming now loud in his ears, the image of Brendon sitting at the piano with his fingers sliding effortlessly up and down the keys to the melody of Hey Jude was still lingering in Ryan’s mind when a completely different image filled his entire consciousness.

Sixteen, Clumsy And Shy “How long till your parents are home?” Awkward teenage mutual first time sex.

Skinny Elbows Brendon hates Ryan’s skinny elbows.

Skinny Jeans and Red Plastic Cups Are No Longer the Proper Accouterments At 33, Brendon’s come a long way from his Panic days, but some things never change.

Skinny Ross Ryan Ross is just too damn skinny.

Sleeping/Dreaming Patterns It was raining when Brendon landed back in the states.

Sleepover Princes vs. Goodnight Girls Ryan totally has a thing for Pete Wentz. Brendon should be happy for him, right?

Smile Brendon opts to stay home from a night of partying and finds out what’s been wrong with Ryan for the past few weeks

Smoke and Mirrors “Don’t say anything, okay. I’m Brendon, and I’d very much like to be your friend, maybe even something more, but if not that’s okay. I want to be your friend.”

Smudged Ryan Ross is a huffy little bitch who cares way too much about his stupid makeup.

Snow Falling Like Stars A Panic! fairytale.

Snowball Ryan is winter and Brendon’s getting cold.

So Apparently I’m Going to Hell Brendon has died, and gone to hell. Literally. Too bad he doesn’t know why.

So Catch Me Up It’s not so different from before, really— a dance and a stage and words, choreographed and predictable. Ryan could do the steps in his sleep.

So Frantic For The… Brendon’s got a new girl now and Ryan is getting completely beside himself.

So It Seems I’m Someone This is a story about Ryan pulling Brendon’s pants up, and also about boys who grow up.

So This is the New Year Brendon comes home one day and finds a man crouching under his table hiding. A sci-fi.

Socks

Ryan doesn’t like Brendon’s new socks.

Somebody Brendon goes to the movies by himself when he brushes shoulders with a boy whose eyes take his breath away.

Something More When Brendon transferred to his rival school, he didn’t expect his life to be so complicated. He didn’t expect Ryan Ross.

Something New Brendon has a bad day so Ryan cheers him up.

Something Physical The Avengers/Bandom crossover

Something Real Ryan is a hard working single father of the four-year-old Jamie.

Something Unexpected Pretty soon, something is going to break. And Ryan’s afraid it’s going to be him.

Somewheresville When Ryan hopped on a train to nowhere, he didn’t expect to meet someone who would change his whole life. Now, if only he could figure out what’s going on…

Song Of The Sea Running has been Ryan’s form of stress relief since high school, but one day he ran into more trouble than he anticipated in the form of Brendon, a mermaid.

Songs About Money Ryan is a rich boy who hates rich people. He rebels against his parents’ lifestyle and does whatever he can to avoid “mingling” with people of his “kind”. Well, this is until he comes across another rich kid who somehow manages to change his opinions.

Songs of Struggle Brendon’s blind and Ryan loves him.

Souls Like The Wheels When Brendon loses his memory, Ryan clings to what’s left of him.

South Carolina is for Lovers Every night Dream stands on stage and tells the audience that Brendon is a virgin. It’s true until South Carolina.

Spies Like Us The movies never show what comes after “Mission Accomplished”. There’s a good reason for that.

Spilled Ink What happens when Jon and Spencer run out of condoms, but still go at it? A bundle of cells perhaps. Don’t let the mpreg scare you. Colour Outside the Lines Sequel. Ryan finds out his husband of three years is pregnant, and he’s not exactly ready for kids.

Spin Cycle Brendon has exhausted his arsenal of T-shirt hiding places, but refuses to accept the fact that his T-Rex shirt is gone.

Star Shaped This is the sequel to an MCR kid!fic, Forever, Now, which is Brendon centric. But it’s easy to read as a standalone. Brendon is Mikey and Gerard’s lonely babysitter who meets Ryan when he starts helping out at Brian (the guy who adopted Mikey and Gerard)’s work. Cute!

Starlight, Starbright, (If You Wanna Kiss The Sky, Better Learn How To Kneel) In which Ryan is so infatuated with Pete Wentz that he’s willing to bring him a fallen star to win his heart. It was all going according to plan, except that the fallen star just so happens to be Brendon.

Stay With Me Brendon is sick, Ryan comforts him.

Sticky Lips (So Close Now)Ryan has a thing for Brendon in lipstick.

Strange and Beautiful Brendon is alone, in the middle of the night, two dollars and a gum stick in his pocket, a too thin jacket over his shoulders and nowhere to go. Cue Jon Walker. Great!

Strictly Business Cruel Intentions meets Romeo & Juliet in this awesome au. Ryan Ross wants to get revenge on Mr. Urie in any way he can, and if it means having sex with his son then have sex with his son Ryan will.

Stutter Something Profound Ryan has a…Problem.

Such a Beautiful Boy Regina just wants to be the son her father has always wanted to have.

Summer Haunts What if there was a time where summer went on forever? This is beautiful!

Summer or the Season When Nothing Grew It’s July 7th, 2009. Some things have changed, but most things have not.

Sunshine In His Song Brendon always thought that when they finally did this it’d be a hot, desperate kind of thing; the hard, sweaty, angry, crazy, monstrous fucking. Evidently this is not that dream. This is that sweet and easy cannabis hum at the back of his brain, making everything just that little bit brighter.

Sunshine Kids Brendon Urie is a thirty something year old priest who gets off by doing the under-aged members of his church. These teenagers who watch him with wide eyes, begging for his touch. And, as the Lord’s servant, he complies. Enter Ryan Ross.

Sushi For Beginners Brendon is a Sushi Chef and Ryan hates sushi. Surprisingly Funny.

Swear To Shake It Up This wasn’t supposed to be such a big deal. Really. Spencer was just trying to give Brendon and Ryan a good shove in the right direction (that being, of course, towards each other’s beds.)

Sweet Alyssum Ryan and Brendon own a flower shop but it was not always that way. And Spencer is just too stubborn for his own good.

Sweet On You Teachers.

Sweeter Than Candy, Better Than Cake Warning It’s really no big deal that their male guitarist smells fruity and has unnecessarily glossy lips.

Switch! Spencer drags Ryan to speed dating at the gay and lesbian community center.

Tabula Rosa “I hate it when it ends. When it’s just you and me and I watch you take my makeup off. I see you erase it all, all that you gave me.”

Tactile Sometimes you need noise, and sometimes it’s not an option.

Take Another Photo To Remember Me By

Take Center Stage and Step Up to Save The Last Dance (He Was A Sk8er Boi) They come from two different worlds.

Take Me In, But Please Be Kind Brendon is well off and living in his apartment with a decent managerial position, and he’s content in where he is in life. Ryan, on the other hand, is a broken boy who is stuck in denial of who he is because it’s what broke him and left him on the streets in the first place. Sad!!!

Take Me, Or Break Me Ryan has always hated the Slave Trade that his country is so dependent on. Yet, when he sees the boy at the slave market, he can’t help but feel drawn to the poor boy. All Ryan wants to do is give him back his soul.

Take My Hand

Ryan gets in trouble at school. Brendon all but falls into his lap. Ryan thinks he loves the school district.

Take The Fight From The Kid No-one would ever expect this to happen to themselves. No-one would ever think it was coming. Especially not if you’re an adult - surely this kind of thing only happens to unfortunate, irresponsible kids? Unless of course, inside, you still are a kid. And you haven’t forgotten what it was like last time.

Take Your Thoughts Elsewhere After Pete Wentz tricks Ryan, Spencer and Jon out of the money they stole for him, the three recruit Brendon to help them get their revenge.

Taken

Taking You To The Midnight Show Tonight

Ryan, Brendon, backseats, secrets.

Talk It To Me Dirty, Babe This is the worst thing I have ever read. No, really, I’m not just being mean. But it gets 10/10 for comedy value, in that sense it’s spectacular.

Tangled Up In Blue (And Thinking Of You) The story of what happened to Ryan’s silk scarf from Brendon’s side.

Tape Ryan is broken.

Teach Me Something New Brendon finds some things he shouldn’t find in Ryan’s locker.

Teach Your Heart To Talk This isn’t Ryan. Well, it is, but it’s not his usual self.

Tease ”Do you, like, want me to make you beg?”

Tell Me A Story He stays up with Brendon late into the nights not because he feels compelled to or  he just can’t sleep. He stays up with Brendon because he wants to.

Temptation Of Ryan Ross Ryan wakes up and there’s a small black cat on his front porch.

Ten Shades of Honey Eyes Brendon’s a fashion designer and he needs a muse.

Testosterone Boys By discovering the reason for Ryan’s obsession with scarves, Brendon may have found Ryan’s Achilles heel. He’s wanted to know Ryan’s weak spot since the moment they met, but now that he knows how does he use it to his advantage?

Text Carving Out Our Names

The road to Maryland is paved with good intentions.

That First Inconceivable Touch Ryan never gets what he wants like this. It’s just not how his life works.

That Left A Mark Alcohol initially serves as a stimulant then induces feelings of relaxation and reduced anxiety. Consumption of two or three drinks in an hour can impair judgment, lower inhibitions and induce mild euphoria.

That’s What He Said Truckstops and Statelines and boyfriends, etc.

The Anesthetic Never Set In He then felt another prick, somewhere around his abdomen, no not a prick, an incision. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even scream, all he achieved was a faint, “Huh.”

The Beginner’s Guide to Recognizing Your Saints “We would get in fights all the time, just. Just out of frustration.” Recording and growing up, sometimes at the same time.

The Best Kind of Plans

The Best Laid Plans Brendon had a three-step plan to make Ryan Ross fall in love with him. He didn’t write it down or anything (and if he did, the tiny, shredded pieces of paper were scattered across some highway between Wisconsin and Indiana, so no one could prove it), but it was a very specific plan.

The Black Rose Season Ryan, an introverted English Lit student, is hired to hunt down a secret society, which might not even exist. Ryan is given only one clue Brendon Urie. Ryan is putting his future, his dreams and, ultimately, his heart on the line.

The Boy From The Basement Ryan’s been locked in his basement for years, he’s afraid of the outside; afraid of Father; afraid of everything.

The Boys Next Door Playboy Bunnies! or the one where we objectify Brendon’s ass. Surprisingly cute

The Boys Who Kiss and Bite (I Like it Rough)

Ryan asks Brendon to pluck his eyebrows.

