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ellsbclls · 3 years

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White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here.

Your secret hideaway.

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response. “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare.

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you.

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice. “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way.

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her? “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb. “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach.

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking.

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening.

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake.

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss.

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines.

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse.

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears.

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill.

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open.

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene — opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you.

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that.

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you. “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #I CAN NOT BELIEVE I ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS #the way this magically climbed from 4.7 to 9.5k in one day will never cease to amaze me #and i hope that this spawns a new love and excitement for country boy tom because i love arvin but #BOY does that man scare me a lil bit #this is more like a . . hart of dixie type of country #more apple pie! less homicide!#I ALSO DONT KNOW WHA THAPPENED TO THE SMUT THIS IS LIKE 40% SMUT #anyway i really do hope yall enjoy #mine*

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tiriansjewel · 2 years

Text

2021 Thank Yous

hey folks! We’re already seven days into January but I wanted to welcome in the new year by thanking some friends and mutuals and creators that made the previous year brighter and better even amongst the depressing reality of covid and the outside world. You have all been so supportive of me and my work and I love seeing all your work as well, and here’s to 2022!

@daintyduck99- as soon as we started talking in march I knew this was going to be a lasting friendship. You are so kind and thoughtful, and I love your sense of humor. Every time you share a piece of writing with me it warms my soul, you are so talented and create such beautiful imagery with your words. I can’t wait to send you more unsettling Facebook posts for us to both laugh at ❤️

@psyduckappears- I cannot express how much fun I have had talking to you. We always seem to have something to discuss in our ten minute long video rants and you are so intelligent and good at everything you do, it amazes me. Thank you for breaking my heart with all your angst 💛

@nuandia- my goodness, where to begin with you? When we started talking I didn’t realize how many of your fics i had read and loved but I just have to say you are the queen of polyphantoms and writing shit that squeezes my heart. I loved all our absurdly long video calls over the summer and relating over all our anxieties. I really miss you and miss brainstorming with you and I hope we can talk more this year 💜

@phantomsjulie- my dear, you are my oldest friend in fandom and I’m so grateful for you. I love that we just keep hopping fandoms together and I’ve had such fun yelling about all our favorite female characters. You make such beautiful edits and gifsets and that susan/lilliandil fic is still one of my favorite things on AO3. You’re amazing 💗

@theanarik- sometimes I still laugh about the conversation that started our friendship— an asexual lesbian telling a bisexual how to write good mlm spice— there’s definitely some irony there haha. for real though, I love how we can go off about anything and how much great advice you’ve given me, you’re truly like an older sister and I’m so thankful for you. You keep me connected to the batshit craziness that is supernatural and I hope to beta many more destiel fics for you in the future 🧡

@sunsetcurveofficial- I never thought I’d be a person to organize a fandom event but it’s because of you that I got into peterpatter in the first place. I love all your work so much and I know we don’t talk often, but you’ve been so supportive of me and there is no one else (+ the bugs) that I would have rather done peterpatter fest with. You rock! 🖤

@favoriteliar- I am so happy about the fact that we connected through our mutual friend and started smashing our brains together and seeing what happened! You are hands down my favorite creator in the jatp fandom- you do it all and you do it all well, gifs, art, fic, headcanons, and just being a supportive friend. You’ve stuck around even when others have lost interest and been such an original voice. Here’s to actually finishing the dark AU in 2022 since I have actually been working on it lately lmao (famous last words) 💚

@hyperfixated-bastard- still can’t believe we met in a saf discord. Seriously though, you’re a bop. You always make me laugh because your sense of humor is top tier, I love that we get to be a disaster bi and lesbian duo, so cool for us. Embrace the horse girl cringe! You’re one of my best friends and here’s to more unhinged facetimes and hopefully meeting in person soon 💙

here are some additional mentions of mutuals or people I’ve had fun conversations with or creatives I really enjoy seeing on my dash! I appreciate all of you so much and sorry if I didn’t get around to mentioning everybody :)

@catoptrific @lucbian @athoughtfox @invisibleraven @julies-butterflies @toorational @sunnysbright @astorytotellyourfriends @calormen @luffys @glasswaters @madnessiseverything

#gonna make myself emo #taggie tags #personal #year in review

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earstwo · 4 years

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I hit 7k recently after losing almost 1.5k followers when I converted to a Reylo blog (not sorry in the slightest) and decided it was time to finally compile some of the INCREDIBLE fanfics that I’ve read since joining the fandom in December.

I’m constantly impressed by the talent around here and I'm so grateful to love a ship that has some of the most amazing content I’ve ever seen. The creators in this fandom are second to none. I’m so thankful for all they do and all that they give to us.

Please keep never stop sharing your gifts. <3

**Note: Most (pretty much all) of these are rated E.

Without further ado, here are (some of) my favorite stories:

The Jedi Path by SouthsideStory | 19k | E | I am such a sucker for Jedi Academy Ben and Rey. It’s everything I never knew I needed, and this fic is a beautiful rendition. If you know me at all, you know that I devour Angst with a Happy Ending stories, and this is no exception to that rule.

Exile by Ernzo | 22k | E | Oof. This one hurts. Leia sends Rey to the planet where Ben is exiled. It’s angsty and sad and cathartic in every way. I’ve read it dozens of times.

Before the Saber Swings by @waterlilyrose | 28k | M | Fuck. When I tell y’all that this story fucked me up, I mean it from the bottom of my s o u l. It stayed with me for days. I literally couldn’t get it out of my head. It felt so real to me that I was in physical pain while reading it. I also made an AU gifset of the fic with a quote from Buffy because I’m extra and love pain.

penitence by @bettsfic | 16k | M | Look, Betts is one of my favorite fanfiction authors of all time. Her Bellarke works are some that I’ve read dozens of times and I was fucking ecstatic when I found out she also writes Reylo. This is an A+ TROS fix-it that is lovely and soft and sweet.

The Writings of Ben Solo by BurnedStars777 | 39k | E | This was recced to me by the fabulous @galacticidiots and is just a fantastic story all around. Rey finds Ben’s journal whilst stuck on a planet with Kylo Ren and she (eventually) connects the dots. Rey falling in love with Ben sight unseen? Here. For. it. find a thread to pull, and we can watch it unravel by again_please | 17k | E | A fantastic post-TLJ story with angsty and broody Ben and just some all around quality smut. I devoured this and have read it multiple time since.

We Could Plant a House, We Could Build a Tree by @likeadove | 124k | E | I will probably never stop reading this fic. It’s such a beautiful coming of age story for Rey and her relationship with Ben as she grows up is just... gah. It’s fantastic. Please read it.

Soul Searching by OptimisticBeth | 205k | E | Soulmates AU where Ben is Rey’s teacher? Sign me the fuuuuck up, and Soul Searching is so fucking well written. I go back to this one every few weeks and just gush at how great the world building is. I love the relationship Rey has with Leia and Han. It’s rich with love and angst and fluffffff. So good.

Coveted by OptimisticBeth | 82k | E | WIP | OptimisticBeth is just an incredible writer, so you should honestly read all of her stuff, but I am so, so, so into this fic. It’s A/B/O and Ben’s Rey’s pack leader. He, along with a bunch of other Alphas are trying to court Rey, a highly desired Omega. It’s so fucking delicious, y’all. Alpha Ben Solo is just...it doesn’t get much better.

A Treehouse Covered in Salt by violethoure666 | 34k | E | This fic made me cry my eyes out. I’m not kidding. It’s so raw and real. It hurts to read at some points, but you care so much about Ben and Rey in this that you fight through the pain. They grow up together as neighbors and Han builds them a treehouse where they meet throughout their childhoods/teen years. Prepare to cry but also be so fulfilled and satisfied. It’s wonderful. love it when you call me lover by @kylotrashforever | 66k | E | WIP | First, let me say that anything by KTF is going to be gold. These fics I have listed are just a few of my favorites at the moment. Lover is hot as fuck (as is all of her stuff) but also fluffy in the best way. It’s in Sadsville right now so I’m fucking PUMPED for her to update. Ben’s a doctor who basically gives Rey a sexual awakening when he proves her statement of “I just don’t think I can come from (insert sexual act here)” very, very wrong.

mountain at my gates by @kylotrashforever | 26k | E | More A/B/O goodness. Omega Rey’s car breaks down on a mountain. Ben is a mountain man Alpha. You can probably guess what happens from there. *fans self*

take me to church by @kylotrashforever | 26k | E | I love this story so much. Ben is the pastor’s son at the church Rey grows up in. They start hooking up in secret and are terrrrrrible at communicating with each other which leads to angst. But it’s so sweet and soft while also being super hot. I love this Ben and Rey so much.

Your Pretty Little Heart by @ever-so-reylo | 64k | E | The A/B/O Reylo bible, I feel like. They’re doctors and he’s a grumpy as fuck Alpha. Shenanigans ensue. And by shenanigans I mean a lot, a lot, a LOT of sex.

The Food of Love by @lovesbitca8 | 60k | E | Y’all. If you haven’t read this yet, please stop what you’re doing and read it RIGHT NOW. I ate this fic up in one sitting because holy SHIT it’s amazing. It’s so well written and the story is just... absolutely exquisite. Ben is cellist that’s also a famous rockstar and Rey’s an up and coming violinist and they fall in loOOoOOve in the best, most angsty, sexiest way. Please just read it right now. The scene when she firsts goes to his apartment and plays one of his cellos............you guys. It’s a lot.

