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inkskinned · 11 months

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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME #there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing #and the writing is what i need to be doing #writeblr #this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to #edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol #i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means #i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong #i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse #i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO #i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness #and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it #im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us #i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer #and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work #even if it means being miserable #but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.

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tusks-and-claws · 1 year

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Now that I got the mean Miguel stuff out of my system, my heart wants softer/domestic Miguel so here are some nsfw(18+) headcanons/imagines under the cut :3

♡ You stay over at Miguel's place for the first time and you decide to wear one of his shirts (after he pulls all your clothes off and has some fun with you) and it's gigantic on you, you're swimming in it, but he's obsessed with the way it hangs from your frame and the way you look in his clothes. You move to the kitchen to make a midnight snack and he can't help but hike up the hem of his shirt while it's on you and bend you over the countertop, his hand on the small of your back. He goes slower than he did earlier because he knows that your muscles are sore. He's so sweet during round two, whispering endearments to you while he impales you on his thick cock all over again. When you eventually have to leave, he waits just a little bit longer than usual to throw that shirt in the laundry. After all, it still smells like you

♡ If you tell him you're sore, he'll run a hot bath for you, but he'll be in there waiting. He watches fondly as you undress, and he sighs contentedly when you submerge yourself and settle between his legs. He holds you close to him, your back against his hard chest, and you can feel the rising and falling of his breaths and the steady beating of his heart. You feel his cock harden and press against your back as his hands travel under the water to touch you. It's not long before his big hands are on your hips, guiding you as you sink down onto his length. He wants to bite your shoulder so badly as you gently rock back and forth on him, but he opts for planting heated kisses there instead

♡ He really isn't very good at cooking, but he's a decent baker. After all, baking really is more of a science. While he's trying a new recipe, he scoops up some of the batter onto his fingertip and holds it out for you to try. It's good, you tell him as much, but he's far too distracted by the way your mouth closed around his finger and lingered there a little too long. You can see the slightly flushed look on his face, and you start pulling his sweatpants down as he backs up against the counter, letting you get to your knees. You feel him get fully hard while he's inside your mouth. He grips the counter with white knuckles. When he cums, and you swallow every drop of him, he brings you back up to your feet and kisses you with abandon. What was he doing? Baking? Who cares anymore

♡ His apartment in Nueva York is so high up, that it's daunting even for people that aren't scared of heights. Getting too close to the windows sometimes makes you nervous, but Miguel assures you there's nothing to be afraid of, that the glass is thick and strong. To prove it to you, he fucks you against it, holding you up with your back to the glass. Your head spins from the skyline in your peripheral vision, but he makes sure you don't look down, saying "eyes on me, I've got you." Not once does he falter as he pumps into you, his strength never betrays you. Suddenly, heights don't seem so scary

#my writing #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #smut #miguel o'hara imagine #idc if this is out of character i needed this #not beta read

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grimesgirll · 2 months

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like your weapons trainings or conditioning, getting to rick’s place for bedtime had become a nightly duty.

and okafor stressed the importance of being on time to you. after all, he needed his best soldier bright eyed and bushy tailed in the mornings.

you had to have your ass in rick’s bed by the time he was ready to hit the hay. it didn’t matter if he was planning on fucking you that night or just enjoying having another warm body around. okafor had clocked that you somehow increased the average hours of sleep rick gained each night and assigned you to a semi-permanent sleepover.

you watch from your elbows as the handsome man in front of you brushes his teeth.

this isn’t the first time okafor’s utilized your “girlish charm” or whatever the fuck he sees in you to get what he wants.

this is the farthest he’s ever asked you to go however. it was always innocent before; distracting important people, taking advantage of certain perversions to finish the mission. you shouldn’t complain. okafor did get you the job of your dreams, all things considered.

where else could you spend hours designing maps, establishing operation routes, and do it all with the help of formerly world renowned military engineers and some of the most advanced technology still left on the planet?

besides, the lieutenant colonel had kept his word; there isn’t a thing you want for at the moment. aside from the occasional homesickness which was gradually dulling into a numb, nearly nonexistent feeling, you didn’t yearn for much - only rick.

so now you spend your days in your new state of the art geospatial mapping studio and on your rare but highly anticipated surveying trips. okafor had reviewed your past surveying maps of the delaware valley with general beale and other senior staff - including rick - and your work proved fruitful enough to allow you a small team to continue surveying operations under the umbrella of logistics.

in all reality, okafor’s rewarding you handsomely.

and so is rick.

his southern drawl breaks you from your staring.

“huh?” utterly oblivious, you fall under his deep blue gaze.

“i asked you if i can turn the lights off." he repeats, fingers hovering over the light switch.

you nod. "yeah, i'm ready for bed."

the bed dips with rick's weight and like routine, you're drawn into his crushing embrace. rick liked to cuddle before bed. you don’t ask but there has to have been some wife or some woman somewhere who used to be in your position.

the soldier is stoic and stands on business, but that sour expression had begun to soften since you’d first seduced him on his sofa. little bits and pieces of a southern, east coast kind of background popped up through the twang of rick’s accent. anyone with a history with law enforcement instantly picked up on his past as a cop. you’d playfully asked if he had to cuff anyone before and just received a dim smile that started to sour until you threw yourself into his lap and cast away whatever storm clouds you’d brought on with kisses.

he’ll never outright tell you why he sleeps better with you or how he slept before he was even a consignee, but you don’t mind. the cozy embrace really gets you conked out every night, without fail. his dick does too.

that’s how you end up backing against him and tempting the hard outline that never seemed to disappear due to his size.

rick chuckles behind you but doesn’t move, just pulls you closer. "good night." he says with a kiss to the back of your head.

"night," you return, like you’re not jutting your ass backwards into him.

you’re shocked that he hasn’t said anything. rick doesn’t always take your touch so lightly. he’d punished you for teasing him in front of some of the air fleet’s officers by fingering you until you were begging to come in the repurposed law library next door just the other day.

the man only speaks up once your tight ass is rounding indisputable, deep circles against his groin. you couldn’t be anymore obvious with the gasp that flies out of you like a kite as soon as rick’s newly throbbing length twitches through his sleep pants.

“honey.”

“please, rick!” you pull out the begging already, having expected you would be fucked silly tonight.

“tonight’s not the night, darlin’.”

needy and craving the man beside you, your knees squirm. it’s only when you’re lightly kicking rick that he pays you any mind; your legs are shut closed by the force of his human hand and the prosthetic digging into your soft flesh.

the look he gives you is lacking patience. “now, what’re you doin’?”

“i need you tonight, rick,” you state plainly.

he scoffs and lets go of your thighs. “c’mon, honey, why don’t you just lay down and get a good night’s rest?” the gears are turning in your head and you’re lifting your legs and shifting between his legs before he can even try to draw you back to your pillow. he croaks your name when you start pawing at the drawstring of his pants. “honey, you need to-,”

“you need this,” you insist.

you’re not giving him enough time to complain with his sensitive head already on your tongue. rick curses his traitorous groans, and himself when he does nothing to fight against the firm hand you're utilizing to usher him onto his back.

"so, you want to relax?" he manages, despite the shudder inducing way in which fully go for it and swallow around him. midway down your throat, a light thrust and a near gag from you is all he needs to know your answer.

rick can only lean back and take what you give him. he's pretty sure that you're going to have him coming in your mouth but before he knows it, you’re face to face again. there’s no reason to be disappointed by the firm hold you still have on him with your hand. a few more sluggish licks and you’re readjusting, straddling him to tease his tip with the slick of your entrance.

"what about you?" rick’s rasping, not yet prepared after you removed him from your sweet mouth.

"what if i told you i came here ready?"

the statement has his cock jumping. you swivel slightly, clit bumping his own sensitive slippery skin. spit strewn, his head falls back at the feeling of his dick dipped into your engulfing heat - even half an inch.

“you sure, honey?”

“mhmm,” you confirm with a kiss and a grind onto him.