The Bridge Ryan’s on the brink of jumping off the bridge, to end it all, once and for all. That is, until he feels a warmth wrap around his shoulders.

The Bridge Series Iron, Neon Lights & Weed and Kites, Bass Lines & Heat Brendon wants to get a record deal at all cost. He joins the Las Vegas underground music scene, but ends up distracted when he falls for Ryan Ross, a scene king with little interest in attachment. (The First One is Ryden and the Sequel is Joncer.)

The Bus Brendon and Ryan both ride the same bus.

The Business Ryan is a porn star, and his costar has just been fired. Who can they get at the last minute?

The Clandestine Necklace Ryan needs help in wooing Brendon, so he turns to Pete for help.

The Clock On The Wall Has Been Stuck For Days Ryan works in a women’s clothing store and Brendon is a hairdresser.

The Composition Of An Epic In Progress

It was almost too much. Almost.

The Danger of Martha Stewart Living Ryan, for the love of god, can’t do a single domestic thing.

The Dark Inside The Night It’s a download link because the fic was deleted.

The Dark Ocean Bottom Stressed and antsy after the end of the tour, Brendon escapes to London where he finds more than he bargains for.

The Devil Went Down to Starbucks Pete is a moron who gives Brendon coffee.

The Elliot Code Of Honour Masquerades, double identities, cross-dressing, feuds, duels and pining. A Regency fic Also, perfection.

The End Is Only The Beginning The Butterfly Effect. It’s really beautiful and moving and perfect!

The Epitaph of Brendon Boyd Urie Epitaph (epitaph) noun, an inscription on a gravestone or a short poem written in memory of a deceased person.

The Fallen Teen angst and first times in Brendon’s apartment.

The Finest Thing Around Another summer on the Carolina Coast for Brendon and Jon, with a few changes when Jon invites his college roommate, Ryan, and Ryan’s best friend Spencer to tag along.

The First Day Of My Life “Yours is the first face that I saw,” the boy sings quietly, and Ryan finds himself sitting in the grass in front of the table, looking up at him.

The First Five Times The first time it happens they’re both seventeen.

The First Inconceivable Touch Ryan never gets what he wants like this. It’s just not how his life works.

The First Rule Of Ballroom Dance Club Is…Spencer drags Ryan to ballroom dance club.

The Five Times Brendon Came Out and Nobody Believed Him (And Then, Maybe, the One Time They Did)

The Five Times Brendon Made Ryan Cry (And the One Time He Didn’t) Brendon makes Ryan cry.

The Five Times Brendon Took Jon’s Advice The plan is simple. Seduce the Ross.

The Florist

Ryan is deaf and works as a florist.

The Friction in Your Amazing Well-Designed Pants Project Runway crossover in which the contestants are to design outfits for the band, Panic at the Disco.

The Glow Inside Under us the city. Above us nothing. Around us expensive houses and cars and street lights. Standing behind me, Ryan took my other hand and spread my arms like wings. “Have you ever thought about falling?”

The Grasshopper Unit This is an almostsequel to The Negotiation Limerick File. One of Mikey’s wacky inventions gets used by accident. Mayhem and toddlers ensue

The Hand That Feeds You It’s always easy enough for Ryan to come to him after the fact, after ignoring Brendon all night, after being with her; easy enough for Brendon to give in.

The Happy Ending’s Just Beginning The Disneyland parade has evolved into an all-singing, all-dancing extravaganza and Brendon wants to be part of it. Unfortunately there aren’t a lot of opportunities for the guy who sells knick-knacks by the park gates. Enter Ryan, the parade’s current star attraction, who might just have a plan to get Brendon everything he always wanted.

The Heart Rate of a Mouse I could write a summary, but it wouldn’t be able to come close to describing this amazing trilogy. Long read, but perfect. Read it. Now.

The High School Knows Something I Don’t Know So, Brendon likes this girl, right? And this really shouldn’t be that big a deal. But then Ryan gets involved, and everything kind of goes straight to hell. Does this count?

The Homesick They had it figured out, the three of them. At least for another year. But when William moves out, the guys have to find a new flat mate. Brendon is trying to save the world, Ryan is trying to get his academic career rolling, Jon is trying not to crush on a straight guy, and Spencer is trying get back home. British Brendon, Irish Ryan, Scottish Jon, and Welsh Spencer.

The Importance of Changing the Fish Water Brendon’s fish dies and no one’s surprised.

The Impossible Is Possible and sequel (I think? Tell me if I’m wrong): Everything Else Is Meaningless Now. Highschool!

The Interpretation Of Dreams Brendon has vivid dreams that cause real life to pale in comparison

The Key of Victory (music game show) Don’t miss the new season of The Key of Victory, a show that kicks off music careers for the winners. Every season we bring five popular musicians and then mix them with fifteen hopeful teenagers in one house. Every week they will compete in various competitions to see who is most ready to be a professional musician, all with the guidance of our celebrities. It’s fifteen weeks of action that keep the cameras rolling 24/7. Make sure to tune in!

The Know Hows of Delinquency / My Creator

Brendon’s mom marries Ryan’s dad. Who really cares about the two gay boys sharing a room in the basement?

The Laundromat Ryan works in a laundromat and to him, Brendon is known as “Guy With Nice Ass”

The Little Things You Give Away Ryan intrigues Brendon, and Brendon is curious (and probably too insightful for his own good)

The Luxury Of Being Brendon Urie

Brendon had the luxury of being Brendon, Ryan mused as he bobbed his head up and down…

The Magical Mystery Tower In which Ryan Ross finds there’s more truth to fairytales than he would have expected.

The Magical Quest of Finding the Most Glorious Christmas Tree After the first thirty minutes of “embarking on the magical quest of finding the most glorious Christmas tree” (as Brendon fondly addresses it), Ryan is ready to leave.

The Man with the Sunflowers Ryan’s normal but the rest of the world isn’t. He meets a guy called Brendon who’s entirely too content with a life of plants for Ryan’s liking. A tale about not everything needing a reason, and about sunflowers.

The Menu Entrée Brendon’s a civil war soldier that takes his job seriously. What happens when his friend, Jon, drags him to a bar and he meets the most beautiful person he’s ever laid his eyes on? He gets a night with a high-class prostitute.

The Minor Fall, The Major Lift He recognizes dryly how astonishing it is that Ryan’s even come into a church, and he knows it’s for him. Ryan hates these places, Brendon knows. Even being inside one is difficult and Ryan tries to avoid it whenever he can.

The One Thing I Never Expected Ryan is Brendon’s best friend, they grew up together. But Ryan is different. An accident when he was a child left him deaf. Brendon has always taken care of Ryan, but now he’s starting to care for Ryan in a different way.

The One Where Brendon Rapes Ryan. Except, Not Really.  Biastophilia is basically where you get turned on from the thought of being raped or seeing somebody (in movies or porn or something) get raped.

The One Where Ryan Gets Laid on His Birthday Ryan thinks everyone’s forgotten his birthday.

The One Where Ryan Hates Brendon’s Pussy Ryan’s convinced that Brendon loves his pussy more than his own boyfriend.

The One Where Ryan Realizes Nature Has More To Offer Than Hayfever When Ryan is forced to join his college’s nature club, he’s convinced the most exciting thing he’ll find is a book with one thousand tofu recipes. He couldn’t be more wrong.

The One Where Ryan Ross Gets Gang-Banged All Ryan wants on his birthday is to get fucked. A lot.

The One Where Ryan Ross Has a Breakdown Ryan likes big butts.

The One Where They Work at Dairy Queen The title is pretty self explanatory, I think. Pete runs a Dairy Queen and employs Ryan and Brendon to help him out.

The One Where They’re All… Ducks?

The Persistence Of Memory “People forget me if I don’t talk to them,” Brendon tells him, leaning against a wall while he watches the clerk alphabetize the rhythm and blues.

The Pool Party It’s a party, but Ryan is only interested in one thing… Brendon.

The Present and the Distance There are 17,508 islands in Indonesia, about 6,000 of which are inhabited. On August 31, 2008, returning from an Australian tour in the middle of the year’s most violent storm to date, a plane carrying Panic at the Disco loses power, veers off course, and crashes into one of the remaining 11,508 islands. This is their story.

The Prince And The Stableboy Brendon is the prince of a medieval kingdom. Unbeknownst to his wife and his father, the King, he meets his lover, a servant named Ryan, in secret every night. The two refuse to be separated, neither by Brendon’s title nor the laws forbidding homosexuality. But they can’t hide from the world forever, can they?

The Remarkable Misfortunes Of Ryan Ross Brendon is a prince who has an evil twin. Ryan is the son of a farmer. How much do I love this? Too much. Read. It. Now.

The Rift In The Lute Coffee fic

The Road Ain’t No Place to Start a Family “Have you even see Gremlins, Jon?”

The Rules Everyone who steps foot on the Panic! Tour bus has something to add to the growing set of rules at someone started.

The Same Old Song We were one of those couples who are always holding hands and kissing in school … we were like that for two years straight.

The Secret is in the Telling They need each other, but Ryan fears telling his secret will force them away forever.

The Sky Is Falling Down It’s 15 minutes before the band are due on stage and there’s a camera crew right outside the bathroom door, poised and ready for Ryan’s return, but that’s not stopping Brendon unzipping and pulling down his jeans with such speed and skill that he knows there’s just no use protesting.

The Sound of Settling Four scenes, four locations, four seasons, two boys. THERE ARE TWO FICS WITH THIS NAME. IT IS NOT A REPEAT.

The Sound Of Settling The slow, content beat of Brendon’s heart doubles when Ryan repeats his words, face all love and sleep and carelessness, and Brendon can’t hear him He says this out loud, fingers pushing into Ryan’s skin urgently, and only then does he realize he can’t hear himself speak. THERE ARE TWO FICS WITH THIS NAME. IT IS NOT A REPEAT.

The Soundtrack Under The Stars Somehow, and don’t ask me how because I don’t fucking know, my nervous breaths are becoming our soundtrack.

The Spy Who (Kind of, Sort of, Maybe) Loved Me Spy AU. A murder has occurred at the headquarters of FBR420, a top secret branch of the CIA. Agent Urie and his partner Agent Smith, under the guidance of Mr. Walker, are charged with bringing in the primary suspect, Ryan Ross. *A sequel appears from the bushes!* A View to Save Brendon, Ryan, and Spencer have spent over a year out of the field, handling their own promising FBR420 agents. Life should be great, and in most aspects, it is. But, one day, a kidnapping occurs, and Ryan is convinced he’s responsible.