Already Home by AttackoftheDarkCurses | 81k | E | This is soulmates + A/B/O so naturally I am obsessed with it. Rey gets connected with her soulmate via a website and he’s going by the name Kylo Ren. At the same time, she’s also moving in with grumpy librarian Ben Solo. She falls in love with both but has no idea that they’re the same person. It’s INCREDIBLE.

Tangled but Unbroken by AttackoftheDarkCurses | 20k | M | I read this the other night and it’s so fucking soft. I am such a fucking sucker for growing up together fics and this is just such top quality. The braiding kills me every goddamn time. Also, I’m making my way through all of Attack’s works right now and they’re all incredible. Highly recommend.

Dear Mr. President by @shmisolo | 89k | E | I love this Ben so much. The characterization is so on the money. The angst is absolutely delicious. The smut is top brass. Oh, and did I mention they’re soulmates? It’s everything you need, I promise.

Good Day, Professor by @faequeentitania | 38k | E | One of the best Professor Solo fics out there. I’m such a sucker for age difference fics. Of course there’s angst, who do you think I am?

Embers by sciosophia | 34k | E | Breaking up/getting back together fics are some of my favorites and this one is fantastic. The pining with these two is ridiculous. You just want to smush their faces together. It’s a beautiful love story.

Reclaimed by @bettsfic | 14k | E | Ughhhhhhhhhh, Reclaimed. I am so in love with Reclaimed. Alpha Ben adopts Omega Rey after she’s rescued from this terrible Alpha that held her captive for most of her life. She doesn’t talk and Ben has to help her learn to be a human being and not just a subservient Omega. This Ben is the Ben of my dreams. No contest.

the following are all written by @kylorenvevo. please read them all if you haven’t already.

landscape with a blur of conquerers | 362k | E | Y’all know this shit is fire. It’s basically the bible. If you haven’t read this yet, consider this as me yelling at you to do it NOW.

like young gods | 84k | T | fuck, the Sword of the Jedi series is incomparable when it comes to in-universe fics. I cannot begin to express how much I love this story. It’s so soft and intense and sad. Like, gut wrenchingly sad. Ben senses Rey on Jakku when she’s six and he and Luke take her back to the Jedi Academy. She grows up with Ben.

to kingdom come | 145k | M | The sequel to Like Young Gods. I’m not gonna spoil much here, but just know I cried through most of this fic. I downright SOBBED at the end. It’s gorgeous and I will never stop rereading it. The love these two have for each other... it’s unreal.

i kill giants | 34k | E | WIP | The TROS fix-it we all need. Ben is alive and finds Rey on Tatooine. It’s soft and Thea does a great job of soothing so many of the gaping wounds we were left with after TROS. My heart soars every time I read a new chapter. This is what we deserved. :(

the heartbreak prince | 58k | E | WIP | Harry Potter AU. Professor/student. Size kink. Virginity kink. ANGST. All the good things life has to offer. Professor Solo is fucking filthy in this and I (along with Miss Niima) am here 👏 for 👏 it.

place the moon at my eyes (and her whiteness shall devour) | 29k | E | Another breakup/get back together fic that I absolutely adore.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you to everyone that’s been so kind and welcoming to me the past couple of months! I love this fandom and its energy and enthusiasm and how much everyone seems to care for each other. I hope that I can continue to create content for you forever <3

#reylo fic rec #reylo #reylo fanfiction #reylo fic masterlist #follower celebration #reylo fic #reylo ff #reylo fanfiction rec

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years

Note

Okay, but Tempus Fugit/Max and the birthday arc 🥺

What’s your thoughts about “I didn’t know it was your birthday” and then two seconds later “oh, here’s a gift I wrapped especially for you that just happens to be in my pocket.”? Think it’s along the same lines as “I stole these flowers from the guy down the hall” when he actually came flying through the front doors clutching them for dear life?

Also, Mulder grinning with that straw between his teeth should be illegal. He looks like an impish kid I can’t even 🤣

HDNZBZJZNSJS Tempus Fugit/Max my beloved- i don't usually have as much fondness for the mytharc as I do for the rest of the show overall, but the season 4 mytharc is absolutely my favorite. there's just *something* about it that I'm obsessed with (which is a whole other rant lol). and I love that you call it the birthday arc 🥺 can I steal that?

ok but I have gone off about the "I got you something :D" scene so many times in tags on gifsets and such actually. like it's SUCH a cute scene and Scully's awkward expressions are super relatable but at the same time there's this very very deep bittersweetness to it all bc it is, of course, smack in the middle of the cancer arc.

tbh I'm decently certain that Mulder has always (or at least since around s2) known when Scully's birthday is but just. they never make a big deal out of it?? like that kind of thing... isn't their kind of thing (this entire opinion is prob influenced by the various fanfics I've read lol, but I kinda adopted the meta as well). but he DOES know when her birthday is, he just doesn't bring attention/celebrate it for her, ya know?

until 19-heckin-97. until she is dying. until, and this seems very typical of them in general, it's her last birthday. and no, that doesn't mean he's accepted that she Is Going To Die, but it means- there's more weight to it. and if worst does come to worst no matter how hard he fights it, he doesn't want to let her die thinking he didn't care enough to remember her birthday. so: Tempus Fugit/Max. a Snowball with a sparkler instead of a candle, and a dorky little gift. it all means a lot more than it seems to anyone else tbh and that just GETS ME

(as you can tell since I'm waxing poetic about it right now 😂)

also that bit you mentioned from Memento Mori — aahnfndjxnxdjsns it's SO ADORABLE and so bittersweet and so THEM. I've said it a few times in tags about that scene: he makes a point to try to make her laugh, and she does, and he forces a smile too. if they can smile for each other, there's a chance everything can be okay. and I may be looking too hard but I think I can reasonably say that like- okay Mulder is ALWAYS trying to make Scully smile, he's just like that. but I think he tries especially hard during this arc; they're both Struggling, it's hard, they can't figure out how to balance what's happening with their partnership and relationship, but he continually tries SO HARD to make her smile or laugh — and when she does, he absolutely lights up. it's adorable

SHZJDNDKSK and YEAH his big dorky grin with that straw in his mouth, like yeah there's the angst in the background and yes both of them are very aware that there is a Reason he's finally gotten her a gift this year (Scully's comment about alien implants strikes me as her way of backhandedly calling him out for it; she never wants him to treat her any differently bc of her cancer, except for like. I mean on some level she DOES but not always in the way it ends up, if that makes sense) but!! he's celebrating his absolute favorite person in the world and just for a minute everything is okay, she makes awkward faces when everybody sings the birthday song (Mulder singing "special agent Dana Scully" instead of just "happy birthday dear Dana" is like. there's always That One Person at every birthday party, right?) and for a minute it's about as normal as they could ever pull off — he loves her, and he is happy to be with her. same principle as the way he looks at her in Unruhe, actually--

......also the lighting of that scene is v good, I kinda love it

#SPEAKING OF how mulder looks at her #the ending of max??? when she's looking at the stars but he looks at HER?????#and she doesn't see it but he has the softest most immensely loving and sad look on his face????#he says it's just a cool keychain but it's NOT it's a symbol #they both know that scully Knows that and says so #but she doesn't know all of it. she doesn't see mulder watching her in that moment like SHE is the stars (but flickering out)#...that sounds like that one quote shdjdhs ''u don't have all the facts!'' ''which are?" ''i love her!''#Lu rambles #asks #txf #msr #mellia i feel like you should have your own tag #meta finding tag #cancer arc my beloved?#this is probably rambly and incoherent lol whoops

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jalebi-weds-bluetooth · 3 years

Note

Hi JWB

Sending you healing vibes..Get better soon..heard the podcast IPK 10 years part 2 and loved it..ur blog has made me appreciate so many things about IPK...i have been rewatching since the beginning..but only the cute ..romcom bits betweeen Arnav and Khushi..but this is the first rewatch after being introduced to your blog and OMG..I have watched all the scenes and Im blown away..the serial is good..and my God ur analysis are mindblowing..i also follow @phati-sari ..and u two are Awesome...I have started attempting my own analysis..just for an audience of one..it makes my viewing experience better but I wanted to thank you both for enriching my life...

Also I noticed how good an actor Barun Sobti is..the scenes after he witnesses Sham and Khushi are awesome..rught from smiling at the terrace upto the forced marriage..the angst is awesome...i kind got converted..from someone whondidnt like the whole arc to someone qhoxould believe and even justify it...thanks for opening me making mu experience better and helping me open my eyes to such nuances..

Much love and wishes

Omg thank you so so so much for this love <3 <3 <3 <3

oAnd yes, thank you for the healing vibes! Physically, the aspects of the show - that's literally what we want. Yes, Sanaya-Barun as Khushi-Arnav is the USPo

I am so glad that the podcast has introduced you to all the aspects of the show - that's literally what we want. Yes, Sanaya-Barun as Khushi-Arnav is the USP of the show but this show literally won't be what it is without the directing, producing, the rest of the cast, editing, background scoring and - MOST IMPORTANTLY - writing.

Eeee, thanks for the love for the analysis *big hugglez*

@phati-sari's blog is just awesome. Her dedication is truly unparalleled. Also, some of my fav posts from her blog is the rule of threes and circle (it's one of my favorite gifsets!). You should check it out if you already haven't!