“really wanted it, didn’t you, darlin’?”

your confirmation comes out as a whimper. "i just wanna be full before bed. i wanna be full of you rick," and once those words leave your mouth, rick is decided and sending you from your knees to your back. he could never say no to those watery eyes.

a courtesy finger and some intricately placed kisses on your knees, thighs, and clit have you straining upwards. you're not burning for long because rick is ready to indulge you just as you wished tonight. without warning - not that you were wanting it tonight - rick fit himself as far inside your thick muscle as he could on the first thrust.

the stretch is familiar but striking enough for you to nearly double over onto him. you won’t fold in the face of your reward - at least not yet. determined to hold on, you plant two hands on the older man’s chest as you sink onto his thick length. his groans and your steady breaths are enough to lower yourself, and even fuck yourself you and down on him.

"thank you for fucking me tonight, rick." you cry through swollen lips and damp lashes. "i really need you to fall asleep," you confess in a tone no higher than a hushed hiss.

you don't know if you're expecting an answer but the quickened pace is to be expected. without a doubt, the man is sinking deeper inside of you as he forces his hips flush to yours.

"does this satisfy being full enough to fall asleep?"

the jolt he’s sending through your abdomen with each maddening plunge into you, has you fluttering around him.

“rick!”

you wake up with a hand on your ass and a breath behind you in your hair. it doesn’t last though. rick is gone before you know it and you’re left aching, craving him. you get him out of your system with your early morning physical training - pt - and a meal with your favorite fellow soldiers.

you’re not expecting to see rick again soon.

the office facing the arboretum and the airfield is typically a still place, plagued by the constant thrum of the planes and helicopters, yes, but those who worked in the building had grown accustomed to the white noise. you're so grateful everyone in your division is out at lunch when rick slams the thick wooden door open.

stirred from your half drafted map of the midwest, your head surges up. you don't have time to open your mouth before rick is talking at you in his sergeant's voice.

“there are ten minutes until i need to be down at the helicopter hanger. you need to get me off in eight.”

stunned, the command doesn't urge you to your feet just yet. it's the sudden slamming of the door that jostles you from desk to the plaid loveseat where you settle onto your knees on a cushion facing sideways.

rick shakes his head. "no, i want you on your knees on the floor in front of me. now." you sigh and carry yourself down to the polished wooden floors. "i don't have time to sit."

"why?"

"because what i said was an order. don't question it."

with that preamble, you waste no time finding his belt and expertly undoing the buckle in record time. your hands move as fast as they can given all of the work this bulky uniform requires. somehow you breeze through the layers and ignore the ache growing in your knees. your second pt of the day is going to destroy you.

as you strip down rick's thermal boxers, you wonder if he's keen on fucking you now too. perhaps you'd gotten your allotted pounding last night and this would be it for the week. you really can never know with rick.

the issue of time returns to your mind however, so when you grip his length, you only lick up and down enough to get him taking coordinated breaths through his nose and tautening.

“you’ve been demandin’ lately, doll.”

your thighs squeeze together at the nickname.

“maybe i want to be a little demandin’ of you.”

a gloved hand shoves your head down. the incentive to keep your moans quiet doubles when you hear commotion outside your office. right on time; your colleagues are returning to lunch.

“think you can quiet that big mouth enough?”

no words leave your mouth, you just swallow around his length, glancing up into his expanded pupils; almost void of blue. hollowing your cheeks, you remember the time crunch he’s in and put a little more pep into your step. this leads to you rocking a bit on your knees.

rick snorts once he catches sight of the development. “so needy, even just with a cock in your mouth, huh?” his teasing is cut off by the orgasm building up as he throbs against your tongue.

putting in the effort to counter more than a couple of gags, you allow your jaw to slack so rick can enjoy the unobstructed tightness of your throat - perfect for him to come without the mess, leaving it to your mouth.

you weren’t prepared to suck rick off in your office today but you’re determined to leave no trace of this interaction. when he spills down your throat, only a little bit remains on your reddened puffy lips. you wipe your mouth nonchalantly once rick flops out of your mouth, still gazing down at you.

“clean me up.”

an order is an order.

exhaustively, you trace patterns from his base to the spit covered tip that’s still twitching. “fuck,” he utters when you take him into your mouth again. “don’t have time for this,” he’s scolding and palming himself back into his pants, grabbing your hand to stand you up with him for some scattered kisses across your forehead.

he presses a kiss to your temple, traveling lower to embellish purple marks on your collarbone. you’re sure he’s about to do more than just wantonly groping your perky tits but a few more moan inducing punches for your nipple and he’s sealing the interaction with one wolffish kiss. you’re nearly stumbling after him when he pulls away, tugging the last of his belts on.

the door is flung shut and that’s that. rick’s gone.

you’re on rick’s bed before he retires for the night.

“good to see you again today.” you purr, nearly kicking your feet. “i’m feeling spoiled seeing you three times in one day.”

the soldier rolls his eyes. he drops his tactical bag on the ottoman in front of the bed. “you here to sleep? or mess around?”

you shrug. “your choice.”

hints of a sly smile are on the sergeant’s face but he walks away shaking his head before you can call him down to bed just yet.

you could just sleep tonight. rick had been turning you on enough for you to take a night off, preferably drifting off in his arms until you had to wake for your quarterly river survey with the geologists, engineers, and biologists in your neighboring divisions. you had a lot to prepare for come the morning. it wouldn't be terrible to unwind by getting off tonight.

the thought's put on pause once rick's arms wrap around you as he sinks into the soft, bedding. smelling of fresh toothpaste and some kind of beard balm, he’s more than ready to hold onto you like a vice for the night.

“hey.” you coo.

“hey there,” an arm escapes you to turn out the wall light still on over on his side of the bed. only the dim glow of the hallway light touches the darkened room now.

you turn slightly so rick can at least see the outline of your face - your eyes, nose, and lips in the dark. “what was that all about early?”

“hmm?”

"the asshole act earlier?"

“you needed to remember rank.”

an exasperated heave almost sends you to a seated position. “rank?”

“yes.”

the lack of playfulness in your voice has you wondrously thankful that he can’t see your eye rolls in the dark.

“that’s kinda fucked, rick.”

“says the one who just loves getting fucked.”

you shut up.

“getting on her knees, i don’t remember you complainin’ once i got you beneath me earlier today.”

you can’t say that you recall complaining either.

it feels like muscle memory when he gets you onto all fours.

set up on his knees with your cunt under his nose, rick licks a devastating stripe from top to bottom. then he’s coming back up again and squeezing muffled shrieks from you.

“you like that, honey?”

“i do, rick,” you reply breathlessly. you dig a clenched fist into the comforter. “fuck!” tears threaten your waterline already.

“like my tongue?”

“mhmm,” you writhe as he makes it his mission to bury his warm, wriggly appendage as far inside of you as he can. he’ll never be as deep as his cock but the difference in sensation has you nearly folding into the mattress.

the added finger has you squirming in conjunction with the taunting, flickering tongue working back out to your clit. eventually there’s a two pronged attempt to open you up. you’re clenching around his fingers when you hear him ask, “do you think you’re ready?”

“one hundred percent,” you breathe.

“‘kay, i need you to be one hundred percent sure of that, soldier.”

you tease on top of him at the mention, nearly jumping once you feel him at your entrance. lust centered, you nod your head assuredly. “yes, sergeant. i’m ready for your cock. ready to fulfill the mission.”

rick’s smirk and tousled curls are the last thing you see before you’re manhandled like a rag doll into the mattress.

then that rhythm that had you so worked up is paling in comparison to how full you feel with just a few inches of rick. whispering sweet praise and reminding you of the task at hand, you exhale and puff soft cheeks. the biting kisses from rick as he settles inside of you have your eyes already rolling back. his newfound rhythm only fulfills the trance you knew only ne could put you in.

crammed tight full of cock, you’re chanting his name and he’s petting your hair, praising you as you squeeze around him just excellently.

“you gonna come on my cock, soldier?”

“only if you’ll let me, sergeant.”

his balls slap against your clit, wonderfully matching the dull tap he’s testing on your cervix. it doesn’t matter though as he’s repositioning constantly and brushing the forlorn parts, placing his fingers in a painstakingly strategic position on your clit.

“want you so bad, rick.” the words tumble out as rick brings another hand from the fat of your ass to your tit. the touch has you arching, gasping and clawing at the sheets. “rick, rick!”