The Stage is Set He met her on a Tuesday. Just an ordinary Tuesday, like any other day of the week, really, except that it wasn’t at all.

The Strip

The Sweetest Dream Ryan knows Brendon loves him. He’s only told him twenty times in the past two minutes.

The Taste Of Red

The Theory Of Infatuation Brendon’s the drama geek with the voice of an angel, and Ryan’s the socially crippled boy on the newspaper staff that loves him.

The Things Teenage Boys Will Do For Money Pete’s porn collection isn’t complete without a Ryan/Brendon sex tape.

The Tooth Paste Fic Crack fic.

The Truth About Dogs Ryan believes he’s all alone until an unexpected companion comes into and changes his life.

The Two Times Brendon Asks Ryan to Make Out (And the One Time Ryan Agrees) “So… we should make out.”

The Vegan Series Great series. Don’t let mpreg scare you.

The Visitor Brendon escaped the dying town he grew up in, and he made it sold out venues, magazine covers, sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll. Struggling with depression and alcoholism, he begins to visit the place he tried so hard to get away from, seeing the life he could have had, visiting the one person he never could have.

The Walmart Story Brendon knows something is wrong with Ryan, so he takes him to the place that makes himself happy.

The White Noise Beneath Your Skin Brendon accidentally hears Ryan.

The Width Of A Circle ‘An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted upon by an external and unbalanced force.’ Patrick watches the pieces fall together.

The Wilderness Remains Ryan wants to be reincarnated.

The Winner Takes It All Cross band fic in which all of the bands on the tour have a competition to see who can out gay them selves (and each other.)

The Wish To Acquire Ryan Ross teaches political philosophy to idiot, moronic college kids. He’s tired of their stupidity and indifference, and his anger makes students flee and they hate him back. His increasing desire for Brendon, his new teaching assistant, is not helping at all.

The Word Of Your Body

Ryan writes on Brendon’s skin.

The World On A String Ryan thinks anyone who doesn’t know the difference between Led Zepplin, Black Sabbath, and Deep Purple deserves to die a horrible death. Brendon just so happens to be one of those people.

The Years Won’t See It The stranger, who looks exactly like Brendon except older, moves restlessly, knees bouncing. “I’m you, get it? I am you. Five years from now.”

The Years Won’t See It (The Way I Want Them To)

The stranger, who looks exactly like Brendon except older, moves restlessly, knees bouncing. “I’m you, get it? I am you. Five years from now.”

Then It Rained Standing on the other side of the window was a boy, looking rather distraught and soaked to the bone, glancing around helplessly as the rain pounded down on him.

There Will Be Ryan Ross doesn’t talk to anyone, but when Brendon comes to the graveyard to sing to his parents, Ryan listens.

There’s A Good Reason I Let You Win This Bet, Honey, You Just Haven’t Thought Of It Yet He can manage to resist a week without banging his cute, skinny, downright fuckable boyfriend. He can. He just needs a plan.

They Knew It Was Over, Just Didn’t Know the Date It was The End.

They See Me Rollin’, They Hatin’ Brendon mentally turns into a fan girl.

Things Have Changed Brendon’s He says he’s in love. He’s not the only one.

Third Street People go to the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica for two reasons. To shop, and to be entertained by the many street performers there.

This Ain’t a Love Song, Baby Brendon smiled against Ryan’s face as the club got darker and hotter. Brendon reminded Ryan of Pete a little bit but he couldn’t figure out why to save his life. “Let’s just say I’m not making the …” he trailed off, looking straight into Ryan’s eyes and he felt himself falling into Brendon’s gaze. “quota,” He finished, letting the word wash all over Ryan’s face. He wanted to help Brendon make that quota, whatever that quota was. And he wanted nothing more than to push Brendon up against the first wall he could see.

This Happy Ending’s Just Beginning Disneyland. Brendon wants to be Aladdin in the parade, and he thinks that Ryan Ross, the prince, is the only person who can help him. Spencer is a bitch in this and it’s amazing. It’s one of the cutest things I have ever read, seriously. There’s also some Joncer and Peterick if that’s your kind of thing, but even if it’s not, you will love this.

This Helpless Haze I’m In The tour bus breaks down and there’s only so many musicals you can watch in one day. Luckily, there’s a corn maze not too far from the bus.

This is Halloween Brendon turns into a four-year-old just before Halloween.

This Is No Time For Bravery

This Is Screaming ‘Photo Op’ Brendon thinks Ryan is totally sexy.

This One Time at Band Camp Brendon Urie is not the school super star. He’s the geeky kid with a bad haircut and terrible taste in conversation. When summer comes around, his mother decides her son needs a new place to make friends and expand his musical talent. Upset and worried about messing up in front of his fellow classmen, Brendon endures a full two weeks of Band Camp under the watchful eyes of his section leader and cabin mate, Ryan Ross.

This Side Of The Sun The sex before had been aggressive; now it’s nearly as violent in it’s intensity.

This Vicious Velvet Ain’t Enough Ryan and Brendon discuss what they want.

Those Who Tell the Truth… You are warned accordingly!

Three Kisses are sometimes one-sided, sometimes painful, and, sometimes, they’re brilliant.

Through Your Veins Ryan still didn’t have his bloodlust under control. He had a problem with waiting, a problem Brendon was eager to help him with.

Tiff

It was just a tiff, Brendon kept telling himself, he’ll come around.

To A Flame Ryan thinks he would totally risk getting punched in the gut by a grizzled old trucker if it meant Brendon’s hands on him for real.

To A Man’s Heart Ryan sure as hell doesn’t want to marry Pete Wentz, so what’s the next best option? Flee to Denver and find a husband. Dragging Spencer along with him, he finds a man by the name of Brendon Urie. The only problem though, is that Brendon doesn’t want to settle down. Will Ryan be able to win the heart of Brendon or will he have to return home and marry Pete?

To Each His Own Based on Girl, Interrupted, To Each His Own tells the story of  Brendon, Ryan, others (Fall Out Boy) and their struggle with mental illness.

To The Bones If everything is imperfect in this imperfect world, love is most perfect in its perfect imperfection. So sad!!

Today’s The Day He thought, uncontrollably, of the man he had forced himself not love to for so long, the one he’d locked out of his mind for what he thought was the better. Brendon faces up to two whole years without Ryan.

Today’s the Day I Go Up in Flames After the split, Brendon and Ryan try to stay away from each other but they just can’t.

Together I’ve been thinking about you, my love.

Tongue Tied For You

Ryan can be kind of oblivious.

Too Good To Hurt Canal Street in Manchester is the place to go if you need to… hire assistance.

Too Many Scarves It’s Ryan’s birthday, and you can never have too many scarves.

Too Much or Not Enough Hello. My name is Brendon Urie, and I’m too much.

Touchin’ Hands, Reachin’ Out Ryan thinks about every tweet he’s ever posted. It’s not always about him. “What, are you in love with him?”

Trade Mistakes “This isn’t working anymore.”

Trapped In The Closet Ryan and Brendon have a fight in a closet. Oh, the puns!

Tripping Eyes and Flooded Lungs Ryan couldn’t go through the day without his “fix.”

Trouble in Mind (Yes I’m Blue) Brendon thinks about being on the edge of things, about how long they’ve been driving. About wanting to jump just to see where he lands, if Ryan would follow.

Truth or Dare? The boys play truth or dare.

Tuning In To The Frequency Of Your Soul Brendon is either insane, or he can read people’s minds.

Tweet, Tweet! Locally famous , Ryan Ross, is being twitter stalked by a certain @brendonuriesays, who is maybe a little a lot in love with him. Adorable!

Twinkle Fingers Brendon is Ryan’s sister’s piano teacher. Incidentally, he is deaf and Ryan has a tiny crush on him.

Twisted Peppermint Ryan works selling Christmas trees and Brendon comes by one night looking for the perfect tree.

, s, ,

Two Birds They’re sharing the same breath when Brendon says, “I’m going to do it.”

Two Of Cups The circus is coming to town. Ryan has tarot cards and Spencer is not a girl.

Two Weeks In Hawaii This was probably the first Ryden fic I ever read and loved. It’s an old favorite of mine and I think it’s pretty sweet. Also, there are a lot of side-parings in this. After being left the night before his wedding but PeteFuckingWentz, Spencer convinces Ryan to cash in on his honeymoon tickets.

Under The Influence A little bit of smut, a little bit of smoke.

Under the Moon He was running away that night, and then he met that boy at the corner of 4th and Fremont.

Under The Upas Tree It’s spring and Ryan is waiting for Brent to bring the kid he thinks might be able to play keyboard for them over. He’s late, and Spencer’s started sighing and checking the time on his phone.

Under Your Stars “The song you guys open with, that’s dark shit. That’s the kinda stuff scene kids cut their wrists to.” She scoffs, placing a warm, somewhat sweaty hand on his shoulder, walking away before he can respond. It’s probably for the best, though, he was just about to say, “You have no idea.”

Unfair Brendon Urie has these amazing lips.

Unreliable Narrators Ryan Ross’s first rule for narrating your own life is that you don’t always have to be the focus.

Until You’re Mine “I’m Ryan. I’m uh, the student teacher for the semester so if you ever need any help, you can ask me, okay?” Nodding, I smile, “Cool, thanks Ryan.” I watch him walk away, repeat the process and try not to feel too special he doesn’t shake anyone else’s hand or linger as long as he did with me.

Untitled Filthy Van Sex Brendon loves the times when they have to be sneaky.

Untitled Like on stage, only now Ryan’s makeup is worn off and Brendon isn’t pulling back…

Untitled Sex Toy Porn Brendon’s a tricky little fucker.

Untitled Success is little moments, not some peak you reach and try to balance precariously on until you die.

Untitled Twitter Fic What if emo! Ryan had a Twitter back in the day? Untitled Twitter Fic #2 Sequel

Untitled Wall Sex

“You sure know how to treat a lady.”

UrieBrendonUrie Brendon sleeps around but Ryan wants it to be just him.

Valentine’s Day

Vanity Waking up when it’s not dark isn’t that bad. Waking up to an odd world where time doesn’t exist and the real world is painstakingly close but still so far, well, that’s another matter…

Village Idiot Jon looks from Ryan to Brendon and back again. “Guys. Seriously?”

Virgin Girl Friday Brendon can never sit still on planes so sucks for Ryan when he gets stuck sitting next to him.

Wake Up Calls

Walk In The Sun Dance contest! In which Brendon and Ryan are partners.