Barun... I simply love him and his acting. I was always a fan of Sanaya and I think she has a stunning range - probably way more versatile than prominent Hindi Cinema actors tbh. Barun was a discovery for me and he's one of my favorite actors to see cause he's brilliant. Stunning.

I feel IPK also worked because it had two of the strongest actors as its leads. The chemistry was explosive and the directors & cinematographers knew their best angles, lighting and expression.

Haha I'm glad you could see the MU under a new light! I mean, all I say is literally my opinion. I loved the setup for the MU, it was so well done and I think what's nice is that the show doesn't try to justify what Arnav did. I think it's important to know the difference between explanation and justification.

I think it's great to understand and explain what characters do. Justification can go a bit grey because at times we might tend to clarify that the characters were right in doing what they did. And I always try to highlight that I understand what Arnav did and why, but also state that despite the understanding there are some lines that he crossed which he shouldn't have.

That helps me from coloring the character through my eyes and analyzing perspectives from as unbiased viewpoint as I can.

#lectureover

So keep analyzing and I hope you love this show more than ever! There's so much to unpack in IPKKND!!!

Love,

- JWB

#ask #simplycurlz #ipkknd #so sweet #phati sari #jalebi loves you

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logically-asexual · 3 years

Text

okay i'm already procrastinating and i don't plan on sleeping any time soon so here we go.

☆ ✩ my personal ranking for every season 1 Sanders Sides episode. ✩ ☆

i think it's going to be pretty similar to @dukeofonions' but let's see if i find something new to contribute haha. i see you didn't include that one about Patton in the Big Game or whatever, so i'm not including it either xd. also i think i'm going to count Accepting Anxiety as one episode only.

edit: i finished and now i dare you to drink a shot of water every time i say the word spanish or a version of the word comfort and become very well hydrated.

#16 I'm in a Disney Show

(i agree with dukeofonions here) i always forget this episode exists. it was ok in terms of being happy for real life Thomas but as a Sanders Sides episode it didn't do anything. the sides were just giving their opinions but it wasn't very funny or interesting. also i'm bitter because it made me look up the episode he was in and i didn't like it at all. i don't know if i'm too old for those Disney shows now but Thomas was literally the only good part of it, everything else was really dull and boring imo. a waste of time.

however, Logan supporting clickbait is one of the funniest things ever, and i'll never forget it.

#15 Becoming A Cartoon

i didn't hate this episode but it was just .. meh.. you know? several factors contribute to this. one, i couldn't feel much nostalgia for Butch Hartman's shows because i watched them in Spanish, and everything feels really weird when they speak English, i don't like how my old cartoons sound in English. two, it was disappointing to me because we were all desperately waiting for Plot™ and instead they give us this short episode about nothing (oh how the tables have turned now it's the other way around haha). and three, i didn't like the style of the animation :/ their faces and expressions freaked me out, Roman's douchey face still haunts me.

#14 Way Too Adult

here i'm biased because i don't like Patton much, and i didn't back when i watched the series the first time either, so this video was a little disappointingwithout the rest. also it wasn't relatable to me because i am still too young and dependent on my parents haha. but Patton is funny and it's funny to laugh at Thomas' struggling.

#13 The Dark Side of Disney

i've never been a fan of Disney movies. i actually never watched Mulan or the Lion King or Aladdin as a kid, so meh. i liked the ending, though, it was cool to see Virgil have fun and be right for once. it does make me a bit uncomfortable because the way Thomas tries too hard with Virgil's mouth movements and his low voice reminds me of a guy that had made me v uncomfortable not long before watching that video. so an icky feel overall.

#12 A New Year of Lying to Myself

this video was actually kind of fogettable to me. i had a hard time connecting the voices in the song to the characters and idk. i don't love it nor hate it, just .. neutral.

#11 My True Identity

pretty much the same opinion as dukeofonions, again. it's a good introduction and it's good that it was the beginning of it all but on its own it's not very special. i think it's awesome on Thomas to have come up with such a clever idea, like choosing the dad, the teacher and the prince and putting them together and match them with thoughts?? that fit so perfectly?? it really is just very impressive when you think about it, that it was just a random idea he had for a short 5 minute video.

#10 Taking on Anxiety

i liked this video a lot because when i watched it i had recently been a lot on tumblr, and found out through relatable posts that i had anxiety. so watching this video was really fun and it made me happy to feel so seen, specially the intro when Thomas just talks about what it's like to have Anxiety and Virgil is so smug about it.

- ★ -

okay now that those are out of the way things are going to get hard... all the following i love with all my heart so i'm going to rank them based on the smallest things.

#9 Growing Up

once more, Patton isn't my favorite. so that's why i'm putting this here, plus the echo at the end askjhsahg, but i love love this video. i remember we were waiting and oh so ready for the angst of nobody taking Patton seriously. and we received!! i love that though Roman and Logan are antagonists here, they're both so happy about Thomas wanting to have a healthy life. and i just adore the way Logan admits his mistake at the end and asks Patton directly. my heart... also aw.. the nostalgia. i remember none of us knew how to spell Patton's name and were writing it in very funny ways until Thomas and Joan told us lol.

#8 The Mind vs The Heart

when i watched this video the first times i didn't like it much, because i only had eyes for Virgil, but later i came back to it and loved it. so taking that into account i'm putting it here. logicality was the first ship i ever shipped in the show because i saw a gifset on tumblr of Patton screaming "what do you know about love?!" and Logan "apparently more than YOU" and the caption said "MARRIED", and i thought hey yeah... anyway. i love them. they're both my dads since that day.

this video is so so so relatable and i love it. Logan and Patton are so much fun arguing and i love how they compromise at the end and work together. im reconsidering.. i might move it higher? no, fine i'll leave it here.

#7 Making Some Changes

this video was absolutely hilarious. i personally couldn't see it as the Sides still once they were acted by Thomas' friends, i enjoyed it more as that bunch being silly and trying to be the sides but failing in so many ways, while sometimes nailing stuff suddenly. i really don't take this one too seriously as an episode. except Joan!Logan and Valerie!Logan, my beloved... i love how Joan acted as Logan and their voice and that they kept their ace ring on.. there's a reason i had them as my icon for so long. and Valerie looks a bit (a lot) like me with the glasses and dressed in dark colors, plus she spoke Spanish and there's .. no words to describe the joy i felt when seeing/hearing that. wait i'm getting emotional...

#6 My Personality Q&A

when i watched this Virgil was my favorite side and i didn't care much about the rest lol. when i heard his answers i related to him SO much it was scary, and also his voice is so soft and it was all very comforting. it was also when i first starting looking at Logan with more attention, because when he brought up Big Hero 6 and Fall Out Boy and said he didn't sing and would recite it like a poem? it only took a couple seconds but my brain said "me" and never went back.

now this video is a little underwhelming to watch for me, most of the appeal for me was in finding out the answers, and also watching it when we didn't know a lot about the sides. now we know more and want to know more so it's not as fun to me as it was first.

i wish so bad they'd do another one, although i know it would be more difficult with a much bigger audience, i think they can manage and i just need it. the chaos.. the energy.. they all being so savage with each other, learning little random facts about them you didn't expect.. i need it.

- ★ -

oh boy top 5 here we go. the next three are practically a tie. i can't choose.

#5 Alone on Valentines Day

i love Valerie, and the idea of this video was perfect and so perfectly excecuted. every side just giving their crazy opinions on how to woo a random stranger, i laughed SO much. first with Logan speaking simlish out of nowhere? at that point i didn't know practically anything about the sims except that it was some video game and the whiplash of Logan going AYO and the rest killed me. then when Roman whipped out that dialogue in Spanish??? my life was completed. i've never felt more happy than i did in that moment gosh. just the hilarity of Roman's drama, the shock of them speaking Spanish suddenly like that, the absolute JOY of seeing a creator i like speak (may i say) perfect Spanish, the other characters' faces after that.. never been happier.

also the conclusion was so cute. Virgil solving the whole problem without wanting to. i loved it.

#4 Am I Original

i think this video speaks for itself. it was fun to watch them all do the ideas Roman had, plus Logan and Virgil nodding at each other, (i love them so much), plus the angst at the end of Roman's perfectionism, plus Roman's just perfect name. this video has it all.

i think Thomas posted it kind of late at night and i watched it at 7am in the classroom as i waited for my classmates to arrive and the class to start. (i usually was like 40 minutes early to school due to mom’s work). i had to contain my laughter and it wasn’t easy.

#3 Losing My Motivation

i started loving this video after a while, when Logan passed Virgil in the position for my favorite side. but once he did this episode was beautiful. it's so funny and i love Logan and Patton's dynamic so much. and the video also so damn relatable in general. i felt so seen with it because they named all the problems i have when procrastinating, down to Patton's vague explanation of his feelings, it's exactly how i feel every time i want to do stuff. and the plot twist! i can hear the dramatic sound effect and see how they all turn to Logan clearly in my head, and it always makes me smile. plus there's so much Logan angst that can be dug up and overanalized. i love to watch it over and over.

#2 Accepting Anxiety

this video was perfect. everything we wanted. we knew it was coming and it delivered perfectly, better than any fanfic done in the waiting time. the week between the parts was agonizing but in a fun way somehow. i remember precisely when i was watching part 2 in my living room. i screamed. and i cried, a lot. i was feeling terrible at that time in my life and Thomas was such a comforting presence and i can't begin to describe how this episode made me feel.

and later it is always fun to rewatch with all their different reactions to being in Virgil's room, the energy of that was on point. Thomas is such a great actor and the characters where just amazingly performed. plus it gave so much to talk adn think about, the idea of the rooms, lots lots of insight into the characters, foreshadowing, so much. it's just perfect i have nothing else to say.