“love hearin’ you say my name,” he’s grunting into your hair when he lowers himself down to fuck you deeper.

this new angle that rick’s fucking you at has you incoherent. hips pistoning you into the mattress and closer to the mounting heat in your core that was threatening to ruin rick’s sheets. the pressure has tears cascading down your cheeks. if it was lighter you’d see them on the sheets but your bleary eyes only take in pillow, as your cunt takes all of rick.

a palm pushing down on the flat of your back. you sink further into the bed, allowing rick to penetrate you deeper. this newfound depth has you face down with a single trembling clawed hand to the sheets.

“rick,” you’re croaking, crying out for him.

one more thrust of his hips and you swear he’s going to break you.

he mutters a “fuck” and croons deep;

“michonne.”

pt. 1

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bowtiepastabitch · 4 months

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Heaven's Not Homophobic in Good Omens, and Why That's Important

I need to preface this with, I am not trying to start a fight or argument and won't tolerate any homophobic or bad faith arguments in response to this. Cool? Cool.

This is in large part inspired by this ask from Neil's blog, which sparked some discourse that I don't want to get involved in but that brought up some analytic questions for me.

He goes on to reblog a question asking about Uriel's taunt specifically, clarifying that "boyfriend in the dark glasses" can just as easily be read/translated from angelic as girlfriend or bosom buddy. The idea is that an angel and a demon "fraternizing" is seriously looked down upon, not that heaven is homophobic. And that's super important.

We see homophobia in both the book and show, of course. Aziraphale is very queer-coded, intentionally and explicitly so, and we see the reaction of other humans to that several times. Sergeant Shadwell, for example, and the kid in the book that calls him the f-slur when he's doing magic at Warlock's birthday party. These are, however, individual human reactions to his coding as a gay man.

I am, personally, not a fan of heaven redemption theories for the show; no hate for people who want that it's just not something I'm interested in. I don't believe that heaven is good with bad leadership, or that God Herself remains as a paragon of virtue. To me, that's not in line with the themes and messages of the show. It's important, however, that heaven doesn't reflect human vices. Heaven can be nasty and selfish and apathetic in its own right without ableism, homophobia, transphobia, or racism. This matters for two reasons.

Firstly, we don't need the -isms and -phobias to be evil or at least ethically impure. In a world where we spend so much time fighting against prejudice and bigotry, our impulse is to see that reflected in characters whose motivations we distrust or who we're intended to dislike. While it's true that that's often the big bad evil in our daily lives, it can really cheapen the malice in fictional evil from a storytelling standpoint. A villain motivated by racism or as an allegory for homophobia can be incredibly compelling, but not every bad guy can be the physical representation of an -ism. Art reflects the reality in which it's crafted, but the complexity of human nature and the evil it's capable of can't be simplified to a dni list.

Secondly, and I think more importantly, is that for Good Omens specifically, this places the responsibility for homophobia on humanity. If you're in this fandom, there's like a 98% chance you've been hurt by religion in some way. For a lot of us, that includes religious homophobia and hate, so it makes sense to want to project that onto the 'religious' structure of Good Omens. It's a story that is, in many ways, about religious trauma and abuse. However, if heaven itself held homophobic values, it would canonize in-universe the idea that heaven and religion itself are responsible for all humanity's -isms and -phobias and absolve humans of any responsibility. Much like Crowley emphasizes repeatedly that the wicked cruelty he takes responsibility for is entirely human-made, we have to accept that heaven can't take the blame for this. To make heaven, the religious authority, homophobic would simply justify religious bigotry from humans. By taking the blame for religious extremism and hatred away from heaven and the religious structure, Good Omens makes it clear that the nastiness of humanity is uniquely and specially human and forces the individual to take responsibility rather than the system. Hell isn't responsible for the Spanish Inquisition, which by the way was religiously motivated if you didn't know, and heaven isn't responsible for Ronald Reagan.

This idea is perhaps more strongly and explicitly expressed in the Good Omens novel, in the scene where Aziraphale briefly possesses a televangelist on live TV. It's comedic, yes, but also serves to demonstrate that human concepts of the apocalypse and religious fervor are deeply incorrect (in gomens universe canon) and condemn exploitation of faith practices. Pratchett and Gaiman weave a great deal of complexity into the way religion and religious values are portrayed in the book, especially in the emphasis on heaven and hell being essentially the same. They're interested in the concept of what it means to be uniquely and unabashedly human, the good and the bad, and part of that is forcing each individual person to bear the brunt of responsibility for their own actions rather than passing it off onto a greater religious authority.

Additionally, from a fan perspective, there's something refreshing about a very queer story where homophobia isn't the primary (or even a side) conflict. The primary narrative of Good Omens isn't that these two man-shaped-beings are gay, it's that they're an angel and a demon. The tension in their romantic arc arises entirely from the larger conflict of heaven and hell, and things like gender and sexuality don't really matter at all. Yes, homophobia and transphobia are very real, present issues in our everyday lives, but they don't have to be central to every story we tell. There's something really soothing about Crowley and Aziraphale being so queer-coded and so clearly enamored with each other without constantly being bombarded with homophobia and hate. It's incredible to see a disabled angel whose use of a mobility aid makes no difference in their role and to see angels and demons using they/them pronouns without being questioned or misgendered. It's all accepted and normalized, and that's the kind of representation that we as queer people deserve.

#anywho that got real long #good omens #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #media analysis #good omens analysis #queer coding #queer representation #ineffable husbands #gomens #aziraphale x crowley #anywho happy valentines day #love my fandom #not beta read or majorly edited because I'm a busy guy with homework so lmk if there's any errors that need correcting (politely!)

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eichornia · 4 months

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So I had a thought:

- It's 2024. Daniel is back in the grid, his hand is completely healed, his curls are thriving. He feels confident again and he's happy. He's in a low dose of antidepressants and the therapy does wonders. 2022 seems really far away.

- He's starting the season in a good mood, flirting his way through the paddock, joking with the Netflix boys. It's Thursday and they're in Australia. Australia, baby, his favourite place in the world. His family is coming to see him race, Isaac being old enough to really enjoy being in the garage. He's curious and funny and Daniel misses him a lot when he's away. He loves Isabella too, she's his princess. But she's not really interested in the sport (yet) and she's in a hardcore Bluey phase. So Isaac asks him if he can go with him to the garage and when they're there, he asks if they can go visit the Red Bull garage because he's obsessed with the RB and to be honest, with Max too. Just like his uncle, Blake likes to say. Usually that makes Daniel to show his karate moves but not for long because Blake is a scary motherfucker sometimes even if he hides it well.

- So to the RB garage they go. They chat with Christian for a bit (Do you want to run for us when you're big, Isaac?, he asks) (And Isaac says yes, yes, yes) and they dodge Helmut when he appears in the garage because he's scary and not in a nice way. (Isaac says he smells like moths and Daniel has to fight really hard not to laugh) and then they spot Max. He's talking with GP but when he sees them, he waves smiling and he talks with Isaac like he's an adult (and even invites him to look into the car and explains to him everything, twice when Isaac asks again about some things).

- And yeah, Daniel has feelings. Like, he knows he had feelings for Max since... Well, a long time ago. He knows but he was scared of being bisexual (thanks Josh Allen for fixing that) and older than Max, and he was scared of being reciprocal because yeah, like Max was his teammate? His hot, younger, faster teammate.

- But now Daniel is (even) older and has learnt to not give a fuck about what people thinks. And yeah, watching Max with his niece? It's doing things to Daniel's heart.

- So yeah, Australia is awesome, racing in Australia is even better, getting points in Australia is a dream come true after these past years. He's high on endorphins and that's his excuse to intercept Max when he's on his way to his driver room after the podium. (Hey, hi, Maxy, Maximus, I was thinking, like, congrats in the podium, by the way, good trophy and all that, but I was thinking of asking you if you wanted to come to Perth?)

- The craziest thing to happen is that Max says yes. No doubts at all, just his big smile that makes his eyes go small and a 'yes, Daniel'.

- PERTH. It goes like this: Max comes to the farm, falls in love with Daniel's house, Daniel's falls in love a bit more with him. And Max knows nothing about it because Daniel is a bit immature but he's not stupid (not about this anyway) and Max is one of his best friends and he doesn't want to ruin their friendship.