Warning; May Cause Ryden Ryan gets sick and is prescribed special pills. Side effects include mood swings, nausea, fatigue, and increased hormone levels.

We Are Outnumbered The virus has completely devastated over 150 of the world’s major regions and is spreading rapidly. At this point in time we know of only one method of killing the creatures: destroy the brain. Be on the guard of any loved ones who may have recently been in any sort of contact and could be infected. And if you find yourself in a threatened position, please do not hesitate to act. Again. This is not a test. This is not a joke. We as a species are overwhelmed. We are outnumbered. The world is about to change as Ryan knows it, but can he and Brendon survive the change? Or will they soon end up like the majority of the population?

We Started From It’s Brendon who starts it. Of course it’s Brendon.

We Were Heading For The Sea “And across the kitchen table/I fired several rounds/but you were still sitting there when the smoke cleared.” — Ani DiFranco

We’ll Reinvent Love He remembers back when he was younger, and he would scrape his elbow and, he hadn’t yet started these daily screaming matches with his mom, she would place a band-aid over it, ever so gently, and then an even gentler kiss on top of that. And Ryan looks like his world is one big scraped elbow at the moment, Brendon leans forward and kisses him, butterfly soft, and pulls away before Ryan gets a chance to do it first.

We’re All Born With a Year’s Worth of Apologies Brendon didn’t come back to Vegas to fall in love.

We’re Not On The Map But We’re On Our Way

Wearing My Heart Like A Crown

Wednesday Night Boys

Welcome Home Ryan really loves Brendon, but he can’t seem to get enough Bden/Ryro time with him when Brendon’s always around his girlfriend. Follow Diva Ross and his adventures of special pens, crackers, and more.

Well It Rains And It Pours When You’re Out On Your Own Jon finds a letter to a boy in the rain one day.

Well, You Could Be My “How many last times are we going to have?”

What Happens On Tour Brendon’s in love with Ryan, he thinks. And Ryan’s just as oblivious.

What Happens When Two Substances Collide Ryan has these dreams that everyone he knows seems to find their way into. Sequel is For Cats Well Versed In Mysteries.

What He Had Ryan has on stage boners. Still. He thought they would stop after he left Panic but he was wrong.

What Would Faust Do? Ryan accidentally sold his soul to the devil when he signed his contract to Pete.

What You Read Isn’t What You Get Twitter fic. Brendon constantly replies to all of his favorite’s, Ryan Ross, tweets.

What’s New, Pussycat?

A person’s choice of accessories can tell you a lot about them…

Whatever Beauty “I have no intention of succumbing to love this summer,” Brendon said confidently as he arrived to Stourhead, his wealthy uncle’s estate.

Whatever Happened to the Green Fairies? Ryan is a prince. Brendon is an outlawed peasant. Ryan takes Brendon under his wing, and the two fall for each other, ignoring their class differences. But trouble arises when Ryan is expected to marry a princess from the neighboring country. One of the first fics I read. Weird but an interesting read.

When All Else Fails (I’ll Be Here) It was calming, refreshing, like taking your first breath after years of comatose. I felt okay. Better than okay. For the first time in my life, I felt what normal must feel like. For the first time, that empty space, somewhere lodged between my chest and my ribcage, was filled.

When the World Ends The four times Brendon asks Ryan if he could kiss him and the one time Ryan said yes.

When We Were Fifteen Ryan and Brendon compare dick sizes. Oh boy.

When Worse Comes To Worse, Go To The Whore Of The School

Ryan Ross is pretty much the biggest prude in the history of his school. Brendon Urie is the popular gay whore of the school who likes to give guys head during their lunch breaks. But one day, when Ryan watches his first sex ed movie in class, he finds himself with a little…problem.

When You Give Ryan Ross A Bikini Wax “Oh, fuck my cock!”

When You Said It’s Gonna Happen Now (Well, When Exactly Did You Mean?) The one where Brendon breaks his hand playing hide-and-seek, and it’s all Ryan’s fault.

When Your Memory’s Just A Fantasy “How Do You Know My Name?”

Where Termites Reign Ryan’s house is under attack! (by termites, that is…) and he needs someone to get rid of them.

Where We Call Home Keltie is Ryan and Brendon’s beard.

Where We End Up Ryan’s father can no longer care for him, and he’s made to live with his mother where he’s tossed into an unknown situation, and taken under the wing of a tragically dangerous boy, William. He learns about the strain of friendships, the battles of life, and his stepbrother, Brendon. About changing, fucking up, and sexual experiences and the attachments that come with it.

Wherever the Road Goes “So you’re saying you want to go on a road trip. Just you and I. That’s it.”

Who Could Ask For Anymore?

Brendon knows what’s best for Ryan.

    Who Will Save Us Now Brendon over doses on drugs and Ryan has to help him.

Whore Ryan is in the center of a gangbang.

Wire From the Box Brendon does a racy shoot in a magazine to promote their new album.

Wish Upon A Star Brendon knows Ryan’s Achilles heel and he’s not afraid to exploit it

Wishes DOWNLOAD

Wishing Well Disease It’s their secret, Brendon and Ryan’s. A blatantly obvious secret, but a secret all the same. Known and not know. Discovered and undiscovered. No one can ever be sure what goes on behind closed bunk curtains, only the two boys themselves.

With All Your Heart March 2009. Brendon and Ryan try to fix each other.

With Apologies to Schopenher Ryan and Brendon go on a movie “date.”

With Extra Foam Brendon doesn’t want much out of life. All he’s asking for is a reasonable job to pay for college, a steady career once he graduates and a couple of good friends to get him through the rest of his days. What he isn’t asking for is Ryan.

Xenodochy Ryan meets a dog that looks hauntingly familiar and stares at him a lot. Despite his best efforts, the dog seems determined to be called Brendon, but it’s not weird or anything that his sort of pet is named after his former bandmate. Not weird at all.

Years Before Important The smaller kid, with black hair curling a little around his ears and a purple hoodie about four sizes too big, tilts his head to the side, looking a little confused, then brightens and says, “Not really! I think talking is pretty fun!”

Yesterdays and Tomorrows Ryan hasn’t spoken to Brendon in over a year, but Ryan’s just fine.

You and Your Hand Brendon catches Ryan masturbating. A lot.

You Came into My Life and Now I Want You To Stay Brendon gets a group assignment in Psychology and is excited to be working with other students, but maybe now he’s turning into a bit of a sick love puppy.

You Can’t Judge A Book By It’s Oddly Specific Call Number Where Ryan is cynical and doesn’t believe in love, Brendon is the new children’s librarian and Spencer doesn’t want things to change (specifically his card catalogue.)

You Can’t Run Nor Hide Ryan has a ‘hard’ time controlling himself when he’s around Brendon.

You Don’t Need A Valentine To Get Chocolate On Valentine’s Day It was just another Valentine’s Day, but Jon certainly hadn’t expected his plan to backfire like this…

You Got A Crew? (I Got A Crew Too) Every June in the world of Las Vegas hair care, it’s all about one thing the Annual Services Survey. Can struggling hairdresser Brendon Urie and his coworkers at Clandestine finally win over rival salon, Cobra Starship? Shenanigans ensue as they battle it out, all while Brendon struggles to keep his eye on the prize and away from that cute but prickly reporter.

You Gotta Dance With Who You Came With Brendon forgets about prom until now, but he doesn’t have a date. Ryan is being a little bitch about it, too.

You Might Say It’s Self Destructive Brendon and Ryan recently started dating. Jon, meanwhile, wishes to get back at Brendon for their previous truth-or-dare game gone wrong. Brendon’s new dare? Commit the seven deadly sins within two weeks in the presence of his new boyfriend. The penalty if left unfinished? Breaking up with the incredibly attractive Ryan Ross.

You Picked Me Brendon and Ryan have been together for almost a year, come the winter, and Ryan has yet to meet Brendon’s family.

You Probably Couldn’t See for the Lights But You Were Looking Straight At Me Following the end of WWI Brendon Urie is sent by his parents to Paris to retrieve his brother who never returned home.  

You Were All I’ve Ever Known or download it here Just when Ryan Ross doesn’t want anyone butting into his life, a guy who he has never seen before let alone spoken to tries to get his attention. His name is Brendon Urie and for some odd reason he knows more about Ryan than he lets on.

You Will Know the Difference When I Touch You It wasn’t a gay thing at first.

You Will Not Rattle Us Apart In some ways, Ryan thinks, glaring vaguely at people as the train pulls up to his stop, it kind of sucks that he fell in love. The gaymo vegan Brooklyn indierocker hipster.

You Write Such Pretty Words, But Life’s No Storybook

You’ll Be Platinum Brendon’s sex tape gets mixed reviews.

You’re Going To Recycle That, Right? The one where Ryan is a hippie collegeenvironmentalist and Brendon just wants a better music auditorium. Featuring Ryan Ross chaining himself to a tree, diva tantrums and other silliness.

You’re My Human Holiday In which Brendon wants babies and weddings, and Ryan’s not so sure.

You’re My Wonderwall He’d puke until his back, shoulders and stomach were burning. He’d throw up until he couldn’t breathe, sobbing uncontrollably as he knelt down in front of the toilet, hands palm flat against the dirty church floor.

You’re So Naive Ryan’s in a young offenders’ and Brendon’s the only person that can help him.

You’ve Got Everything Now Brendon and Ryan buy a house together.

You’ve Only Begun to Shine And throws stones at your window at 4 in the morning / Well maybe he thinks it’s romantic / He’s crazy, but you knew that before.

Your Heart’s a Muscle and That’s All He was sick of this cabin and of this fucking glass prison. He was sick of Ryan’s nitpicking and of his insensitivity. And most of all, Brendon was sick of singing the bullshit love songs that Ryan had written about someone who wasn’t him.

Zip It (Just Say Yes) Gay marriage is legal in New York now. So what do Brendon and Ryan, partners of over five years, do now?

[palmofafreezinghand]

⭐ director's cut of anything you want, please! ⭐

Thank you so much for the ask @the-most-pathetic-edge-marquis apologies for the belated response, this is such a fun game!

Doing this for “a father’s precautions” because I’m not going to force you to sit through carlesme analysis when billy and charlie are right there 💖

cw: slight analysis of canonical depression and suicide ideation

“When Billy Black received a call from a man he’d never met; and frankly thought the walking corpse was something made up by his grandfather to make him eat his vegetables, he prepared for everything… but this.” 