#1 (for purely emotional reasons, ironically) My Negative Thinking

i think Accepting Anxiety is the best episode of the season objectively but my favorite is My Negative Thinking. because i love Virgil and Logan so much and seeing them argue together was and is great. the comfort.. i can't repeat that word enough throughout this post. it's such a soft video while not being overwhelming with Patton and Roman's outbursts. just quiet (mostly) and clear and with perfectly timed humour.

Logan my beloved.. learning spanish... helping me with my own anxiety.. and their debate was so good. and the fact that they were friends i- i can't. Virgil didn't think Logan liked him and Logan told him explicitly that he did and the casual softness of it i cant even. Logan is happy that he tried.. it's just marvelous. Virgil and Logan as best friends will always be my favorite pair, and their dynamic will always be what i strive for in any relationship i might form, with both sides silently comforting each other within their own limits and realistic perspectives. so nice.

- ★ -

so yeah. that's all. thank you if you read all the way up to here. ♡ ♡ ♡

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders

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transwizardtournament · 4 years

Text

Trans Wizard Tournament FAQ

What is The Trans Wizard Tournament?

The Trans Wizard Tournament is a donation drive specifically for charities in support of trans and non-binary people, in the form of an online auction of Harry Potter fanworks. This is not to to be confused with commissions, as neither the organisers nor the creators will receive any money or other form of compensation. Sign Ups and Bidding will take place on Dreamwidth.

When can I sign up to offer fanworks? When can I start bidding? When will I receive my gift?

June 9th, 2020: Sign Ups Begin June 20th, 2020: Sign Ups Close June 22nd, 2020: Auction Begins June 30th, 2020: Auction Ends; Winning Bidders Contacted July 3rd, 2020: Proof of Donation Must Be Submitted July 31st, 2020: AO3 Collection of Works Unveiled. October 31st, 2020: All Works Must Be Completed Unless Otherwise Discussed With Bidder

Note, creators can begin creating work as soon as a winning bidder contacts them and details are worked out. Works can be submitted to winners at any point once completed, but works submitted to AO3 won't be unveiled until the 31st. While you have until October 31st to complete works, it would be amazing if we could have a nice number of complete works to unveil on July 31st, as both Harry Potter and JK Rowling's birthdays. Let's try to make a statement!

What types of fanworks are included?

You can offer any type of digital fanwork. A brief list of examples as follows, but if there is something I've not mentioned, feel free to send me a PM: fic and podfic artwork, including gifsets, manips, and moodboards fanvids fan labor, (for example, beta-work, translations, brit-picking, or in specific for this project, many have expressed an interest in writing about trans issues, but fear for getting things wrong, as they are not trans themselves--this is a great opportunity to offer to help writers by offering to help them write authentically about the experience, and fix problematic issues that may arise in their fic.)

The point is to encompass as many different types of offerings as possible, to allow for the participation by those with a broad variety of talents. When signing up, please be as specific as possible when describing your particular offerings. (As an example, which characters you're willing to work with, what type of fics you'll write ie fluff/angst/rating level, what form of fanart, the specific fan labor, etc.)

We are organising a separate auction for donated physical fanworks. If you have something you would like to donate, please contact us about making a listing.

Can I offer more than one thing?

Yes. We are hesitant to put a limit on how many gifts you can offer, but would has that you please take time to really consider what you'll be able to follow through on in a timely manner. Creating fanwork can be difficult especially given current events. Please don't over extend yourself. I would suggest strictly limiting the length/complexity of the works offered. Also, please sign up for each different TYPE of work individually (that is if you're offering three different types/lengths of fic, you can do so in one post; if you want to offer a fic, a moodboard, and a beta, you need to make 3 different posts).

Of course we want to generate as many donations as possible, but it doesn't help to overpromise and then not be able to follow through. It can cause people to lose faith in fandom auctions, and be less likely to participate and donate in the future. Please only offer if you are willing to make this a priority, and only offer as much as you're able. Offering a single item is not only allowed, it is a wonderful opportunity to give all your focus to a spectacular gift for a donor.

I have a WIP/planned project similar to the bidder’s prompt, can I use that to fulfill my auction?

This is something you need to discuss with your bidder. In general, anything that has already been partially published, either as a WIP or early draft, shouldn't be used to fulfill a prompt. However some bidders might wish to see a continuation of a WIP or reworking of an older fanwork, in which case it would be fine. Opening dialogue with your bidder will help you understand exactly what they want, if what you're working on fits their prompt, and if they're okay with you using it. But please don't come into this assuming it will be okay.

What causes/nonprofits are you supporting this year?

Complete list will be coming soon, and will include non-profits such as TransWomen of Color Collective, The Trevor Project, The Transgender Legal Defense and Education Fund, Trans Lifelife, and more. I have already been informed of other organisations on the local level in different cities, states, and countries and am researching and compiling the list. Please let me know if there is an organisation you'd like to see included!

I’m offering fanwork but I would like my bidder to donate to a different organisation/I'm bidding but would prefer to donate to a different organisation.

We encourage bidders and creators to donate to charities/nonprofits from out list, but recognise there are many worthwhile organisations across the globe that simply haven't gained attention for their work. Creators will have the opportunity of listing other nonprofits when signing up, and bidders can make suggestions for additions to the list. These suggestions must be made during the sign up period, so that we have time to verify that these are legitimate organisations. Bidders and creators should have a clear agreement over which organisation(s) they will be donating to before donation takes place. These charities must be for trans and/or non-binary communities.

Can't you get in trouble legally for selling fanworks?

To be clear, we are not selling fanworks here. Donors will be making donations directly to the charities. At no point will the creators or the organisers be in possession of the money donated, nor receive any portion of it. Fanwork creators are showing their appreciation of these donations by creating gifts in recognition of the act.

How Can I Help? Besides from those donating fanworks, there's a lot that needs to be done, from both an organisational standpoint, and through reaching out to fandom and signal-boosting. Please contact me on tumblr or dreamwidth, with offers of help.

#trans wizard tournament #trans wizard tournament 2020 #harry potter #transgender rights #no terfs allowed

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mrbinglee · 3 years

Note

hello a question from one austen appreciator to another: why is Persuasion thee austenian text for you?

all day i have been thinking about how to answer this in a concise, eloquent manner, as you might do.... but i cannot 😩 so this will be an embarrassingly long mess. i think i can narrow it down to:

(1) its extended examination of shame and regret. in other austen novels, the heroine's realization that she is wrong - and the shame and regret that comes with that realization - is one of the pivotal events of the story, after which they are changed for the better etc (lizzy with darcy's letter; emma's cruelty towards miss bates at box hill; catherine's misassumption about tilney's dead wife). but in persuasion, anne's already past that step. she already thinks she was wrong to be persuaded to reject wentworth. ((and yet anne was not! wrong! to follow lady russell's advice and reject wentworth's first proposal! wentworth in '06 was cocky and charming and most of all, financially lucky in the oft-perilous navy, but "spending freely, what had come freely, [he] had realized nothing" (ch.4). love that austen pointed out here that wentworth was not really a good financial prospect, which was of course everything. but anyway.)) anne knows she hurt him, and she can't bear the thought that he might be out there in the world, in her drawing room, at her dining table, still hating her. unlike austen's other heroines, she doesn't think she'll get a chance to make amends, to say "i'm sorry," and there's a legitimate angst there to empathize with. how to live with the knowledge that you hurt someone and won't be forgiven...... i think that, more than anything, is what struck me, and stuck with me.

and it's easy, perhaps, to dismiss anne as weak and passive, so unlike the charming lizzy and confident emma, or the sweetly naive catherine (no hate to sense & sensibility or mansfield park, i just haven't read them enough to use them in this), but i love how persuasion shows anne's maturity and self-awareness and quiet strength. she deals with her shame and regret by stepping back and giving wentworth space, letting him live his life, watching him chase the musgrove girls even though it breaks her inside to do so. she loves him still (somehow) to do that for him. but that leads me to

(2) the novel's emphasis on physicality & familiarity. re: physicality, basically everything in the caption for this gifset. they are sooo acutely aware of each others' physical presence and sooo repressed about it, it'd be funny if it wasn't so heart-wrenching. they care about each other still + they're so aware of each other + they barely talk to each other = everything occurs through action, everything is left unsaid, and what is said is said indirectly, to other people, not each other (until the letter, of course). my favorite kind of communication.

i must mention the scene when anne's nephew literally won't get off her back:

"In another moment, however, she found herself in the state of being released from him; some one was taking him from her, though he had bent down her head so much, that his little sturdy hands were unfastened from around her neck, and he was resolutely borne away, before she knew that Captain Wentworth had done it." (ch.9)

at this point he can barely look at her, let alone talk to her, yet in this scene and others, he's the only one who ever notices when she's suffering, and he's the only one to ever do anything about it. they're so familiar with each others' body language. there's a moment in ch.8 where anne notices a certain expression on wentworth's face as he replies to mrs. musgrove, and she knows what he's really thinking, and she knows that she's the only one who knows. her confidence in her knowledge of him, even as she thinks he hates her...... i love that austen did a sparknotes summary of their wild hot summer romance, and then shows us in small moments throughout the novel that they really do know each other like nobody else knows them. the actual romance is in their internal constancy to each other, constancy revealed not in the usual fashion (bc he's flirting with the musgrove girls and she's shut herself away doing honorary-eldest daughterTM duties) but in their quiet knowing of each other. in not forgetting who the other person is. there's a moment where anne says that she's "no card player," and wentworth replies, "you never were, were you?"

that level of familiarity, after all that time.... maybe much ado was wrong with sigh no more ladies sigh no more. when wentworth speaks at last he can't even speak. he writes. ("i have loved none but you.")