- So he says nothing and he enjoys having this week with Max in his home. They race dirt bikes, they cook together (well, they try) and they play with Isaac and Isabella when they come to visit. And then it's Sunday, a whole week has passed and they're going to fly together soon to Japan. They're enjoying the hot tub after having a nice dinner and Max is laughing at Daniel's impression of Toto and Daniel feels like his chest is filled with helium, feels high, lucky, funny. And that's his excuse to kiss Max.

- Max doesn't stop laughing for a second even in the middle of the kiss and then he stops moving and breathing and Daniel is panicking a bit. Because he knew it would ruin everything, this thing he feels for Max. But then Max's hand is in his neck, drawing him against his lips again, magnets in the dark.

- So yeah, that's a thing they do now. Making out. Heavy petting. Every time it happens, Daniel wants to flail his arms, run in circles, scream like fucking Tarzan. It's like getting a podium over and over again, it's like champagne bubbles getting trapped in his chest. Max kisses him like he races (point-blank, non-stop, making him weak at the knees) and he likes to make Daniel straddle him and he likes to caress his thighs, draw his tattoos again, the three against his lips before kissing each of his fingers.

-It makes Daniel effervescent with happiness and when they're racing in Japan, he's fourth in the race, almost a podium and he comes back to the garage and hugs everyone and laughs and almost cries because he's coming back, baby, he's so coming back. And he goes back to the hotel and doesn't go to his room, he goes straight to Max's room and he doesn't stop to think because he's going to chicken out otherwise.

- And he's on his knees.

- He's on his knees for Max, and he puts his forehead against Max's tummy and kisses his belly button and blows a raspberry against his hip and Max pushes his head away, silly-laughing, and Daniel says let me, let me, please, I won't do it again, Maxy, but let me and Max touches one of his brows and touches his hair and then brings him against his body.

- And kissing Max is like getting a podium but blowing him is getting second place, getting drunk, getting sweaty, getting high-high-high.

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

You can read the continuation here.

#f1 #maxiel #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #so yeah #not beta read #not finished either #im just leaving this here because i need it to leave my mind just for a second #otp: maxiel #my fic

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syrupgirl · 1 year

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The stars from two points of view -Neteyam

The gentle rippling on small waves echoed below Neteyam’s head. All he could think about was how the sound of the ocean was so different from the sea. Well, duh he thought.

He groaned and rolled onto his side, looking out onto the waters. As beautiful as these islands were, the humidity could be stifling. Just another thing he had to get used to.

It wasn’t a bad change, the circumstances, yes, but this land, these waters they now called home were so boundless. Filled with new, interesting people and more opportunity for adventure.

If he looked hard enough, Neteyam could see young ilu playing in the water out front. He smiled, his days were filled with swimming through those same channels. Probably what he would be doing tomorrow as well.

“Neteyam? Are you awake?” The oldest Sully child shot up from his lying position, looking around like a madman.

“Be still, it is only me!” Oh, he could recognise the voice now. He could also pick out the pair of blue-green eyes that met his from over the edge of the netting that surrounded his families home. Neteyam smiled as you pressed a finger to your lips before dipping below the walkway.

The young man glanced behind him. His mother and father tucked into each other with little Tuk nestled between them. Lo’ak was sprawled out and snoring, while Kiri lay with her back to him. All seemed to be sleeping deeply. Perfect.

Neteyam felt like a little kid as he snuck out. Back in the forest, he had gotten into his fair share of trouble with his father because he snuck out, but that was always with Lo’ak, or Kiri, or Spider, or even Tuk. But now, here, he felt like he could finally breath a little, be his own person, and not the golden child he felt reduced to.

Neteyam peered over the edge, expecting to see you floating down there, maybe smiling at him if he dared to dream, but all he saw was a few small fish milling around in the water below.

Confused, he looked to the sides of him, behind him, even above him (for whatever reason).

“Psst! Are you coming or not?” You laughed at him. Suddenly, Neteyam felt something small and sharp poke him in the ass. He jumped again, looking around and holding his now sore behind. He could hear you laughing, but the magic he once held was quickly being replaced by frustration that he still couldn’t locate you.

“Under here, idiot.”

Finally! He could pinpoint your voice, you were probbaly swimming in the shallows beneath his feet, though he couldn’t see you through the thick woven fibers.

He walked back over to the edge and got on his hands and knees. Ducking, he looked directly underneath the pathways and yelped when he became almost nose to nose with your grinning face.

You grabbed his hand from where it was gripping the edge and went to pull him under with you.

“Hey, hey, hey! We have to be quite! I’ll make a splas-!” Was all he got out before he was plunged into the water below.

His limbs flailed for a second and he opened his eyes. The water surrounding him lit up beautiful shades of blues and greens, and he could see the luminescence lighting up your body as well.

He had a small smile to himself before he headed to the surface to tell you off some more.

“-oh and Lo’ak needs to work on his subtlety. Even a blind man could see how he makes eyes at Tsireya.” Neteyam snorted, splashing his hands in the water.

“It is not for nothing, you know. Tsireya keeps to herself, but she admires Lo’ak. In her own way.” You sighed as you floated on your back next to him.

You had decided against bring the Ilu out, worrying it would bring too much attention to you, options just to float on your backs and look into the sky.

The sky was so clear out here, no trees to obscure his view, no Ikran flying across the way, just and endless sea is stars, not unlike the one he was currently wading in. They were probably not unlike each other, the sea and the sky.

“-eyam? Neteyam, are you still with me?” It was like your voice slowly faded back into focus and he glanced over to you.

“Yes, yeah, I’m sorry. I was just…admiring the stars. They are so clear here. Breathtaking.”

You hummed and paddled closer to him, as if to see things more from his point of view.

“You speak like you’ve never seen the stars before, can you not see them from the forest?”

“No, we can see them, there are often things that obscure them, that’s all.”

You didn’t make any noise but he knew you heard him. The ripples of the small waves creating a calm ambiance that fuzzed up his brain.

“You know, when I was small, my mother and father would bundle up my siblings and I and tell us stories of the stars.” Neteyam spoke fondly of his memories, you could hear it in his voice, but there was a sadness to it, a longing.

“I would like to see it one day, the forest. The way you and your family speak of it, it sounds beautiful.” You set your sights on the bot next to you, his beautiful hair rippling around his head like a crown. “I would also like to see the stars from where you watched them with your family. I want to see them from your point of view.”

I want to be the one to take you there he thought. I want to be the one to tell you the stories I was told.

Neteyam turned his head to you. To him, it’s as if you had placed those very same stars in the sky, the same one he could spend endless nights admiring. If he appraised the stars so, where does that put the one who painted them there?

“What?” you smiled, looking into his eyes, seeing those same stars in his eyes.

“It’s nothing, you have nothing to worry about, we have nothing to worry about.”

a/n: I purposefully wrote the dialogue to sound a little formal btw, since that’s kind of how they spoke in the movie. And also, i feel like i need to clarify since Neteyam is fifteen years old that I am his age, and the reader that I write in these fics is also his age, or very close to it.

#i need to work on my dialogue #i’m a minor writing about a minor mkay #not beta read #neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar #avatar way of water #avatar fanfiction #Jake Sully #lo’ak #neteyam imagine #metkayina!reader #poc!reader #neteyam x metkayina!reader

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everywebkin · 6 months

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tuxedo cat, oriole, butterscotch bunny, and tropical island pup, released february 2012, june 2010, february 2015 and july 2012

#i need you guys to not read the tags on this one okay. promise me right now #homestuck #beta kids #rose lalonde #dave strider #john egbert #jade harley #webkinz art #traditional art #virtual pet #webcore #2000s childhood #2000s nostalgia #webkinz classic #kinzblr #webkinz

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miyamiwu · 16 days

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Miya’s Alpha Reading Service

Hello, hello! After months on break, I am finally reopening my fiction service, but this time, just the alpha reading one and none of the more rigorous book editing.

I used to host my service on Fiverr, where I offered three levels of review and editing. It was fine and all, but the 20% fee that Fiverr would take, plus the occasional rude messages from buyers trying to lower my already very low prices, made me put the service on-hold and rethink how I go about it.

This time, I’ll be hosting my service on Ko-fi Commissions, where the fees are lower. I also decided to make the listing much simpler:

I will alpha read any story, with a maximum of 2k words, for only $5.