I hate this line in Midnight Sun, hate it, but it’s crucial to Billy’s character (and Carlisle’s).  He’s told his son, the only family member he has left at that point, will one day be stolen of all autonomy and choice and there’s nothing he can do about it, and he knows what it feels like to lose all choice. While he couldn’t tell Jacob directly he could worry and worry he did. He, however, didn’t think he’d ever have to worry for Charlie. Which (in my mind) is why he fights so hard to make Bella breakup with Edward before he kills her. And then New Moon happens and everything in Billy Black’s life is falling completely apart. 

“Charlie had shown up with the safe for the first time in the middle of a storm, a less than two-week-old Bella in the backseat. Sarah rocked her to sleep as Billy helped take up enough carpet to reach the subfloor. ‘It’s a rough transition, all you can do is be there for her. Help her, protect her.’”

I have a little headcanon that Renee struggled in the postpartum period before deciding to leave Charlie (I think there’s arguments for this in canon) which I use to justify why Bella is a touch detached from Renesmee once she’s born. 

 “It was a well-known fact he wasn’t Renee’s number-one fan, no one that knew her was”

I think Billy had to really bite his tongue when Renee and Charlie eloped. I also think the only reason Billy held his tongue is because Sue threatened to cut it out. That whole group hated Renee but figured, hoped, it was nothing more than a fling so they never said anything besides snide comments until Charlie showed up with a gold band on his finger. (This commentary, and subconscious knowing he was making a mistake, was why Charlie hid his marriage until the ink was dry). 

Those one off comments is seen in the moment leading up to this line: 

“Says ‘she’s just a kid. Kids do these kinds of things.’ Thinks it all just work out, it did for her after all,” Charlie said, kicking at the corner of the beige carpet. It was the first time in weeks Billy had heard any emotion in his friend’s voice. 

“Glad to see she hasn’t changed a bit,” Billy muttered.

“Or maybe, she was her father’s kid. The man who stole Billy’s fishing boat in the dead of night to do something stupid. The man Billy had rocked as he wailed his lungs out in the middle of the ocean. The man who had a large part of him die when Renee closed that door.”

There’s a deleted line in the New Moon script that I know exists but I can’t find at this moment where Charlie talks about going to a really dark place when Renee left — this was the best way I could figure out how to represent that and also have a big enough event to trigger Billy into putting such strict restrictions on his best friend. (This incident is in the multi-chapter Thing about them and is a huge moment in their relationship). 

“You don’t have to lie to me, we’ve done this before.” Billy’s hand softly landed on Charlie’s arm. 

“I’m fine. Thanks, Bill.” 

I don’t have any commentary besides this interaction (while I wrote it) lives in my head rent free. Also Charlie is the only one who can call Billy Bill. 

“You want to stay for a beer? I bought a fresh pack of Ballantines, I could call Harry. We could watch a game,” Billy offered. He’d bought the beer three weeks ago, the six-pack collecting dust as it waited for Charlie. Billy didn’t drink but if he did it wouldn’t be Ballantine. But Charlie hadn’t come by and the beer sat undrunk, the game unwatched. 

Canonically Charlie drinks Rainer, I however am a Frasier stan through and through and associated Martin Crane, retired cop and dad trying his best but coming up short most of the time, with Charlie’s drinking habits. The Billy not drinking is a headcanon of mine in ‘grief in a glass’ and have just stuck with. 

 Billy flipped the porch light on. Perhaps Charlie wouldn’t admit it just yet but one night he would need a life preserver and the porch light would be on, it always had been. 

This is a headcanon I established in a different Billy-centric piece, ‘grief in a glass’,  where he leaves the porch light on for Sue after Harry’s funeral for days until she joins him for a drink.

#writing asks #billy black #charlie swan #my writing

[evvy96]

Sleeping Beauties - Sam x Reader, Dean x Cas

y/n=your name n/n=your nickname h/l=hair length h/c=hair colour e/c=eye colour

The hunt had seemed simply enough. A low-level witch (“Ugh. Witches man! Hate ‘em!”), had been found terrorising a small town in Indiana. The attacks had been random so far, nothing seemed to match up. One kissed his wife and turned into a frog, one had run out of a party, lost a shoe and then fell to the ground only to be run over by a passing couple on a romantic carriage ride! And one person supposedly got high on mushrooms and tried to dance with a deer in the forest but wound up impaled on an antler. “This doesn’t add up! None of these attacks make any sense on their own, and I can’t figure out how the hell they fit together!” Sam exclaimed as he looked over the stories on his laptop, running his hands through the long chestnut locks of his hair. (Y/n) walked up behind him, resting her arms across his back as she peered over his shoulder and scanned the news article, before turning back to the board she and Dean had pinned up between the two beds of the Motel room. “There’s something familiar about parts of these stories, but there’s something about them that doesn’t work. They all sound like old fairytales, but each of them have something inherently wrong with the original, well, Disneyfied, story. The first victim sounds almost like ‘The Princess and the Frog’, but the guy turns into a frog then the kiss from a princess turns him back. The second one is like ‘Cinderella’, but she definitely doesn’t die! She uses the carriage to get away after losing her shoe and trying to beat the spell breaking. And that last one! It’s just like that scene in ‘Sleeping Beauty’ where Aurora meets Phillip in the woods after the animals dress up as a Prince and dance with her to relive a dream she’d had.” Dean smirked at her from the table across the room, Cas sitting beside him scouring over ways to defeat this witch. “Watch a lot of Disney do you (n/n)?” The woman only smirked at him, lowering the shoulder of the oversized flannel she’d borrowed from Sam to reveal the tattoo sitting on her bicep. (This a tattoo I have that I designed guys, I’ll include a pic below if I can.) A mess of thick black lines and curves to those who wouldn’t think to look closely, but to (y/n), it was her most precious mark. “What? You’ve never seen the tattoo I designed when I was 14? It’s Disney, Harry Potter and Music. The three things that shaped my childhood, y’know, outside of hunting with my aunt.”

Cas smiled at her description of the combination of symbols. He had learned a lot about Popular Culture as a human, but anything he had missed was quickly brought to his attention once (y/n) had started teaming up with the Winchesters on a more permanent basis. She had become a personal ‘introduce the angel to the good parts of the world’ ambassador, much to Dean and Sam’s amusement. Sam couldn’t help but become distracted by the mark on her perfect (s/c) skin. A Deathly Hallows symbol with Mickey ears adorning the sides and a music not within each circle, it was the perfect description of the (h/c) haired woman’s deepest passions. He had seen it many times before, stitching her up when Cas’ Grace was depleted or when they were forced to share a room on a hunt because the Motel was booked up. He loved seeing each of the different spots across her body she had been inked, almost as much as he loved seeing her in his clothes. The blue and purple flannel hang perfectly off her body if it were possible, considering the size difference between them. (Y/n) stood at a sweet-sized (height) so Sam easily towered over her, and with his elongated torso it was hard to believe that the shoulders sat perfectly on her and it draped just so over her curves, ending halfway down her thighs. She had just left the shower not long ago, sweat still shining on her face making her glow almost ethereally. But what pulled Sam’s attention more than anything else, was the ink that sat clear on her upper thing when she sat beside him at the desk. The anti-possession symbol was beautiful, but what lay beneath it was something he’d never seen before. Two sets of initials and the title of a Kansas song lay beneath the symbol. “Um… (n/n)?” “Yeah Sammy?” She smirked at him as she crossed one leg over the other, the top of the tattoo peeking out from under the soft material. “What’s that underneath your anti-possession. Are those… mine and Dean’s initials?” Dean’s eyes widened at those words and he dashed from his chair and sped across the room. He gripped her chair with both hands and swung her around, a true feat considering it was a chair with four legs firmly planted on the ground, and started with even wider eyes as he came across what his brother had mentioned. Cas was calmer about the situation, stepping slowly over and not as curious. She had confided in him the hidden aspects of her tattoo during a particularly late binge session of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. “Aha! Well um… you see… I was a fan of the books before I met you guys and… well…” (Y/n) knew the books Chuck had written were a sore spot for Sam and Dean, so she had refrained from mentioning her obsession with the books when she was younger. But now, she could only watch as a blush crept over her cheeks and she felt her face warm in embarrassment as Dean laughed in surprise.