#i hope i answered the question somewhere in here....#iconicscullyoutfits #long post #really really long post sorry #persuasion

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kexing · 3 years

Note

One of these days I will bring a happy quote to your ask box, I promise! But for now we're riding the angst train all the way to the station... ;_; Ill have to start a notes on my phone... but yeah when I heard that line I could just picture the gifsets... when i get photoshop on my new laptop i know whats first on my to do list lol and thank you!! :) I work midnights so I have a lot of time with my thoughts and my playlists lmao

nooo it’s okay. when it comes to weilan, sad hours are cathartic. at least we’re allowing ourselves to mourn and express ourselves through music. so it’s fine! keep the angsty lyrics coming! alsksksksk

omg write down all the good lyrics and then make killer weilan gifsets for us to cry over 🤣🤣🤣🤣 sounds like a plan!!!!

oh? i’ve always wanted to work at night! something slow and quiet, just so i could stay awake listening to music and be paid for that 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

you can even make a weilan playlist too?? that would be fire!!!! ❤️💙

#the more the merrier #or the sadder in this case akdkskkd #novaquill #mac tag #mj got mail!

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ravenbrenna09 · 4 years

Text

Unattainable - Chapter Four

AO3

...

bold = sending; italics = receiving

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IT'S ANGST TIME.

So, anyways, I apparently can't decide how long it's going to take to finish this story because this is now SEVEN chapters long. And, once again, I can't begin to explain how much it means to me that you guys love this story. I'm so glad to be able to share this story with each and every one. I hope to have this story finished soon, but once I do, I'm going to take a brief break from writing Sobbe to focus on my other stories. Then, I will be back, likely writing Sander's POV and some other short-stories (and maybe some chaptered ones) if you guys are interested.

Either way, hope you're ready!

...

Also, I forgot this last time. This story was based this gifset by the lovely milanhendrickx (now @elus; follow her guys, she’s amazing)

...

As the group of them headed into the club, where Amber's cousin and Noor's classmate from her art school had invited them all out to the party, encouraging her to not only bring Moyo but to also drag the rest of them out as well, Robbe couldn’t help wanting to turn around, go back to his bedroom, and hiding beneath his covers.

Since he had gotten that text from Sander, Robbe had spent too much time in his room, locked beneath the covers and working on his homework with lightning speed. It was something that had been a staple of his entire school career. There were a handful of times where his emotions would get so overwhelming that they would boggle him down, prevent him from doing work, but the majority of the time, he always ended up focusing on his work harder, trying to push past the pain and using it to focus on more important things.

But, that didn’t stop him from retreating inside of his room, blocking out his friends.

After Robbe had finished classes on Monday, he had been home by 13:00, locking himself in his room and writing out the plan for his half of the project. By the time that he had finished the introductory statement, finalized his plan, and texted Yasmina to see if it sounded good, he glanced up and realized that it was almost 21:00. Jens had been periodically trying to get the door open to get Robbe to eat, but the latter only retreated further into himself, further into his books, until the door shook from a knock and there was a light sound of his name, “Robbe.”

Zoë.

The blonde had gotten him to open the door, get dressed, and dragged him out of the apartment to get dinner. Robbe didn’t want to talk about it and she didn’t press, reaching out to take his hand without saying anything. On the way back to the apartment, he told her that he felt like an idiot, falling for someone who was so far out of his league that he couldn’t believe that he would even like someone as plain as Robbe. Zoë had listened, questioning when she needed to, and Robbe showed her a picture of Sander on his Instagram. There was a look in her eyes like she was going to look him up later, but she listened and clung to his arm.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing, Robbe,” she had told him, rubbing his arm.

Robbe wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t.

But, now, on Saturday, he finally let Jens drag him out of the apartment, over to this club where Amber’s cousin’s friend (or whatever) had invited everyone to an old school friend’s party. One of those, you know someone who knows someone who knows someone kind of deal and Robbe had been reluctantly dragged outside of the apartment, practically forcibly dressed by Lucas (“If I have to do this, so do you”), and brought to the club.

“Don’t worry,” Jens had teased, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Amber bounded over them to kiss Aaron’s cheek in greeting. “If you get any unwanted attention from girls, I promise that I’ll be your fake boyfriend.”

“Hey!” Lucas called as Robbe wiggled from Jens’ grasp to hug Amber.

The blonde gripped him tightly before grabbing his arm (and Aaron’s hand) and proceeding to drag the pair of them up to the bouncer, who willingly let them all in. Once they were inside, Amber wrapped her arm around Robbe and dragged him into the club. It was odd, to Robbe at least. The two of them were friends, but friends of friends, who only really hung out together in school and whenever their friend groups came together.

“Are you okay?” she questioned, suddenly. When Robbe gave her a questioning look, Amber quickly continued, “Aaron said that you have been hiding in your room and Zoë is really worried about you. I know that we aren’t particularly close, but you’re important to them. So, you’re important to me too.”

“I’ll be fine, Amber,” Robbe replied. “I promise.”

There was a worried expression that passed Amber’s eye, but Aaron wrapped his arms around Amber, pulling the girl close and effectively pulling her attention from Robbe. Her arm was quickly replaced by Jens, who guided Robbe towards the bar. Lucas let out a sigh somewhere behind them, trailing behind. “Come on,” Jens spoke up, beaming at him.

The club bass thumped loudly. The music was pumping loudly, making Robbe feel a little dizzy. The lights had been changed to a bright florescent purple and back to a neon blue. It was a frustratingly beautiful sight to see, for sure, watching the lights flicker so drastically between one color and the next. The party-goers on either side of them were dancing, grinding against one another to the beat of the music.

Robbe wanted nothing more to be at home, cuddled under his covers. And, it wasn’t even because of everything that had happened with Sander. If given the opportunity, Robbe would always choose a quiet night at the flat with his friends. Too many times at parties, Robbe would end up in the bathroom, hiding out from the crowd and the heavy bass drum. Ironically, the boys had all met Noor in the bathroom of Jana’s home. He didn’t like being crowded and exposed, out in public like this.

Sure, he liked to drink and hang out with his friends, but, if given the opportunity, he would much rather be in the comfort of his own apartment.

“We’re drinking the night away.”

“I’m not drinking,” Robbe spoke, letting out a sigh as he turned towards Jens. Despite the fact that it was a party, his best friend had only dressed in a hoodie and semi-fitting blue jeans. Lucas was already half-hanging on to him, his arms around Jens’ midsection so they wouldn’t be separated in the crowd. “I don’t even want to be here remember? I’m only here because your boyfriend decided that if he had to go, then I would have to go to.”

Jens frowned, staring at him. They arrived at the bar, leaning against the barely exposed corner of the wooden bar. Robbe pushed himself up into an empty seat along on the edge of the bar, giving him the entire view of the dance floor. Jens leaned up against the counter, purposely sitting in front of his eye line. Lucas leaned up behind him, wrapping his arms around Jens’ torso and snuggled against his shoulderblade. Jens naturally leaned back against him, his brown eyes still trained on Robbe.

“Robbe,” Jens spoke. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to drink. Lucas and I will go ahead and make sure that you don’t go home with some random stranger.”

Lucas picked his head off Jens’ shoulder, glaring at him slightly. “Don’t take my drinking away from me,” he spoke, light and half-hearted, but Robbe could tell that it had simply been a joke.

There was a protective, worried look that had crossed Jens’ face as he stood opposite of Robbe. There was a concerned look in Lucas’ eyes as well, glancing over at him with a perplexed expression on his face. Since the two of them had started dating, Lucas had quickly grown to be one of Robbe’s closest friends. He was about as protective of Robbe as Jens was. Maybe even more so. The two of them were similar, more similar than they had expected, and Robbe thought that Jens would be foolish not to keep him around more.

Lucas unraveled himself from Jens, stepping forward to place a hand on Robbe’s shoulder. “Are you sure that you’re okay?” he questioned.

Robbe opened his mouth to respond, but someone popped up with bright platinum blonde hair. For a split second, Robbe’s mind registered it as Sander, his heart making a brief palpitation in his chest. But, as he turned, spotting the cherry red lipstick and mischevious smile, Robbe felt disappoint creep into his bones as Zoë wrapped her arm around Lucas’s arm, tugging him away. Sander wasn’t here. And, even if he was, he wouldn’t be interested in being with Robbe.

“Hey,” Jens spoke as Zoë tugged Lucas away. “Where are you taking my boyfriend?”

“I’m taking him to the bathroom so I can put eyeliner on him!”

“No, you’re not. He’s too irresistible and we need to take care of Robbe!”

However, despite his shout about taking care of Robbe, Jens had already turned away to blindly follow them through the crowd, away from the bar and away from Robbe, who remained firmly planted on the barstool, looking bored. However, he’s not alone for long before Milan slid into Jens’ vacated spot, a gentle, reassuring grin crossing over his face.