Since I’m just starting out, the price is quite low. I may increase that price in the future or lower the word count limit, but for now, take advantage that it’s only $5!

I also offer a Reader Report add-on at only $3. The Reader Report is a separate document, of at least one page, where I summarize the strengths and weaknesses of your story. This will come in a PDF.

I will be working on your story in Zoho Writer because I find their review features a lot more stable than in MS Word. I can also work in Google Docs, but only upon request (more info under the cut).

You can find the full terms and conditions of this service on my blog page:

https://miyamiwu.tumblr.com/alpha-reading-terms

If you’re on the mobile app and the link above doesn’t work, please copy and paste the link in your browser instead.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask! You can also email me at [email protected]

Update: I just a made a page for this on my blog. Same info as above but with a little more. Check it out here:

https://miyamiwu.tumblr.com/alpha-reading

If working in GDocs:

Indicate in the Ko-fi form that you want the work to be in GDocs.

You will still have to upload a DOC/ DOCX file in the Ko-fi form. I’m not gonna work on the same GDocs file you own.

I will convert the DOC / DOCX file into a GDocs file that I own.

When I’m done, I’ll transfer ownership of the GDocs file to you.

After confirming that you can access the file, I will forfeit my access to the document. I won’t entertain any follow-up questions in the comments.

You also acknowledge that by working in GDocs, the final output you receive is only the Google Docs file. No more DOCX and PDF.

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forlorn-crows · 20 days

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Yours In The End

Rating: M for Mature (and A for Angst)

Pairing(s): Mountain/Aether/Dewdrop

Tags: implied/referenced major character death, implied/referenced banishment, angst, emotional hurt, (attempted) comfort, era iii ghouls.

Words: 1,404

Summary: What would normally be an easy silence hangs oppressive around them, full of things unsaid. Things that could break more than just the quiet if they were said.

Wordlessly, the earth ghoul circles around the couch and slides in beside him. Lanky limbs folding inwards until he cuddles up against him—a wet, newborn pup anchoring itself to his littermate in a blind search for warmth and familiarity. Wee and fresh, all of them just trying to get their bearings.

So, so much has changed.

⛧

Notes: This is the product of multiple days of feeling shitty. Started as a prompt for Mushy May and ran in the fucking opposite direction. Referenced murders of the three Emeritus brothers. Implied/Referenced death/banishment of Zephyr and Ifrit. Essentially, Mountain, Dew, and Aether are alone together, running from ghosts. Not a happy vignette.

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

The fire crackles steadily, quick pops and crumbles of charcoaled wood falling into the hearth. It’s the only light left in the room, the sun having long dipped down past the sills of the leaded glass windows. It coats the small seating area in a dying amber light, the stacks of books behind cast in ominous shadow. It’s late.

And yet.

Dewdrop sighs, his eyes unable to look away from the dancing flames. Despite being just feet from the fire, wrapped up in a worn quilt, his nose feels like ice, and his cheeks are chilled from the still-wet tracks of tears. They’ve stopped for now, leaving the water ghoul to sniffle and stare. Numb. Unwilling to rise from a stupor he suspects will make its home in his chest for years to come.

The floor creaks somewhere behind him. Footsteps softly approaching until they join him in his little cocoon of bittersweet comfort. Dew feels their hands in his hair, scooping it out from where it’s trapped beneath layers of cotton and batting. Silver threads gone barren at the ends. Rubbed one too many times between his trembling, nervous fingers. Gentle hands pull it all back, smoothing it around his horns. Silently combing through the tangles and draping the bulk of it over one shoulder.

“Coming back to bed?” a rumbly, tired voice asks.

Dew doesn’t say anything as he closes his eyes, flickers of the embers still sparkling behind his eyelids. Mountain shifts behind him, sighing heavily. Hands rubbing idly over his blanketed shoulders. Apart from the fire, the library is eerily quiet when the moment stretches out between them. What would normally be an easy silence hangs oppressive around them, full of things unsaid. Things that could break more than just the quiet if they were said.

So, so much has changed.

Mountain swipes a fresh tear from his cheek. Dew barely feels it, but he leans into it anyway, chest heaving with a silent sob. The arms around him grow tighter, and soon he’s surrounded in the earth ghoul’s woody scent. Lips press against his hairline as he wills it all just to stop.

“You’re cold, waterlily,” he whispers. It’s an obvious, easy thing to state when you have so much else to say. “Will you come back to bed?”

Dew turns his head to look at him. Through muddled vision he can see the lines of worry beginning to etch themselves into his handsome face. The skin under his eyes is sunken, colored with an almost bruised hue. His normally plump, boyish cheeks are sunken too, the firelight casting them in gaunt shadow. The water ghoul’s sure he doesn’t look much better, with his thinning hair and blotchy face and dead water eyes.

Dew swallows hard. “I want to go home,” he says in a broken voice. A few more tears fall, soaking into the fraying stitching of the quilt. He doesn’t care if the wish is unrealistic, unreasonable. Pathetic. It’s how he feels. Whatever semblance of home he felt before this has collapsed into rubble and blown away as dust in the wind.

Mountain shakes his head. Melancholy in a tiny movement. “Come back to bed,” he says, no longer a question.

“Please don’t be scared of me,” Dew begs. He doesn’t know why he says it. Why he thinks Mountain looks at him with fear as much as love.

His ears droop. Emerald eyes growing big and round. He reaches out to cradle Dew’s cheek, and the water ghoul fights everything not to flinch away.

“Dewdrop,” he says softly. Pleading as much as he can in the utterance of only his name.

The water ghoul nods and looks up towards the cavernous ceilings, praying for the crying to stop. “I know,” he breathes, lip quivering. “I know.” The sadness welling up in Mountain’s own eyes is what pushes him over again, and he lets himself be pulled into his chest with heavy limbs and a heavy heart. Shuddering through waves of grief and anger and directionless emotions that continue to renew instead of release. Mountain whispers promises of not your fault and not going anywhere into his hair, holding him tight.

It’s a long while before he pulls back for air again. The fire’s turned to ash, smoldering valiantly through its last few flames. Dew can barely register Mountain’s face now, but there’s just enough light to illuminate his temple, the high point of his cheek. Highlighting the way his face has softened and the exhaustion has set in once more.

“I love you.” It’s all he can think to say. Breathed like a prayer meant only for the Dark One himself. Maybe if he says it enough the three of them will be left alone. While they may have been wronged by mortals Above, he knows his other packmates will be protected eternally Below.

But Satanas, does it hurt to be spared this time.

“I love you, too,” Mountain replies easily. Like he’s said it a thousand times before. The earth ghoul casts a glance towards the hearth, looking at it with such concentration that Dew wouldn’t be surprised if he had slipped somewhere else in his mind, far away from reality. But he snaps out of it quickly, turning back to Dew. Hands tugging at the folds of the quilt still wrapped tightly around him.

“Aether.” He’s waiting now for both of them to come back to bed, Dew knows, most likely pacing or contemplating throwing another glass at the wall. There’s shards still stuck in the piles of the rug from the last time. As much as he could stay here until the last of the fire snuffs out, he shouldn’t. “Come on,” Mountain insists one last time. “Up.”

Dew lets himself be pulled off the couch and into Mountain’s side. Sheltered under his proverbial wing. He pulls him away from the false solace of the fireplace, the embers disappearing behind them as they move throughout the maze of the library. Back through the cavernous, echoing hallways until they reach the ghoul wing. There’s lamplight spilling into the hallway from Mountain’s room—their room, at this point; the only room with a bed big enough for three. None of them can really bear to leave it, nowadays.

It’s the only place left without ghosts.

Aether sighs with relief when the two shuffle back into the bedroom. He frowns sadly when he sees tear-stained cheeks and droopy ears; wordlessly, he ushers them back into bed, locking the door behind them and clicking off the lamp. The moonlight shines into the room, casting them all in moody blue. Even if it’s somber, there’s something about the coolness that lifts a weight off Dew’s shoulders every time he’s bathed in it. Exhaustion worms its way out of his joints and floods his system as soon as he’s settled between the two bigger ghouls, eyelids already too heavy to stop from closing. Balsam and ozone curling around him like a gentle breeze caressing the cattails surrounding the lake.