“Well, well, well sweetheart. Didn’t realise you were such a fangirl. You go to those conventions too?” Sam only watched as her blush deepened. He could swear he felt the heat from where he sat. “Once… maybe… but there was this chick there. Total nutjob, obsessed with Sam to the point that, at the time I thought ‘good thing this dude doesn’t actually exist or he’d be totally stalked by this psycho’. I swear she had serious stalker vibes.” “Oh God! You don’t mean… was her name Becky?” (Y/n)’s eyes widened at that, processing the fact that Sam knew her name, before erupting in to a fit of laughter all her own as Dean toppled backwards to the floor holding his belly. “Oh my God! You’ve met her?! What was that like?” “I’d rather not relive those meetings…” “Wait! Meetings as in plural? Oh God!” This went on for a solid 30 minutes, Sam’s embarrassment at the multiple Becky encounters Dean regaled amidst fits of giggles between the three who didn’t have to suffer the weird touching and love spells he had been subject to, before the younger Winchester finally had enough. “Okay! Can we please go back to the case? Fairytales gone wrong, y’know, people dying!” They sobered up not long after, a smirk still on (y/n)’s lips whenever she made eye contact with Sam across the small desk. They worked long in to the night, until the beers ran out and their stomachs grumbled with hunger. (Y/n) and Castiel shared a look before standing, moving to grab her coat. “I’ll go get us some dinner from the diner. What do you guys want? And yes Dean, I know your order is Burger and Pie.” “Cherry please!” “Sure. Sam?” “Chicken Caesar please (Y/n). You gonna be okay getting there and back with everything? You don’t wanna take the car?” (Y/n) shook her head with a smile. “Nah. We’ll be fine. It’s just around the corner and I’ll have Cas with me. We’ll be back soon.” With a quick kiss to each of their cheeks, (y/n) walked to the door, throwing on her jacket and following Cas outside. ------------------------------------------------------------------ After an hour, and about a dozen phone calls to both (y/n) and Cas’ phones, the brothers were starting to worry for their friends. They threw on their jackets and raced out the door, foregoing the car so they could trace their steps exactly. They entered the diner and looked around for any sign of a trenchcoat or bright (h/c) hair with no such luck. Dean walked up to the register in a hurry, only to stop as he came face to face with a beautiful young woman, lithe and curved with strawberry blonde hair that fell in beautiful long curls and eyes so blue they could be mistaken for crystals. She smiled as he stood at the counter, a smirk slowly creeping over his lips. “Well, hey there sweetheart. I don’t suppose you’ve seen a man and a woman come in here around an hour ago?” “Hey there handsome. Don’t suppose you can give me a description can you?” Sam walked up at this point, standing beside his brother and taking over the conversation. “The girl’s about (height) tall, she’s (s/c) with (h/c), (h/l) hair, these big (e/c) eyes. She was wearing jeans and a flannel way too big for her. And Cas…” “He’s pale, black hair and blue eyes in a suit and beige trenchcoat. They came here to get us dinner an hour ago but they neve got back to our hotel room.” The woman, her nametag said Danni, smiled at the two handsome men in front of her. “Yeah I remember them. He was an odd fella, and she was so nice, not like most of the gals you see come through these parts. So sweet, and kind. She one o’ yours?” Sam went to deny it, but Dean wrapped an arm around him and spoke first. “Ah, yeah. This guy’s a lucky one isn’t he?” he could do nothing but blush, thinking about (y/n) being his. He couldn’t deny it was something he thought of often, but he it wasn’t something he would ever act on. He hadn’t exactly been lucky in the love department, and he would never do anything to put (y/n) in that kind of danger. “So you saw them? How long ago did they leave?” “Only took about 10 minutes to make their order, and the pie was fresh out the oven, so it was a while ago now. Left and turned right out to the side towards the Motel. I’m guessin’ that’s where y’all are stayin’?” With those words and a muttered thanks in Danni’s general direction, Sam and Dean ran out of the diner, following the path they had just trekked to get there and keeping their eyes peeled as they walked back on the opposite footpath. They passed an alleyway as they walked back to the Motel, and something told Sam to turn down it and look. He’d made it about half way down when he noticed a plastic bag sitting by a dumpster and dared to open it, revealing what seemed to be four Styrofoam packs of now-cold food. He looked to the right and beckoned Dean down to show him the latest clue when he suddenly felt something invisible tug at his navel. As Dean watched his eyes widen, he was yanked forward toward the wall in front of him and he cringed, waiting for the hard impact of brick against his face. Surprised when he didn’t feel the painful thud of his own skull against what was essentially rock, his eyes eeked open to show him he was in a small warehouse, dark and silent and foreboding. As he moved to take a step forward, he felt a solid mass against his back as Dean was flown through the camouflaged door and collided with his back, sending the pair sprawling over the dusty, unpolished floorboards. With a pained groan and shake of their heads, the men righted themselves and drew their guns, stalking side by side for any signs of their friends or present dangers. A long corridor lay ahead, doors lining each side all the way down to an entryway that Sam could only assume was a kitchen. They crept forward, carefully opening the ancient doors to see if (y/n) or Cas were on the other side with no luck. They paused at the entryway, no door to block them from being seen, but also not stopping them from seeing inside. From where Dean stood, he caught a glimpse of (y/n), pinned to the wall by seemingly nothing, and Sam could see Cas across from her on the opposite wall. Between them, a figure walked slowly around a table, cauldron sitting above a small flame with dried herbs surrounding it. She was chanting from an old tome in her hands, the Latin/Greek hybrid of words falling seamlessly from painted lips. Guns up and pointed at the woman in the center of the room, Cas’ eyes widened as Dean made eye contact with him, and (y/n) as Sam cast a brief glance her way. They were silent as they stalked forward, until Sam stepped on a floorboard that gave a loud creak at his weight. The woman in front of them halted her steps, a malicious smile growing over her lips and making (y/n) and Cas’ hearts speed up in fright for their boys. “I was wondering when you would find us. We’ve been having a lovely little chat about you boys.” She turned to face them, raising her head so they could see the flash of the light cross sea green eyes and flawless creamy skin peeking out from the elegant blue dress she wore. “We’ve been waiting for you two. My daughter told me half an hour ago that you had stopped by the diner looking for these beautiful creatures. I figured it was only a matter of time before you found the trail I left for you. But, I needed some time to finish my latest spell, so I could never complain about a little delay.” Daughter? Oh Son of a Bitch, Danni! “Yeah we’ve heard you’re a creative bitch with your recent spells. What have you chosen as your latest Fairytale flip? Thumbelina? You gonna shrink on of us down to be squished?” ‘Fucks sake Dean, do you have to antagonise the witch holding our friends to the wall?’ “Oh, very clever dear! You figured out my little plan. Not much can be changed about those old tales. True love always wins out eventually. But so few people actually find those truest of loves that the one small change to the tale makes it impossible to undo. If that man had truly loved his wife, he wouldn’t have turned in to a toad. But don’t fret, little princes. I have something very special planned for you hunters.” With a flick of her hand in either direction, Sam and Dean were flung back towards (y/n) and Cas respectively, landing at the feet and sliding in to the walls with a resounding thump. They tried to lift themselves but found they were pinned down. Sam turned his head to look up at (y/n), worry filling his eyes. “You alright sweetheart?” “I’m fine Sammy. She hasn’t done anything to us. Honestly I have no idea what she has panned.” The Witch turned at her words, smile sickly sweet as she moved forward and grasped (y/n)’s delicate chin, squeezing at the base of her cheeks so hard she could feel the pain shoots through her nerves and pulling a near feral growl from Sam below them. “Oh, don’t you worry pet. You’ll see in just a few moments.” She strode back to her cauldron, throwing another handful of herbs bound in twine, rosemary is Sam wasn’t mistaken. The potion started to bubble, white smoke bubbling over the sides of the cauldron and pouring down to the floor like a river of fog. As it crept across the floorboards and started flooding the room, the spell keeping Sam and Dean to the ground was lifted and they jumped to their feet, each gripping the friend closest tot hem and pulling to try and pry them off their suspended position on the wall. As they tugged, the potions fumes wrapped around their ankles and they were overcome with a sudden weakness. Dean fell first, his grip on Cas’ shoulders going slack as he fell sideways to hit the ground once more, his eyes slipping closed and his entire body going slack. “Dean!” Cas’s gravelly timbre echoed as he watched the man drop, his eyes wide in fear and moving to (y/n) and Sam as he moved faster to try and free the woman from her spell. His grip was tight on her wrist, but it wasn’t long until even he couldn’t fight the effects of whatever the potion intended. His eyes started to slip shut and (y/n) could only watch in horror as he gave over to it and knelt to the floor, landing with a hard thud on the floor and being engulfed in the spelled fog. The Witch cackled as the spell started to recede back in to the cauldron. With a snap of her fingers, all of the potions and it’s ingredients vanished and she started walking towards the entryway. Pausing just within sight, she turned to face (y/n) and Cas, still pinned to opposing walls. “You have 24 hours to figure out how to break my curse, or this shall be the end of the Winchester hunter dynasty!” With a final cackle, she disappeared. It was far too long before the spell keeping them pinned wore off, they had counted 5 hours before losing track. (Y/n) fell to the floor rather unceremoniously at the sudden drop, it barely giving Cas a moment to gather his own bearings to just catch himself on his knees. He moved swiftly to Dean’s side, rolling him over and feeling for a pulse as (y/n) did the same for Sam. Relief washed over them as they felt the steady thump of a pulse under their fingers and the rhythmic rise and fall of their chests. Cas pulled Dean into his arms and zapped to (y/n) and Sam, holding all three of them and transporting them to the Bunker’s Medical Bay. He hefted Dean on to one bed before helping (y/n) with Sam. Looking over Dean he placed two fingers to his forehead, closing his eyes and focussing hard on trying to expel the spell from his being. Dean didn’t stir, and Cas sighed heavily, dropping his hand and turning to face (y/n) as she brushed stray tendrils of hair from Sam’s face. “My Grace isn’t waking him up. I don’t know what could wake him up.” (Y/n) looked at him, a sad smile on her face as she looked over at her friends and grasped at Sam’s hand, stroking her thumb over the top and begging silently for him to just wake up. “I might have an idea, but I need to go to the Library and check out a couple of books I have on the personal shelves.” They reluctantly left the boys in the Med Bay and called out to Jack to join them from the kitchen, Cas quickly explaining the situation as (y/n) scoured her personal bookshelf. Her fingers danced over two separate spines, short and thick amidst smaller, newer volumes, a mixture of hardcover and paperback. “Here! Tales by Charles Perrault and Entire Works of the Brothers Grimm. Jack, help me look through Charles Perrault’s book for Sleeping Beauty. Cas, look for Snow White.” Jack looked at her with inquisitive eyes. “Aren’t those Disney animated movies?” (Y/n) smiled at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, they are movies from Disney early ages, but they got the tales from these authors. They’re a lot darker than the ones I’ve shown you, just so you know.” With that, she turned through chapters, searching for the original fairytale amongst the worn pages. It took about an hour with Jack asking her questions about certain stories and pictures, but (y/n) gently reminded him of their pressing timeframe and continued on. It was the last story in the tome, and she gave a small cry as she read through the story. “Got it! The story of The Sleeping Beauty in the Woods. It says she was enchanted to sleep for one hundred years, when she would be awoken by her True Love’s Kiss.” “It’s the same for Snow White.” Cas called out from across the table, Grimm’s Tales in his hand. “Sleeping Beauty is in here too. I guess they have their own version.” (Y/n) nodded pulling the volume over to her to read. “I totally forgot! Brothers Grimm copied the story and published it in their own works, translating from French to English. Even Snow White was only awoken by True Love’s Kiss, though she didn’t have to wait a century for it to happen. There’s so many different versions of these stories. One has Sleeping Beauty awoken by the birth of her own children, a products of a greedy traveller raping the princess in a moment of hedonism.” “So… Sam and Dean just need to be kissed by their True Loves?” Jack’s brows were furrowed in thought. Cas looked at (y/n) with fear tinging his eyes. “Does True Love even exist outside of Fairytales?” “I’m not sure. I mean, the Witch said that there were people who had True Loves, but the boys both lost who seemed to be their soulmates. I mean, Sam lost Jess years ago, and Crowley killed Cassie a few years back when he was bent on undoing all of the good they’ve done over the years.” (Y/n) seemed almost sad talking about Sam and Jess. Over the years, Sam had told her stories of his days at Stanford, meeting and falling in love with Jessica, and his plans to propose to her not long before Dean had asked him for help finding John. They had formed a special bond in the years following her rescue from a Vamp hunt gone wrong. She had lost her aunt in the battle and was moments away from perishing herself, when Sam had burst in, machete swinging wildly against necks before Dean could even breach the doors. Sam had only recently left Stanford, and the pain of losing Jess had been fresh, so running in to save one of his oldest friends regardless of personal injury had seemed a great idea at the time. They had joined up for hunts here and there for a few years after that, before the final battle against Lucifer had passed and, to your horror at the time, Sam’s Soul had been returned and Dean had all but begged her to join them on a more permanent basis. She had been the one to bring him out of his visions of Lucifer before he had sliced his hand open, and it had led to many talks about the nightmares that still plagued the man to this day. Late nights, dangerous hunts and long car rides had given them more time to strengthen their friendship, but they had both struggled greatly following Dean’s disappearance following their defeat of Dick Roman and the Leviathans. They had separated for a time, (y/n) continuing the hunt in Bobby’s name and Sam, well, at the time she’d had no idea what he’d been doing. But hearing about Amelia, that had caused a squeezing pain in her chest she never wanted to feel again. Shaking off those thoughts, she snapped the books closed and looked to the Angel and Nephilim in front of her. “Come on. We have to hurry. The boys don’t have much longer before this is permanent.” They ran back to the Infirmary skidding to a stop as they entered the room. Dean was now encased in glass, a ribbon of gold circling the magical coffin. His skin had taken on an ashen pallor, but he appeared peaceful. Sam, he had all but disappeared, engulfed in a small forest of thorny vines. (Y/n) could barely make out the messy mop of chestnut locks, and rushed forward to try and pull him out of them. She grabbed a vine and let out a shout of pain, pulling her hands back to see the thorns that had embedded themselves in her palm, blood starting to drip steadily from the new wounds. Jack raced up to her and gently plucked the sharp weeds from her skin and letting his grace brush over her to heal her. Cas had rushed to move the glass away from Dean, placing her hand on his chest and shaking him with fervour. Jack looked over at his pseudo-father, sensing his pain as he desperately clutched at Dean, tears starting to pool in his eyes. It’s time he knew. “Uh, Cas? There’s something you should know.” Cas looked to the young boy, a question in his gaze. “Yes Jack? Do you know something that can help them?” “I think so. You know how you’ve always said you have a special bond with Dean after bringing him back from Hell?” “Yes…” “Well, it actually goes much farther than that. I’ve found recently that I’m able to sense the auras of all beings, and some of them have matching colours. It’s rare to find two beings who not only match, but have met through their lives, but you and Dean… you two found each other.” Cas was speechless, and (y/n) could only look between the two with wide eyes. It made sense, when she really thought about it. Their bond was one beyond that of friendship, and was something (y/n), Sam and Jack had talked about the last time the two of them had gone on a hunt together. (Y/n) stepped towards Cas as he started to sputter denials, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. “Cas, stop trying to deny it. We’ve seen the way you two act around each other. You may think it’s all friendly banter, but we can see those tender moments. Where your eyes soften, or how you look at each other when you think no one is looking. And… I promised him I would never repeat this but… one night, when Dean and I got really wasted after a hunt, he told me how he feels for you. Dean loves you Cas, he’s just scared to admit his feelings and let himself be happy. He’s so worried he’ll finally accept what you have and then he’ll lose you and… I know that’s how you feel too. Stop letting your fears get in the way of your happiness.” Cas still seemed unsure, but as he turned back to Dean to see the ashen colouring to his skin and the barely-there rise and fall of his chest, he knew he had to try. He bent forward and pressed his lips to Dean’s, the kiss hesitant yet hopeful. (Y/n) and Jack watched with bated breath as Cas kissed Dean, their lips upturning into smiles as they watched a deep gasp sound through Dean’s nose as he awoke and instinctively puckered his own lips to meet Cas’ in a tender shared embrace. It lasted only a moment before Cas pulled back as Dean opened his eyes. Emerald met Azure, and they smiled. Dean sighed before pulling Cas in for another, more heated kiss, eliciting a small, surprised moan from the Angel. Giving them as much space and privacy as she turned back to the encasing of thorns, pulling out the dagger at her hip and starting to cut at the branches, as gently as she could to avoid accidentally cutting Sam’s flesh beneath. The brambles fell away easily under the sharp blade, and (y/n) made quick work or clearing them away to look upon Sam’s face. Unlike Dean, Sam’s colour was healthy, and so he looked as if he were only sleeping. She thread a delicate hand through his hair, letting the silken locks slip through her fingers as she watched him helplessly. She feared that for Sam, this could be the end. His True Love, Jess, was long dead, and Sam had not allowed himself to truly open himself to anyone since. She had one last hope, but in case it didn’t work, she knew she had to be honest with the man, whether he could hear her or not. “Sam… I don’t know if this will work, but I know if I don’t try everything I can think of, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. I… I’ve had feelings for you for a while now Sam. You’re my best friend, and I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you in it. Seeing you, every day, it’s one of the things I treasure most in my life. To have someone who knows me better than I know myself, who I know I can turn to about anything. The one person I trust above all others, it’s such a precious thing, a gift I never thought I would be blessed with. In the life we live, it’s almost unheard of to find someone like that and have them understand the shit we go through every damned day. You… are my person, and though I know Jess was yours, I hope that the love I feel for you will be enough to bring you back to us.”