The man was dressed up in his finest clothes and fittest jeans. There was a single dangling earring extending from his left earlobe, his go-to party wear accessory. There was little doubt between the three of them that Milan had dressed to impress and was willing to go all out to do so. Robbe knew that Milan, one of his closest friends outside of the “Broerrrs” and his certified “gay guru”, of all people, deserved it.

“How are you doing?” Milan questioned.

“I’m fine,” Robbe lied.

He wasn’t fine.

And, Robbe was almost positive that Milan already knew that.

“Robbe,” Milan whispered, somehow seeming like he was shouting even with the booming bass and the moving bodies around them. Robbe avoided his gaze, turning towards the bartender to get his attention. The man quickly came over, getting his order before giving the pair of them a once over. For once, Milan didn’t seem to have noticed. “I know you better than that. You’re obviously not fine.”

Robbe let out a breath, taking his beer when it was offered. “How much did Zoë tell you?”

“Not much,” Milan replied. The bartender nudged Milan, placing a refill of his empty glass on the counter before gesturing for the one in his hand. Milan seemed to a bit surprised, handing over the glass and blushing a little when the bartender winked at him. Robbe eyed him, grinning. “Do not think you are getting away from this conversation, Robbe. She just told me that you were with someone. They said that they wanted to take a break via text.”

“Yeah,” Robbe replied.

“Who was it? Do I know him?” Milan questioned.

Robbe shook his head. “No, not personally anyway,” Robbe replied, staring down into his glass in an attempt to avoid Milan’s questioning gaze. “It was that guy on Instagram that you were teasing me about having a crush on.”

When Robbe glanced up to him, his eyes were wide but he didn’t speak up so Robbe continued, biting nervously at his lip.

“Anyway,” Robbe continued. “We started messaging each other and we talked about possibly meeting up last Thursday. But, then Lucas and I went to meet Noor and Moyo and he was out with them and Britt. The two of them left in an argument and he messaged me that night, asking if I wanted to meet up that night. And, I did so I went and we hung out and we kissed and if I didn’t have a midterm the next morning, we might’ve done something more.”

Milan’s eyes went wide. “Are you telling me that you resisted having sex with a guy that you have been crushing on for months because you had a test?” Robbe gave him a look. “Sorry, I just wanted to make sure that we were on the same page. You have a lot more restraint than I would have.” Robbe nodded his head and Milan replied with an offended expression. “So, what happened?”

“I went over to his place on Thursday, then again on Friday,” Robbe informed him, crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a sigh. “I don’t know. It was nice and we were having a good time. Or, at least, I thought we were. But, I don’t know, I felt like there was something that he didn’t want to tell me.”

“Like, you were a secret boyfriend or something else?”

Robbe shook his head. “I don’t think it was that,” he admitted. “We were in the kitchen and there was a knock on the door. I don’t know. There was just this change to him like he got tense and scared all of a sudden.” Milan nodded his head, patting his arm. “I tried to ask him about it, but he didn’t want to talk about it. I guess I’m worried that I pushed him too far and that I was stupid-”

“Robbe,” Milan spoke up, effectively cutting him off. “You’re not stupid.”

Robbe shook his head. Milan looked at him exasperated. “There was no way that someone like him, someone with so many followers would’ve looked at me and picked me,” Robbe mumbled.

“Robbe, stop,” Milan cut him off, stepping forward as someone shuffled past them. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I must’ve done something.”

Milan sent a pointed look in Robbe’s direction as Robbe glanced around the club. The music was thumping against Robbe’s ear, loud and obnoxious, and the lights were still flickering between bright florescent colors that bathed everyone in light. Out on the dance floor, Robbe managed to spot Jens, who had managed to rescue Lucas back from Zoë. They were dancing, kissing, and being that obnoxious couple. He could see the back of Moyo’s head, talking with Aaron and Amber, and Noor was with Britt, dancing in the midst of the crowd and twirling each other.

But, as Robbe moved to glance back at Milan, his eyes caught platinum blond hair and his breath caught in his throat.

Sander.

The man in question was across the room, talking with a group of guys that were talking excitedly to him. He was recounting a story, judging from the way he was moving his hands. He was wearing a white t-shirt, no leather jacket, and Robbe wouldn’t have been surprised if he was wearing his Doc Martens. He always wore at least one. He could tell that Milan was talking, but Robbe couldn’t hear him, a combination of the music and the fact that his focus was somewhere else.

A girl cut through the crowd of boys. She was as beautiful as Sander was, brown hair flowing down her back and wearing a long-sleeve crop-top and jeans. The girl wrapped her arms around Sander’s neck, standing on her toes to press a kiss against his lips, cutting him off mid-sentence. The guys that were around him cheered, whooping and hollering, as Sander wrapped his arms around the girl’s waist, kissing her back and dragging her closer against his chest, as she dragged him towards the dance floor.

“Robbe,” Milan broke through, his hand on Robbe’s shoulder.

Robbe blinked, bringing him back to reality. There was a concerned look on Milan’s face, scanning his face and reaching out to hold his arm. Robbe opened his mouth, closing it immediately afterward, trying to find the words but couldn’t find any. His eyes went back to the dance floor, there were too many people, too little room, and Robbe felt the overwhelming desire to flee, to get out of the club. He couldn’t be here.

He didn’t even realize that he was starting to flee the club until he heard Milan shouting his name. His shout cut through and over the music, likely alerting their already concerned friends of his flight. But, he couldn’t think about that right now. He just needed to get out of there. Robbe shoved past people, headed in the general direction of the door, slammed into the wall, and followed the length of it until he found the door in question, throwing the doors open. The door hit the bouncer, who was standing outside, and he yelled at Robbe, but the brunet fled over the rail, turning left, and walked as fast as he could to create a vast difference between him and the club.

He needed to get away from the party and it’s pounding lights.

He needed to get far away from Sander and the mysterious brunette girl.

Despite Milan’s words, he couldn’t help but feel completely one-hundred percent stupid.

There were many reasons that Robbe felt stupid. But, the one, overwhelming thought that seemed to drown out all the others, pounding against his skull, was… Robbe kept walking, putting one foot over the other, getting as far away from that club that he could’ve gotten. He couldn’t hear the shouts of Milan or his friends anymore, replaced instead by the insistent buzz of his phone in the pocket of his jeans. His feet took him to the pier, over the railing, before his legs collapsed beneath him.

Robbe shoved his eyes closed, tears spilling from the corners of his cheeks.

How could he really believe… how could he really believe that someone like Sander, so beautiful and breathtaking, would be interested in someone like Robbe? There was a sea of people, a sea of people that followed Sander, and somehow, he had taken a look at Robbe and thought that he wanted to date him? It had been too good to be true, that Robbe’s fantasy crush on a famous Instagram profile would be interested in him. But, now that it was over, that it was out there that he had been right all along, Robbe felt like his chest was being ripped open.

It was too much.

Robbe let out a scream, screaming out his frustrations and his anger, but not at Sander, but at himself, for being so, so, foolish. He didn’t care if someone found him, a police officer, his friends. He didn’t care. He just needed to scream. Frantically, he pulled at his hair, trying to give himself some relief to this bloodcurdling emotional pain that was ripping apart his chest and his lungs, but it did little to improve anything. The only thing it did was make Robbe’s scalp and throat raw.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Robbe’s fingers found a familiar name on Instagram and sent a message:

I know it’s late.

And I completely understand if you say no.

But, I can’t be around the guys now.

Can I come over?

Three bubbles popped up on the chat before Nick’s reply came to.

Sure.

Apartment 304.

What’s wrong?

Robbe didn’t answer, pushing himself to his feet and heading off to a new destination.

…

Robbe woke up alone and in a strange place.

His head was pounding, likely from the alcohol that he drank once he had gotten to his destination in an attempt to drown the voices in his head, and his body was completely sore. But, he knew that it likely had to deal with the fact that he slept on a strange couch than anything else. His shirt and jacket were folded on the coffee table, he had spilled a quarter bottle of vodka on himself, he remembered, and his shoes were on the edge of the table.

It took a little to remember where he had gone.

He groaned, reaching for his phone which was plugged into the wall behind the couch. However, before he could check his messages, fire off an I’m fine text, someone was sitting down on the coffee table and extending him a cup of water and some medicine. He glanced up, half-expecting it to be Nick, only to find a girl with black hair and green eyes that looked similar to Nick. He took the medicine from her, giving her a thankful smile, before he swallowed it down, “Thank you.”

“Your friends know that you’re safe,” the girl informed him, crossing her arms over her chest. “They were calling you and frankly, the constant ringing had started to become annoying so I answered the phone to let them know since you had passed out on the couch and Nick had already gone to bed. I hope that’s alright.”

“Yes,” Robbe replied, grimacing at the bright light that poured through the curtains. He extended his hand towards the foreign girl. “I’m Robbe.”

She took his hand. “I know,” she stated, matter-of-factly and to the point. “I’m Nick’s sister, Clara.”

“Oh.”

“Nick had to go to work. He didn’t want you to wake up alone,” she continued, pushing herself to her feet and moving further into the apartment. She stopped before disappearing down the hallway and glanced back at him. “Nick said that you could use his shower if you needed it.”