“Sleep,” Aether says softly, pressing his forehead to Dew’s. Mountain tucks his nose into the nape of his neck, inhaling his scent as he’s done every night since then. A lungful of his crisp apple shampoo (though there’s not much of that today) before he succumbs to sleep. The water ghoul feels his rumbling purr against his back as he burrows further into the quilt. Aether’s soon to follow; whether Dew will reciprocate their calming sounds with his own little purr is a tossup. Especially now.

Despite the hours of tears, he can feel the sound creep up in his throat. Much like the crackle of a toy with an overused voice box, it’s muffled, fading in and out unpredictably. But the other two hold him tighter at the first stir of it in his chest.

He’s tired. So, so tired.

Love you, Aether mouths against his hairline. Just above a whisper, like he’s afraid for someone else to hear. On the edge between awake and asleep, Dew makes a noise he hopes conveys his love in return.

#the band ghost fanfic #mountain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #mountain/aether/dewdrop #the band ghost #cw: major character death #cw: angst #mushy may? never heard of her. i need to put ghouls Through It for a minute #ghost fanfic #not beta read #or proofread honestly

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ghoulez-vous · 10 months

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𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐏𝐀𝐏𝐀

( gender neutral reader x papa i-iv / hurt/comfort / sfw / under read more for length )

How each Papa would comfort their lover who is going through difficult times.

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐨

It’s the sort of hug that washes away all of your sorrows: tender, gentle, but firm enough to remind you that he’s there for you. He’s the most lithe of the Emeritus brothers but his hugs envelop you regardless of his figure. The scent of freshly cut roses and sandalwood is strong and you can tell that he’s abandoned his garden to be there for you. His head is nestled in the crook of your neck as he whispers meaningful words of wisdom in Italian that would help with your daily worries. Other times he remains silent, simply being there for you. He can read you like a book and knows exactly how to wash your pain away with a hug, even if it is momentarily. His hugs are a gentle reassurance of his love for you and it pains him when you leave his embrace. He parts with a gentle kiss on your cheek, rubbing the back of your hands with his thumbs. Although he’s disappointed that you have to part, the sight of you makes him smile with a warmth that he never though possible. You know you’ll make it through your troubled times with him by your side, with all his wisdom and adoration for you.

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨

It’s the sort of hug that makes you focus on him, and only him. Any negative thoughts are replaced with the sensation of his firm grip and intimidating frame that melts at the mere sight of you. The scent of his cologne is strong and he’s dressed in his mitre; he must have been getting ready to attend to his duties as Papa. No work was more important than you. The Clergy would manage without him for a while, and a quick glance at a nearby ghoul signalled that the message be passed on. You’re his primary focus now, a large hand caressing your hair as you press your face into his chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady but it speeds up a little with every squeeze that you give him and he begins to suspect that you’re doing it deliberately. His other arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, his head resting atop your own. Although he is the most stern of the Emeritus brothers, you can tell that he is worried from the way that he refuses to take his mismatched eyes off you. His embrace is secure and unyielding; he wants you to know that he is there for you, and that you are his priority. Nothing else mattered while you were nestled in his arms.

𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐨

It’s the sort of hug that nearly knocks you off your feet: desperate but soothing. You’re not certain who needs it more. Before you can open your mouth, you’re in Terzo’s demanding arms. His face is buried in your shoulder, occasionally placing a chaste kiss on the exposed skin of your neck when he feels your grasp on him loosen. He smells of the expensive cologne that you bought him for his birthday. However, you can also smell your own scent; he must have been sleeping with your garb again. Words of Italian fill your ears, his breath tickling your neck as he whispers sweet nothings that comfort you both. He sways slightly, moving your body with him in a soothing manner. It’s hard to focus your mind on your worries when you’re wrapped so firmly in Terzo’s arms. It’s an embrace that you both needed. After you’ve calmed down, he’ll reluctantly part from you and lead you to his room where he can attend to you properly. There’s a freshly laundered comforter on his bed and you knew that Omega must have seen you both. He pulls you down onto the bed with him, your back flush against his chest. From there, he holds you as long as you both need.

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚

It’s the sort of hug that starts off tentative but grows in strength. He’s so worried about you and it shows in his body language. He’s shifty, toying with the hem of his sleeves. His brows are knitted together as he begins to speak but hesitates. At first, Copia approaches you slowly to assess the situation and see what you need, worried about upsetting you further. You lock eyes for a moment and he can tell from your gaze just what you need. An arm slinks around your waist as he draws you closer, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips. You return the kiss before reluctantly leaving his embrace as he guides you towards the sofa. Brushing aside empty juice boxes with an apologetic glance, Copia urges you to sit down with him, patting the plush pillows. He’s wearing his favourite red tracksuit and Vvlgari t-shirt and you knew that he had been relaxing after yet another exerting ritual. The dark residue of skull paint still lingered around his eyes, and you could tell that he was exhausted to the point of putting little effort into his evening routine. You curl up beside him and bury your face in his chest, hands grasping his soft jacket as he gently stroked your hair. You both needed this.

#not the best quality so i must apologise #but i needed something sweet and simple #self-indulgent but i decided i’d share them with you all 🫶#sometimes you just need a hug from the papas #not beta read i am sleepy #ghost band #the band ghost #character x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #hurt/comfort #my writing

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starrynightnight · 1 year

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okay miguel enjoyers,, heres my fanfic pitch, give me ur thoughts or steal em idc

reader is from an universe where theyr married to miguel, but instead of miguel becoming the spiderman, reader becomes the spiderperson instead.

heres the good part. miguels alchemax transformation still happens, but instead of becoming spiderman, he actually mutates into a spider monster, and reader unknowingly kills their husband (not unlike how gwen had to kill her peter wink wink)

heres the better part. reader is hearbroken and grieving and becomes vengeful- they have blood on their hands and godd i just wanna write about how reader is so fucked up after losing the love of their life and also having to serve the same city that took him ughhh-

heres the best part. an anomaly appears in readers universe and ofc baddie miguel comes to clear it up. they meet and theyr kinda like 'hm you kinda remind me of someone'. miguel recognizes reader from the universe he tried to have a family in, reader obv recognizes miguel as their husband,, and things just kinda snowball from there

look guys my main point is i wanna write an angst/comfort fic okay, let them heal i say

sex is great but have you ever bared your old scars in front of someone you thought lost forever? nuh uh didnt think so

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv x reader #the kicker is;;; i mighy not even write anything lmfaooo #and idk if someone has alr written it #but from what ive seen?? no???#but if there IS someone please @ me i wanna read something like this so bad #and when i do write this i might need some helpers/beta reader(s)#so erm;;; discord???? idfk #anyway throw tomatos at me boooooboooooobooooooooo

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anawrites3 · 10 months

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I couldn't stop thinking about @zeroducks-2's post where they said about Jason and Bruce that "They should be unable to coexist in the same room let alone speak" and idk I got inspired and this came into being

They're after some rough patrol and Dick managed to convince Jason to go with them to manor so he can take care of his injuries.

Dick was in the middle of wrapping Jason's hand when the door opened. Tim looked up from his book and Jason stiffened so slightly that if it weren't for the way Dick was holding his arm he wouldn't even notice it and really, that was all Dick needed to get who was standing at the door. He didn't stop wrapping Jason's hand, didn't even look up and after a few seconds Jason's muscles unclenched.

"Is there something you need, Bruce?" Dick hummed after few seconds when the man still didn't move from his place by the door.

Bruce cleared his throat. "No."

And then he walked inside. Dick's eyes flicked up to watch him as he moved further into the room. Even Tim put his book aside to stare at Bruce with a frown and his lips pressed into a line, as if he wanted to say something but didn't. Bruce didn't seem to notice all the looks he received, or maybe he just simply ignored them because he put a hand on an armrest of a chair and moved as if he wanted to sit down.

"Bruce."

Bruce froze at the tone. "Yes, Dick?"

Dick turned back to his little brother. Jason was looking down, eyes flashing slightly green, at his hand Dick was still holding and that hold was probably the only thing keeping him from storming out of the room and from the manor and running far away from this place.

Dick really couldn't blame him.

"If you don't need anything, then you can leave." He said.