As she spoke, Cas had helped Dean from his bed, the pair and Jack slowly approaching the woman professing her love for the younger Winchester. Dean squeezed Cas’ hand as he listened to (y/n)’s words, hoping beyond hope that Sam felt how he believed he did. He watched as (y/n) lowered herself to fit her lips over Sam’s, and the world seemed to stop. It only lasted a moment, before (y/n) pulled back and waiting, eyes wide with hope and hand fisted in his undershirt in a desperate attempt to feel for any change in his steady heartbeat. As minutes passed and nothing changed, the small group started to lose hope. Cas’ grip on Dean’s shoulders tightened as grief started to engulf them, Dean’s legs growing weak as his brain and heart tried to process that his brother wasn’t waking up. Jack stood by Sam’s feet, sending out a silent prayer to any God listening to wake the man he had come to see as a brother. And (y/n), she let her heart fall in to her stomach as a tear slipped from her eye, sliding down her nose and landing on Sam’s cheek before she could catch it with her sleeve; the sleeve of Sam’s over-sized flannel. She moved to rise from the bed, closing her eyes as she turned away, only to freeze as she heard a sound much like that of wood on wood when you would try to light a fire when you’re camping. She turned back and opened her eyes to see the thorny vines start to recede and uncover the rest of Sam’s body and disappear in a flash of blinding white light. Dean’s eyes widened as he watched the scene unfold, unbelieving of the spectacle before him. The witch had admitted she had taken some creative liberties with the traditional fairytales, but surely she hadn’t enough power to do something like this? The light slowly began to fade, allowing (y/n) to sweep her gaze over Sam once again and check him for any lingering injuries the thorns may have left. When she finally reached his face, she let loose a huff of relief as she found Sam’s Hazel eyes open, a soft smile on his face as their eyes met. He moved to sit with his legs dangling over the edge of the cot, reaching out a hand to cup (y/n)’s cheek as she moved forward to help him up. She smiled at him and raised her own hand to brace against his as he ran his thumb caressed the base of her jaw. “Did you really mean all that (y/n)? Do you truly feel those things?” (Y/n) closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall in to his hold, her smile falling slightly as she realised Sam had heard every word she had professed. “Every word Sam. I’ve felt this way for years, but I could never bear to tell you, knowing that you could never truly reciprocate. And I understand, I really do. Jessica was the woman you wanted to spend you life with and…” Her words were cut short as Sam pressed his lips to hers in a tender embrace, and after a moment of surprise, she allowed herself to resign to him completely. Their lips moved against each other, a gentle dance of teeth and tongue as Sam’s free hand moved to tangle in her (h/c) locks and hers scooped under his arms and over his shoulders, pulling him closer as his own grip tightened. It was the uncomfortable cough from Dean that finally pulled them apart, resting their foreheads against each other and allowing their noses to brush against one another. “(Y/n), I have loved you since the first day we discovered the Bunker. Watching you dart around this place, the smile on your face and the excitement in your voice as you explored every room and freaked out over the size of the kitchen, it made me realise how special you truly are. And every day since, I have fallen deeper and deeper in love with everything that makes you, you. Yes, I loved Jess and, at the time, I was ready to marry her and make a life with her. But that was fourteen years ago, and I was a different person then. I was trying to escape this life and find a sense of normal that we can never truly attain. But realising what I felt for you, it made me realise that I could still have that happiness, no matter what life I’m living, as long as I’d found the right person.” Sam pulled her into yet another sweet kiss before finally releasing his hold and turning to face the other three men in the room. His eyes raked over Dean and Cas as they clung to each other and smiled. “Took you long enough, Jerk.” Dean only smiled back, moving to ruffle the man’s hair and pull him in to a hug. “Could say the same for you, Bitch. I always told you if you didn’t cut your hair, you’d start to look like a Princess. Seriously, we need to cut this.” (Y/n) laughed as Sam pushed at the hand on his head. She moved forward to embrace Dean in a hug of her own. “Oh, I don’t think so Deano. I like these silky locks, and if you wanna do anything to ‘em, you’ll have to go through me.” The jokes and banter continued late in to the following morning, before everyone was so exhausted they could barely keep their eyes open. In spite of Jack assuring them that there was no chance of Sam or Dean falling back under the spell from simply falling asleep, (y/n) and Cas still insisted they stay in the room with their respective new partners, not that either brother particularly complained about the situation. They each retired to their rooms, curling up on the bed together and allowing the exhaustion to lull them to sleep in the warmth of the other’s embrace.