“I’m good, thank you,” Robbe mumbled, reaching out to grab his folded shirt from the coffee table. He slipped it on before getting up off the couch. The blanket that had covered him slipped off his shoulders and he quickly started folding it up. “I need to be getting back to my apartment. Where is this blanket from?”

“Back of the couch,” Clara informed. Robbe nodded his head, placing the thin sheet where it belonged. She hovered in the doorframe, watching Robbe put on his jacket, shove his phone in his pocket, and slip on his shoes. Her gaze was scrutinous and protective. It was likely that Nick had told Clara of Robbe before. But, if not, she definitely knew who he was after last night when he had shown up, unable to bear the thought of going home, and drinking a bottle of vodka.

Robbe couldn’t blame her.

“Thank you for letting me stay on the couch,” Robbe said, patting down his pockets as he moved towards the front door. He had his phone. He had his (wired) headphones. He had his keys. He was good to go home and leave the apartment that he had fled to. Somehow, that made it even worse, knowing that he was likely going to walk into a house filled with his overprotective friends who were, likely, angry that he hadn’t called.

“You’re welcome,” Clara replied, her voice sounding softer than it had been before. “I… uh, I hope things get better for you. Whatever happened.”

Robbe nodded his head, leaving the apartment. Clara closed the door behind him, locking it swiftly, as Robbe navigated his way to the elevator. By the time he was there, his backup headphones were in his ear, music blasting on the loudest he could manage, trying to drown out the world and his thoughts. The elevator ride was slow, leisurely, even though it was only three floors, and Robbe couldn’t have been more thankful when it opened into the lobby.

As he was leaving the lobby of the apartment complex, he passed by someone carrying in bags of groceries and they bumped shoulders. He mumbled out a “sorry” before continuing on his way. Robbe didn’t glance up from his phone because he typing out a message to Jens to let him know he was headed to the apartment. He had enough people mad at him and he didn’t feel like getting yelled at for the fact that it was still partially difficult for Robbe to walk in a straight line.

…

To Robbe’s surprise, he arrived at an empty apartment.

None of his friends were home, or in their rooms, and he wasn’t bombarded with questions about where he was and what he was doing. There was the faint sound of music coming from Moyo and Noor’s room, likely Noor working on a sketch for her firm or her latest spray-painting masterpiece, and Robbe headed into his room, closing the door lightly so he wouldn’t disturb her. He took off his clothes, switching the jeans that he had slept in for baggy sweatpants and a different shirt, tossing both articles aside before climbing in his bed.

His phone unlocked to the flatshare group chat and he remembered his promise to let Milan and Zoë that he had made it home.

Robbe: I’m home.

Milan: Good, I’m glad that you made it home safely.

Zoë: I’m glad that you made it home safely as well.

Zoë: Are you okay, Robbe? What happened?

Despite all the pain and misery wrecking around him like a tornado, his heart swelled at Zoë’s message. He was glad that they were still friends since he moved out of the flatshare. Robbe started typing out a message about how they didn’t need to worry about him anymore because they didn’t live together. But, he paused, his thumb hovering over the send key, before he deleted the message and started again, sending that message without hesitation.

Robbe: I don’t want to talk about it.

Milan: Robbe, I know it’s painful, but both of us are worried about you.

Milan: You ran out of a club and didn’t tell anyone where you were going.

Milan: I know you’re upset. But, you really worried all of us.

Robbe: I’m sorry.

Zoë: We know you’re sorry.

Zoë: We just want to make sure that you are okay.

Zoë: You know that Milan and I (and Senne) are there for you. No matter what.

Milan: Yes, to all that.

A new message popped up in the group chat. It was Senne. Robbe blinked. Despite being a member of the group chat since it’s fruition, the man hardly ever used it. He liked to sit back and watch their bickering back-and-forth about whatever, but he hardly ever sent a message in it. Most of the time, his messages came through Zoë’s phone.

Senne: We’re worried about you.

Milan: Oh, wow, Senne’s using the group chat. You know it’s serious.

Robbe paused biting down on his lip before typing frantically, tears starting to slip from his eyes when he sent the message.

Robbe: I saw Sander kissing a girl.

Robbe: I needed to get out of there.

Senne: Sander?

Zoë: The same Sander that texted you last weekend that the two of you were moving too fast and that he needed a break?

Robbe: No, the one that I hooked up with three years ago.

Robbe: Yes, that’s the one.

Milan: Well, at least we know one thing.

Milan: His sarcasm still works.

Zoë: He doesn’t know what he’s missing Robbe.

Senne: I’m confused. Who’s Sander?

Before Robbe could even figure out what to say, someone was already typing out a response.

Milan: He’s an Instagram famous artist who Robbe had a crush on, then started dating, but then he said that he needed a break.

Senne: Gotcha.

Desperate for any other conversation, Robbe quickly turned the conversation away from him.

Robbe: How’s wedding planning?

Zoë: Excellent. Speaking of which, I want to take the three of you out.

Zoë: To shop for your tuxes!

Milan: Did you guys move up the wedding without me realizing?

Robbe: I was going to ask the same thing.

Zoë: No, we didn’t, but I want to make sure I have the right idea for your tuxes, so that was as it gets closer, you can go rent them.

Zoë: Please? How does Thursday at noon sound to everyone?

Zoë: Don’t even try to lie your way out of it, Milan. You need to look nice!

Zoë: Besides, you never know who you might meet.

Milan: Are you trying to tell me that you’re going to set me up?

Milan: At your own wedding?

Shopping for tuxes was the absolute last thing that he wanted to do. Since Zoë and Robbe had become close, she had been trying to get Robbe into more “fitting” clothing. Robbe hated clothes were tight on him. It made him feel a bit self-conscious. Robbe was athletic and had muscles that he hid beneath his clothes, but no one seemed to get it. Back when Robbe wasn’t out, the others used to joke that all Robbe had to was take off his shirt to get a girl. But, Robbe was comfortable with all of his clothes hanging on him, seeming to be a few sizes too big. Plus, he didn’t like to dress up either. So, doing both at once, it would be a literal nightmare.

But, he also knew that Zoë would get him in one eventually.

Robbe: My class ends at 11 so I’m free after that.

Zoë: Milan?

Milan: Fine. Sounds good to me.

Milan: Promise you’ll make me look good?

Zoë: Always.

Milan: Just let us know where we’re supposed to go.

Robbe: Yes, please.

The door to his bedroom opened and Robbe glanced up. It was Jens, standing there with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and watching him with a perplexed, worried expression. “You okay, man?” Jens questioned, closing the door behind him before walking over to him. “We were all really worried about when you disappeared like that.”

“I know,” Robbe whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Where did you end up going?” Jens questioned.

“A pier near the club,” Robbe replied. “I screamed at the ocean. Then, I texted Nick to see if I could come over.”

Jens’ eyebrows disappeared beneath the hair that had fallen against his forehead. “Nick? As in the guy you liked back in high school?” Robbe nodded his head, glancing down at his phone. “Where did you two run into each other? Last I checked, he had you blocked on social media and you hadn’t talked since you… well, you know?”

“Yeah,” Robbe replied, letting out a breath and squeezing his phone. “We ran into each other last Thursday and I apologized. I’m sorry I just… I didn’t want to come home and have to answer a billion questions about what was going on. I just needed to not be here. He let me sleep on the couch and got me another bottle of vodka.”

Jens nodded his head. “You know that we’re always here to talk, right? I know the last time that you went through something major, you felt like you couldn’t talk to any of us. But, we’re here for you.”

Robbe nodded his head. “I know, Jens. I know.” His best friend smiled, patting his shoulder. “I do need to get started on some school work or I’ll be behind all week.”

Somehow, Jens’ eyebrows shot higher than they did last time. “You’re going to do homework while hungover from at least two bottles of vodka.”

Robbe shrugged his shoulders, reaching out for his backpack and pulling out his laptop. “When else am I going to do it?” Jens laughed, leaving the comfort of Robbe’s bedroom, making a comment about how he’ll break down the door if Robbe refuses to eat again. The brunet laughed, checking his phone one last time before he started studying again.

To his relief, there wasn’t a fresh text message on the screen (or, maybe, dismay because there wasn’t a text from a bleach-blond man about what had happened, an explanation about what was going on, even though he didn’t know Robbe was even there) so Robbe tossed his phone aside and cracked open his textbook.

…

Hey Robbe.

Lucas and Noor seemed pretty worried about you on Saturday.

Are you okay?

At this point, Sander’s messages were seared in his mind. He didn’t need to have his phone open or on the messages to see the words. They were screen-printed on the inside of his eyelids, popping up whenever he closed his eyes, blinking. He didn’t even need to have an Instagram notification to be reminded of them either. Ever since Robbe had been dragged by Jens and Noor (both demanding a brief explanation) to lunch on Sunday and came back to find them on his phone, sent to him while Robbe had been studying, he seemed to be constantly focused on them, trying to decipher their hidden meaning.

He’s just trying to be nice, Robbe finally decided on Tuesday.

There was nothing there.

He had already moved on.

Robbe told himself this so many times that he believed it. Sander had moved on. Robbe should do the same.

So, why was he on Sander’s Instagram every day?

Robbe blamed it on habit, constantly checking his Instagram feed, scrolling absent-mindedly past photos of his friends and skaters, looking specifically for someone with platinum blond hair and a leather jacket. There were absent-minded sketches that he would post, but only half unfinished or shot in a way that didn’t reveal the entire picture. A shoulder here, a sketch of the bakery across the street from his apartment (which Robbe only knew because he stopped had there once he had left Nick’s apartment), an empty warehouse.