Jason lifted his head sharply to look at him. The green faded from his eyes and Dick curled his lips into a soft smile, before finishing the wrapping and moving to cleaning up other, more minor cuts on Jason's arm.

"What?" Bruce asked, almost as if he was making sure he heard right.

"I said leave." Dick repeated patiently. "You don't need to be here, you said so yourself. We came to this room so we wouldn't have to be around you and yet you followed us here. Maybe you didn't know. I don't care. Leave."

He didn't have to look at Bruce to see the way his eyes narrowed just slightly.

"This is my home." He said and Dick needed a few seconds to breath so he wouldn't snap.

"Yes. It is." He said in a cold voice. "That's why you can choose whatever room you want to sit in. Not this one."

"Dick-"

"I swear to fucking god, Bruce-"

#my writing #batfam #Jason could leave but he promised Dick that he would stay til he was done with treating his wounds #and then Alfred came along and made him promise he'll stay for dinner #that doesn't mean he's happy about Bruce being in the same room or even building #but it's okay - Alfred is more than happy to serve the food in the kitchen instead of dinning room where Bruce would be eating #anyway this is no beta we die like jason and idk I just thought I might share #cuz we need more of Dick standing up for Jason #this can be read either as brothers or as a ship #because why the hell not #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #dickjay #jaydick

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tusks-and-claws · 11 months

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I just needed this headcanon to exit my brain so it wouldn't keep bouncing around in there, just a lil smut (18+) for ya because like

I just know that Miguel would be the absolute best at making you forget a horrible ex. That asshole hurt you? Miguel is gonna make you forget all about them. He's gonna take his sweet time with you, gonna make sure you feel so good that your brain can only focus on the pleasure. He talks to you the whole time, saying things like "did that fuckup ever make you feel this good?" and "your body was wasted on someone like that" and "I'm not gonna take it for granted. From now on, whenever you think about getting fucked, you're gonna think about me." And after that, how can you possibly think about anyone else? You can't even remember how it felt to be with your ex. But you know it didn't feel like this. Miguel isn't just big, he knows exactly what he's doing. In that moment, you're held by him, body and soul, and he just takes care of you. By the time he's done with you, you're so cockdrunk that your ex's name completely slips your mind.

#miguel o'hara #my writing #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara imagine #not beta read #idc if yall think he's an asshole i need this in my life #i am writing more asshole miguel stuff though i promise

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tanith-rhea · 10 months

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Carnations

It was beautiful, in a morbid way, that this would be the way you'd go. A botany teacher whose lungs were filled with flowers.

Author's note: absolute angst on this one, I won't promise tears cause different people sail different ships, but I can say that there is no happy ending, a good old character death which I suspect is over-described, and the illusory or not certainty of unrequited love.

You may do with this information whatever you please 💛

You'd always had a fascination when it came to flower diseases. Hanakanjō always seemed to you like the worst thing that could happen to a person, flowers sprouting from one's skin and betraying their emotions to others around them. In the end, you wish you could trade it for yours, it would be mortifying to burst into pink carnations every time Larissa walked past you, but at least you wouldn't have yellow ones choking you up at night when you replayed her words repeatedly in your head.

"I could never fall in love with an employee," she'd said, nursing what little wine was left in her glass.

"Do you think you could control it?" the question had nothing to do with your fondness for the principal, it spoke of how much of a romantic you were, actually, how tragic it would be if it happened.

She seemed to consider it for a while, before settling for "I'm fairly certain. I have no interest in falling in love and even if I had I would make sure to not harbour any feelings for someone I could not pursue. I wouldn't be so careless as to set myself up for heartbreak," her voice sounded sure and final. She finished her drink and inhaled carefully before eyeing your glass and seeing you'd also finished yours.

"I'm afraid it's rather late," she continued softly, "This was supposed to be a work meeting and I kept you for far too long," she paused, and you felt something tighten in your chest as you realized the conversation (and your lovely evening) was over. "Thank you for indulging me, though."

Larissa would never fall in love with a teacher. And you, pretty much a teacher and "one of the few she considered a friend", would never have your feelings reciprocated.

It was rather lovely, to be in love, and you discovered you didn't mind to love alone that evening when you left her office. It was really such a shame that your lungs begged to disagree.

The first time you coughed you were in class. You were about to explain to a second-year student how a certain plant could be made into poison and medicine depending on the situation or its handling when you broke into a fit. You hadn't caught a cold and no flowers were blooming quite yet, so when you couldn't stop for a whole thirty seconds you thought it rather odd.

The blood in your elbow pit once you finally stopped was also curious, but you carried on until all classes were finished.

Later that same day, you were at the quad waiting for a student who had asked you to take a look at his potted plant which he said didn't look so good. He had left class just a few minutes before and passed through the quad to tell you he would go to his dorm take the plant and come back in two beats but he was taking his time, apparently.

Distracted, you didn't notice someone approaching the table you were sitting at and squeaked like a scared squirrel once Larissa's hand laid on your shoulder.

"My, my, I did think you were a bit lost but it seems you were in fact stupefied," she sounded amused. Your face was catching fire.

"You absolute menace, why did you sneak up on me like that? Do you want to kill me?" your voice was still squeaky; like you'd inhaled helium.

Larissa laughed, full of mirth and fondness, and you couldn't pretend to be displeased with her when your lips were insisting on twitching up. You were probably making a funny face while fighting back your smile because she only continued on, if softer, as you shook your head and looked away.

"I'm sorry to have startled you, I was only passing and wanted to know what you were up to." Her hand was still resting on your shoulder and her thumb was now soothingly stroking small circles on the hollow of your clavicle.

She smiled affectionately at you while you composed yourself enough to answer. You had close to no dignity left but you would fight to recuperate it.

You cleared your suddenly tight throat, "I'm just waiting on Ajax for plant advice. He's babysitting a Dahlia for a friend of his and is worried it might be dying."

"A dahlia?" Larissa arched an eyebrow.

"Yes... why?" what was so curious about a boy caring for a flower to her?

She shrugged, "Nothing, just-" she paused, her fingertips pressing a bit as if gripping you lightly for a second, "their meaning, I imagine, but boys his age probably don't know these things anymore," she smiled dismissively.

She squeezed your shoulder softly again, eyes glinting a bit before saying, "Well, it's always lovely to run into you, dear," and leaned down to kiss your cheek, hand sliding from your shoulder to your chin as she held your face gently and pressed her lips right under your cheekbone.

She eyed the spot where her lips had been, probably because they left a mark redder than your blush, before smiling once again and leaving. Once she was out of view, you brought shaky fingertips to your warm face and suddenly you were doubling over with coughs; unstopping, burning things scorching your throat as blood springled your trousers and then, like it was just another product any coughing fit could conjure, there were two yellow petals, tinged half red in blood, laid on your lap.

"Professor...?" Ajax's voice caught your attention, and frankly people had to stop surprising you like this. You looked up to see terrified eyes staring at the stains on your lap. "Is everything alright?"

You definitely didn't feel alright. "Yes, it's just an inflammation or something," you pretended to dismiss it and he didn't seem too convinced, "Is this the child?" you pointed at a perfectly healthy dahlia.

"Yeah... I left it on the window this morning and it seems a lot better now." He shifted from foot to foot, "I brought her here just to confirm she's alright," he completed.

"She?" you couldn't help a smile. It was a joke when you said the child.

His face reddened a bit and it was amusing but mostly adorable how uncomfortable he suddenly seemed.

"Xavior and I have this thing that we talk about her like she is a person," he appeared to be immensely interested in her since he couldn't take his eyes off the plant to look at you while explaining, "We read on a website that plants can communicate with others and respond well to being praised and stuff so it because sort of a thing and-"

His words were coming more and more like undistinguished mumbles so you took pity on him and interrupted, saying "She's alright, Ajax. A healthy little girl as far as I can see, don't worry."

He visibly relaxed, deflating like a cloak of lead was sliding off his shoulders. He finally looked you in the face, still unsure and stealing glances at your lap.

"Thank you, prof." He nodded forcefully and marched quickly back inside.

The tricky thing was that you loved life, but you also loved Larissa, and you didn't want to stop doing either of those, even if they might terminate each other and you in the process.

Love is such a beautiful sentiment and dying from it was just your luck. If you could choose, in all honesty, you might have chosen to die exactly like this.