#supernatural #spn #reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #jack kline #fairytales #witches #true love

[sleepyowlwrites]

find the word tag CCCXXXXVI

I don't want to change my blog title because I'm not ready for summer to be over. autumn might be my favorite season but I feel like this year I slept through summer. and by slept through I mean worked through. and by worked through I mean that yeah, I did that last year too, but this year only half-existed and I've been been so off the edge of myself in not a bad mental health way and it's terrible. I'm not down, I'm not out, I'm just slump. a puddle person. but I am going on vacation and hopefully I will reform into a human while I'm there. @spacetimewraithwrites -> #

mark (a sketch, bold lines, chromatic, 2021)

my hair is large around my head until I tie it back, but it curls as it will and I let it, because that is what my hair does. it is mine, and I intend to keep it, no matter what color it is or if it’s only half-braided because I slept on my side. my freckles go away in the winter, but I don’t miss them because I know they’ll return. there’s a small scar beside my eye. it shows more when I’m tired, and it hangs there like a mark on the moon and I’m not ashamed of it. it does not say that I am shadowed, it just means that I fell down as a child.

make (searching for myself and soulfulness, 2012)

I sought to write some lines To express my broken soul I thought that I would taste the ink And it would make it whole I looked down at my weary feet With their tattered soles I looked also at my heart And saw it was full of holes

miss (paper aeroplanes, 2013)

It's hard for me, it's hard to be So far away from you Can't see your face, can't see your smile I know you miss me too I'll send you goodnight kisses When I look up at the moon

morning (things without names, 2015)

There are things without names That creep in the dark Restless and yearning For the morning skylark

There are colors that hover Just out of our reach We're grasping at rainbows We learn, and we teach

more (the sleepy stash, 2018)

Tiny bits of yesterday came knocking at my window Apparently I'm ahead as well as slow Can anything be more beautiful than the empty smell of snow?

minute (imposter, 2020)

I hate- this house is too new for the memories it holds can the wine on the doorstep force back the cold? too cold here, with your hands inside the holes on my sweater the weather is turning the corner with its head facing away from me I dance alone it’s stressing me out, can we turn back back? minute by minute one inch to every coat collar that hangs inside the walls broken glass falls slowly suspended on a feather and the feather owner’s dead I spin on my heel to find a gun to my head

eventually, forgotten, acceptance, unfortunate. BONUS: aspire, internal. @woodhousejay @muddshadow @houndmouthed @livvywrites @ink-fireplace-coffee @pixelw0rds OR ANYBODY

#find the word tag #searching circle

[cloudbattrolls]

Something Beautiful

“Okay, no, seriously - can you just - stop, come on, tell me.” 

Jikiro argued over the phone with Himari as she gleefully tried to pry out of him why he wanted to know how to print a magical invitation card that could fold into different origami shapes and change colors.

“Ji’s got a daaaaate.” She sang. “Didn’t realize you had another troll on the line, right after Jamie! Who’s your new beau or belle, or otherwise?”

“Ji’s got none of your damn business.” He grunted. “Are you going to tell me, or should I just hang up? It’d bring me so much peace.”

“Touchy, touchy!” She remarked, singsong. “All right, I’ll send you instructions - and a bottle of my best ink.”

“Wow, so generous.” He retorted, knowing full well this came at the cost of her definitely telling Akahan and Izanam all about this. 

Whatever, he’d deal with that when it came. Right now he had something way more important on his mind.

He put his phone down on his work desk, which could use a bit of straightening up, but now wasn’t the time. Instead he stretched for a few minutes, plunked down hard in his chair, and lifted up and moved a whiteboard marker and eraser with a spell so he could brainstorm on the large one that occupied nearly one full wall of the room. His office was a good size; it even had a small table for meetings and a fridge to provide snacks for any guests. And for his own nightly needs, he wouldn’t lie.

SPA, he had the marker write first, but then paused. Should he have anything special prepared? Duh, stupid question, of course he should. 

He thought Viltau would like the manicures and pedicures and massages…but he needed more than that, he needed something spectacular.

The tealblood pondered, scratching his chin, and opened the spa’s website on his phone. God, he hadn’t been there in sweeps, it was so remote and in the mountains, and - wait, perfect! It had an observatory nearby and good spots to star watch! 

Vil didn’t like being outside as much as he did, but that was fine, there were well-maintained stone paths that would let them see the rugged scenery for just a little bit. Small heated pagodas with glass roofs provided the actual observation spots, nice and comfortable to sit in for a while.

Almost there. What else could he do?

The ink maker leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. His office was painted with an old mural - bamboo, waterfalls, et cetera. Predictable stuff, but it was pretty. 

Hm. Vil hated predictable…but what if he could put a twist on something ordinary? A starlit stroll was fine…but what if the path itself was enchanted? What if the pagoda was like the shrine at his estate, telling stories of the constellations?

Of course, he’d need a special dessert, too. Nothing less than the best for his love.

Jikiro smiled, blushing slightly. 

This was so unlike anything flush he’d done before, everything else so casual, so lowkey. 

What he had with Vil ran much deeper. This brought him joy unlike anything he’d thought he’d ever get, and he’d be damned if he’d give it anything less than his best.

He was pretty sure the indigo would agree. But the moment had to be perfect. 

The tealblood took a photo of all the ideas he’d had his marker write down, and went hive for the night.

—

Back at his estate, Jikiro deliberated over his closet’s outfits. Should he wear one in theme with the date, or was that corny? It was, he decided, and he chose a simple but elegant black and teal furisode kimono instead, with an abstract snowflake pattern. It was more seen as women’s clothing now, but he didn’t care. 

He thought he still looked plenty masculine, and the garment was soft and warm, perfect for the cold, crisp air of the mountains. 

Besides, he thought with a grin as he looked in his room’s mirror, he liked what the slightly snug fit did to his figure. 

He carefully brushed his hair, and put on a little makeup. Jamie had finally seen fit to trust him with his own set of pigments, a simple palette of teals, blues, and jades, plus grays that either matched or accented his own skin tone.

Jikiro went over to the small, high-quality printing press he owned, where instructions from Himari sat rolled up on a piece of paper tied with a ribbon teasingly patterned with hearts. He rolled his eyes and huffed, but there was no real malice in it as he unfurled the page and read it, teal-and-black eyes intent on the contents.

Hi, little Ji! 

I don’t know who your special someone is, but I’m sure they’ll be impressed if you imbue this paper with everlasting color changing and glowing text - get another page so you can transfer the instructions and re-use this! I visited the place where they made it and put a little magic in during the process to make it extra resilient! You owe me!!

Your very knowledgeable older signmate who expects compensation,

-Himari 

Below that were the instructions she’d promised, and as he took a sheet of paper from his sylladex, the writing spiraled off the paper in a flurry of ink and settled back down on the new sheet, neat as they’d been before. 

The one the older Takami had sent sat blank, ready to be shaped as Jikiro desired. While he knew he would have to pay her back - even if she was in his face about it, he would admit he owed her - it would be worth it since this wouldn’t rip or tear easily, staying preserved for a long while to come. 

He wanted Vil to have a lasting memento of this.

The ink maker took out a book - he only needed one for this, thanks to what Himari had sent, saving him hours of research - and sat down at his hive desk, less spacious than his office one but still a place where he could spread out his materials comfortably. He put on music as he worked at a low volume, enjoying the peace of the violins and cellos as he prepared his ink and planned how to fold the paper once it had been printed. 

Luckily the ink itself wasn’t too hard - he just had to make sure he enchanted it properly to keep its vibrancy and have the effect he wanted. He dipped a stirrer in, taking it out to test the consistency, taking note of the liquid’s viscosity and how the light coming through the window reflected off it. Too bad it wouldn’t taste good, but he had plenty of more edible ones around too. 

He still had no idea how his digestion sac even processed so much ink, but he hadn’t gotten sick (if he could even get sick anymore) so whatever, magic was handy that way, he supposed.

Jikiro tried not to think too hard about how his body had demonic power in it now.

Some time later, he finally had the ink to his satisfaction, and he knew exactly how he wanted the card to look - and what shape he’d fold it in after it was printed on.

He stood up, stretching in the moonlight coming through the glass - and had the oddest feeling he was being watched. But Hanabi wasn’t here, and his wards would have alerted him if someone was using magic or psiionics to spy on him.

The tealblood’s neck prickled, but the feeling faded as soon as he walked over to the printing press. 

He shook his head. He’d been working too long, that was all.

Jikiro smiled as he put his ink into the press unit, and carefully fed the sheet in. It smoothly came out with the invite printed, the text gleaming and still slightly wet. Because of how he’d done it, the necessary enchantments were already in the materials - no extra symbols necessary. 

His thick hands delicately creased and folded the card, which he had turned the purple of Viltau’s beautiful eyes. He grinned as he did the last final tweak to get the head right, and blew a kiss at his creation.

With a prepared spell he sent off the crane card, its delicate indigo wings flapping as it vanished through the portal he kept going to Vil’s hive. It would tease the man a bit, flying out of reach for a minute or two, before allowing him to catch it and unfold it (if he was quick enough, but of course he would be).

When Viltau opened the card, it would deepen to purple so dark it was nearly black, studded with tiny twinkling white stars that shifted slightly on the paper as the magically printed text shone silver. 

What exactly the outing was, he wouldn’t spoil quite yet - he wanted to keep Vil guessing until they got there on the train, but he’d have advised him to pack a coat. Their private car on the train would be excellent - very well furnished, with movies and books he knew the party planner loved, and of course he was bringing some games and puzzles for them to do, though it wasn’t too long of a trip - only a few hours. He just liked to provide plenty of options.

He smiled to himself, humming as he awaited his flushcrush’s response. He’d intentionally sent it the night before the weekend, so Viltau could come the next evening if he didn’t have any other plans.

If he did, Jikiro could wait…but he couldn’t lie, he really hoped Vil would say yes.

He closed his eyes and imagined it.

Going to the spa, getting any sort of treatments they liked - Jikiro knew he was looking forward to the ones with hot clay and the shiatsu massages - eating at the spa’s excellent restaurant, and then, when it was later in the night, going for a walk, and finally to the pagoda…

A path of stones that rippled with multicolored light where they stepped thanks to his magic. Their breath puffs of vapor steaming away in the chill air as he pointed out the fossils and old carvings beneath them - the bones of the mountain, the brochure called them - a bit dramatic, but not exactly untrue. 

Those remains had been there for millions of years. This was an old, old place.

Once they entered the pagoda, Jikiro would take out the dessert he’d had specially made, mini star-shaped sponge cakes made in different colors with light, sparkling frosting on them. 

He’d tell him the legend of the lovers in the stars who could only meet once a sweep - of how they came from different sides of the galaxy, and had to tend to their own duties so the heavens didn’t fall into disorder. Despite that, they still waited to see each other, thousands of sweeps later. As the sky shone above, they’d be surrounded by arcane projections to underline the tealblood’s story.

It didn’t matter how long they were apart or what other duties they had; they’d always find each other again. He’d smile at Vil knowingly, and put his arm around the pretty indigo.

In a place that had risen endless sweeps ago from the planet, under stars that were yet more ancient still, he wanted to begin something new. 

He knew his signmates would disapprove. He knew it might not always be easy for him and his love, different as they were. 

Jikiro knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he still wanted Viltau by his side for the rest of his life as his matesprit. 

He would tell him so.

#cloud writes #jikiro takami #this probably could use more editing but I Don't Care #it's good enough! here it is! #merry christmas rai your present is me finally finishing this lmfao #well and the stuff I'm gonna draw