That didn't mean you were eager to do so. And that was why you decided to distance yourself from Larissa. You loved her, and you knew your love would only grow stronger and having her around did not help to keep you from diving deeper into the magnificent, all-encompassing feeling of completion that filled your heart and soul so absolutely it spilt.

In the first few weeks, she didn't seem to notice, but after your third refusal of a shared glass of red at her office she appeared at your door, concern written between her brows.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, dear, but I have the feeling I don't see you as much as I'd like this past few days and was wondering if something happened."

She had no business looking so caring and... worried, fretful.

You were still standing at the doorsill, feeling thin roots curl and clench inside your chest like anarchist veins looking for tissue to spread themselves onto when the thought occurred to you for the first time. Why can't she love me back?

It was nonsense. You knew her, you knew why, and of course your life was on the line and it mattered more than school rules or power dynamics but she was not looking for love. She made it clear not once, but several times when she'd repeat incessantly every time someone brought up the fact that she was single.

"I don't see why I need someone, Tish," or "I don't mind being alone, Vlad," and "No, dear, I don't feel incomplete, I have everything I ever wished for".

You hadn't had a problem with it before, but now, seeing her standing there, gloved hands clasped together in front of her elegantly but not fooling you at all. The air was charged, she was waiting for something; an invitation to enter, an explanation, reassurance. Her hands in front of her were not a sign of grace but an attempt at not fidgeting. She never fidgeted, you suspected she practised so much that now every time she felt uncomfortable she'd instinctively adopt certain poses that evoked control.

"Finals are coming soon," you said with no thought at all, and her brows furrowed deeper, "I mean... Preparation for finals," you tried to salvage, "I like to do a pre-review with smaller classes."

She clearly did not buy it but also didn't question you. Instead, her posture impossibly improved as she cleared her throat quietly, "Well, I'll leave you to your evening plans then," and she motioned to leave.

"Which-" you said quickly before she could go, she stood attentively, "I don't have," you said, voice breaking at the end as you felt petals clog up your windpipe.

Larissa smiled, surprised and clearly pleased, and you stepped out of the way so she could enter.

"Give me a moment," you whispered with what you hoped was an easy smile as you excused yourself to the bathroom.

As soon as you closed the door you tried your best to vomit, expel? Get rid of the petals slowly rising with as little sound as possible. If you coughed there was a chance Larissa would hear and ask questions. You weren't sure you could lie to her if she asked why you were coughing petals like you're the embodiment of spring. Even if she'd know the reason, you couldn't trust yourself not to tell it was because of her.

But you can't vomit something coming from your lungs, and there is no such thing as "gracefully letting a foreign solid thing leave travel through your respiratory system". You just grabbed a towel from the cabinet and muffled the screeches and choking and sobs on it.

After an unknown amount of time, a knock took you out of your breathing exercise to regain control.

"Is everything ok in there?" you weren't coughing anymore, but her small voice made you want to cry. Your face was still flushed from all the exertion and the tears brought by pain were still drying on your cheeks.

Your breathing quickened as dread and heartbreak occupied the emptiness left by bloody petals. You screamed without a sound, air leaving your throat, face twisted from grief. You'd die from loving her and you knew you would do so soon.

Larissa didn't wait for an answer much longer, and as she opened the door you curled into yourself, hiding the petals between your legs and chest, burying your face on your knees so she wouldn't see how ugly you looked when falling apart.

"Love, what happened?" she breathed, kneeling beside you without another word and taking you into her arms.

Why was she calling you love? Why did she have to do that? You were her friend, dear and darling and sometimes sweet. You weren't her love, you would never be and that was going to kill you. Why did she have to be affectionate when it cut you deeper than any cruelty ever could?

You couldn't make a sound, your throat could barely manage between you not breathing from all the muted crying and you scrambling for air when you realized more petals were coming as Larissa's smell filled the air, easily overpowering the flowers' while she hugged your body with one arm and kept the other around your shoulders, fingertips massaging your scalp under the crown of your head where she kept her face pressed.

This was so close to love. Why was it so hard to take that final step? You shared evenings together like a years-old couple, talked easily as if you'd spent a life together and not two years of acquaintanceship, you thought of her every second of every day, nurturing her in your heart and her rejection in your lungs.

You wished you could make her fall for you. You didn't mind before, and it wasn't the prospect of death that made you yearn for it so much now. You realized you were sick because it was too much. You had too much love inside of you and if she didn't want it there was nowhere it could go, no one to belong to, so it had to cease to exist, one way or another.

As your tight muscles started to tire and your body to fail, Larissa helped you to your bed. You were less than a person, more like the hollow ruins of a once beautiful castle that was now being conquered by nature, retaken, reclaimed.

When you stood and full flowers fell from your hiding place to the floor, you heard Larissa's surprised intake of breath. A few uncertain second passed as you looked down to the beautiful blooms you couldn't help but longingly admire, wishing them to finish you before Larissa continued to care for you like it wasn't just make it worse.

You were so drained she practically carried you across the room, laid you down on the bed and looked for the Nth time uncertain. After a few seconds she seemed to reach a conclusion and slid under the covers beside you, pulling you half conscious to her chest.

Before you completely blacked out, you heard her whisper, "I wish it was me."

The next day she wasn't there. When you woke up with very few memories of the night before, you had the sense that something was missing and as snippets of images and vague recollections started to pile up into a sequence of tortuously sweet moments, you had your worse fit of coughs that date.

That was it. You were done for. Larissa cared enough to wish to die in your place but not in the way that could save you.

You'd do anything for her but she simply couldn't do the one thing you needed from her. And it wasn't her fault, you knew she could try, hell she did try the night before for all you knew but it just was not possible. No one could force people into love and you wanted nothing of the sort. Even if you hungered for Larissa like a person starving to death you were happier knowing she would have a good life, everything she ever wished for, as she said, than being forever bound to you when she didn't want it.

You knew you didn't have long now, you weren't really coughing as flowers with the semblance of thin stems were lodged in your throat, so you fumbled desperately for something to write on while you still could.

When Larissa found you, she didn't see the paper, the tray with tea she'd gone prepare to wake you up with fell with no sound she could hear, the shattered porcelain not registering underneath the deafening white noise. She lifted your body from the floor beside the bed where you'd slipped off only to scream and let you fall onto the mattress as she saw glassed-over eyes.

She screamed and wailed and didn't notice the countless people rapidly entering and immediately leaving the room to look for help. The love of her life lay on a bed of flowers, yellow and red while their skin was almost translucent. Choked on the stems of what could be a small bouquet, blood slowly pooling beside their mouth.

"Dear Larissa, I hope you forgive the state I'm bound to be found, and that whoever has the misfortune of finding me has it in themselves to remind this scene as a terrible but miraculous love letter.

I loved you so much that it killed me.

Doesn't that sound nice? Maybe not nice, I'm dying so I don't have time to weight my words too carefully.

I'm writing this to thank you. Thank you for every time you smiled at me, talked to me, touched the back of my hand while handing me wine or made me nothing at all other than company.

Life was harder but infinitely sweeter while I was fortunate to love you. I am in love with you, and I hope after I'm dead I'll be able to still be. I know you'd be kind to the point of letting me haunt you, but I love you more than I can put into words and want you to forget this ever happened and be happy.

It's ok that you don't love me back, it's ok that I'm dead now, I died loving you and there is no other way I'd rather have died. If the price for feeling this deeply is death then you could say I chose to pay, even though I didn't. I know you wished it were you, but I was happy to pay.

If I coul"

Part of the unfinished sentence was covered by a dark stain, the rest was simply not written.

Larissa sobbed brokenly reading "I know you wished it were you," over and over, what she'd meant the night before was "I wish I was the one you love."

I listened to this while I wrote if you'd like to listen to some soft, nice music. As always, @alder-saan I hope you like it. Unless you don't want to read sad stuff which I completely understand

#yes... well #do you know the “death of the author” concept? this one is the death of the reader #quite literally #we die like unloved bitches on this one and I'm not talking about beta-reading #angst with no happy ending #unrequited feelings #hanahaki desease #larissa weems x reader #do I need to say that it's 2:30 in the morning and I haven't proofed read this before posting?#it might be rubbish since I'm half delirious from low blood pressure #larissa weems

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