Sander carried on with his life, moving between posting photos and holding Instagram lives. And, despite the voice in the back of his head that tells him that he shouldn’t, Robbe watched every one of them. He would hide his phone, put his wired headphones in one ear, and listen to them. Every time there was a new, foreign voice off to the side, his heart clenched because there’s a thought in his mind, what if it was that girl?

But, it never was.

As the week went on, Robbe felt like there was little that he could do to move on. He was doing it to himself, sure, because Robbe was the one seeking out Sander and his Instagram posts. He had shut off notifications from Sander’s profile, unable to bear the thought of opening one up and seeing a vague reference to any relationship, but he was constantly the one that was opening up the app, typing in Sander’s profile name, and staring at his photos, both new and old, that popped up on his profile.

His phone buzzed.

Another message from Sander and he felt like his heart might come loose in his chest.

When Robbe opened it up, his eyes caught sight of his own image sketched on a piece of paper. The picture depicted Robbe in bed, wrapped up in sheets, eyes closed and his hair all messed up, from sleep or sex or maybe even something else. Beneath the sketch, there were words, so small that Robbe had to pull up the picture and zoom in to properly see it.

In another universe...

Robbe’s heart thumped in his chest, the ramblings of his professor long forgotten as he turned to the message, looking it over. Yasmina sent him a knowing look as she reached over to tap his shoulder. His teacher was looking at him disapprovingly, but Robbe couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Not right now, anyway.

…

“Quit squirming!”

Robbe flailed. “You’re choking me!”

“Well,” the bride-to-be replied, giving him a pointed look as she fiddled with the deep red cloth in her fingertips, “If you stopped squirming like a child, you wouldn’t be choking while I’m trying to tie this dang thing.”

From their spots on the couch, Milan was laughing. In fact, he was laughing so hard that his voice had gone quiet, unable to be heard anymore. His phone was forgotten on the couch, his arms wrapped around himself, and lightly wheezing. Robbe didn’t understand what was so funny about the entire thing, but even Senne had an amused look on his face, but that might’ve just been because of Milan.

Robbe felt weird. Neither of the other men had tried on stuff yet. Once they had walked into the store, Zoë had grabbed Robbe by the back of the neck and practically forced him to be chosen first. Robbe didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. At least, he didn’t have to wait patiently for the rest of them, dreading being summoned to change, but at the same time, he felt weird being the only one dressed up.

“Milan,” Zoë spoke up, moving away from Robbe. “It’s your turn.”

Milan’s laughter turned into protests as the blonde grabbed his hand and dragged him into the dressing room.

Robbe watched the two of them disappear, digging his hands into the pockets of the trousers that he had been forced into. Even though Robbe knew that they fit exactly the way that they were supposed to, the clothes felt too tight on him, too constraining. But, Robbe was used to buying and wearing clothes that were consistently one size too big, hanging on him like protective armor. Robbe thought this was a lot of work for a suit that he was only going to wear a handful of times. Robbe had never been the type of person to dress up and the less that Robbe had to do it, the better.

But, it was for Zoë and her wedding.

Plus, if Robbe was going to walk her down the aisle, he needed to look nice or he might screw up the photos.

“You look nice,” Robbe blinked back into reality as Senne pushed himself up from the couch. The older brunet snagged the cloth from around Robbe’s neck, working on tying it together with a lot more grace and sureness than Zoë had displayed. When Robbe tried to squirm away, Senne pulled him back lightly by the jacket of the suit he wore. Then, just like that, the tie was complete. “There.”

Robbe glanced down at his socked feet before returning his eyes to Senne. “I feel like a fucking doll.”

“At least you look good,” Senne laughed, stepping out of the way of the mirror and practically forcing himself to look at his reflection. “It’s amazing how good you look when you’re actually wearing clothes that fit you properly.”

“Careful, Senne,” Robbe mumbled, staring at his reflection. Despite the level of discomfort that Robbe was feeling in these trousers and jacket, he had to admit that he did look nice. The trousers, the white button-up, and the jacket fit him perfectly. It was almost as if the articles of clothing were perfectly tailored to his appearance. “I don’t want Zoë to think that I’m attempting to steal you from her.”

Zoë had returned, moving up in front of him and buttoning up his jacket. “If it has to be anyone, I’m glad that it’s you, Robbe,” she spoke, smiling. Robbe laughed, the first genuine laugh that he’s made in days, and Zoë’s eyes lit up as she stared at him. “See, look! You’re so handsome when you wear the right clothes!”

“Are you trying to say that I’m not handsome in the clothes I currently wear?” Robbe spoke, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout.

Zoë sent him a glare, lightly slapping the side of his face. “That isn’t what I meant and you know it.” Robbe laughed, shoving her hand away as she attempted to unbutton the jacket. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to figure out which one looks better. I want you and Milan to look uniform! Plus, you never know who you might meet at the wedding. You might meet the man of your dreams and, if you do, you must look your best!”

Robbe’s heart sank, but he tried to put on an optimistic smile as he spoke, “Please, whatever you do, do not set me up at your wedding.”

Zoë laughed, moving back towards the fitting room. “Milan! What in the world is taking you so long? You put one leg in than the other.” Seene laughed, throwing his head back as he did so.

The man of his dreams…

Robbe’s heart sunk because he thought that he had already found him, the man of his dreams, in every universe. Maybe, that was why he couldn’t move on or try to move on or even think of moving on. There was no man of his dreams in his future, because he was rooted in the past, in the back of his mind, back in an abandoned pool and on an Instagram profile.

Sander.

His mind instantly brought up the memory in the alleyway after fleeing the pool, the dazzling, dazed grin of his as their hips rolled together. Then, the image switched to the two of them back in Sander’s bed after dinner on Thursday, going a little too far but never crossing into more, tasting of pizza and each other. How happy Sander had looked in that moment, hanging over him with his hands beneath his shirt, trying to get it off of him again before snuggling into the crook of his neck just wanting to be with each other.

Then, it’s quickly squashed by Sander kissing the girl in the club, washing over him like a bucket of icy cold water.

Robbe let out a sigh and Senne sent him a worried look, opening his mouth to say something.

“Hey.”

The two of them turned towards the front of the store, to whoever had interrupted him, and Robbe’s heart practically catapulted out of his chest. Sure, there had been some internal part of him that had been wishing and hoping that he might show up, to explain, but that didn’t give Sander the right to actually show up so unannounced and unconcerned with the fact that Robbe was struggling to breathe.

It was highly unfair, Robbe mused, that Sander could manage to look that breathtaking so easily. He was wearing a beige beanie over his head and his black leather jacket around his shoulders. He wore a black band shirt, the rare pair of blue denim jeans, and his Doc Martens. Despite the fact that there was a slightly nervous grin on his face, Robbe could see the bags beneath his green eyes and the sadness in them as they stared deeply at him, flitting over his body as if he was trying to take it all in.

“Hey,” Robbe managed to force out.

Senne’s eyes flickered over to him, understanding over his eyes. “Sander, long time no see,” Senne spoke, curtly. Robbe glanced at him, surprised.

Sander blinked, turning his gaze towards Senne like he hadn’t even realized that there was someone else near Robbe. Then, there seemed to be a brighter grin on Sander’s face. “Senne,” Sander greeted, practically beaming. “It’s been a bit.”

Senne nodded his head, glancing at Robbe, who was silently demanding an explanation. “Remember when I moved out of the flatshare after Zoë and I broke up?” Robbe nodded. How could he forget? He was the one awake at seven, hanging out in the hallway, trying to give them a moment of privacy. Even when he had spotted Robbe in the hallway, stopping briefly, Senne had blown right past him, concealing his emotions, as Robbe went to comfort Zoë, who was sobbing in the kitchen. “Sander and I were roommates in another flatshare.”

“Oh,” Robbe spoke up.

Senne turned back to Sander before glancing back at Robbe. “I’ll go see what’s taking the two of them so long.”

Robbe nodded his head, his throat getting dry. Senne stepped away from them, moving towards the dressing room where Milan and Zoë had disappeared to. “Okay,” Robbe managed. Senne stopped, glancing back to him, trying to remain impassive. “Don’t forget that you have to try one on too. You are the one getting married after all.”

Senne grinned at him. “I’ll wait until you get dressed back in your baggy clothes. Don’t want to show you up and you get jealous.” After Robbe flipped him off, he disappeared down the hallway.

Robbe glanced towards Sander, who was still rooted in the same spot. The blond’s green eyes were still flickering over Robbe, dressed in the suit that Zoë and the attendant practically had to force on him. As Robbe took a step towards him, Sander’s eyes returned to his face before briefly glancing over Robbe’s shoulder. He pivoted to see, but there was no one there. When he turned back around, Sander was looking at him again.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Robbe echoed, wrapping his arms around his body. He wasn’t entirely sure why he did it. Maybe it was to guard him against Sander, to protect himself from whatever might happen next. Maybe, it was to hold himself back from throwing himself at Sander, attacking his lips with his own and kissing him until he never thought about the girl at the club again. But, Robbe knew that he had needed space. Or, at least, that’s what he had said. “What are you doing here?”

Sander seemed surprised. “I was walking by on my way back from lunch with a friend from school and saw you so I thought I would come in to say hi,” he replied, gesturing towards the door. Robbe felt a hot flash of jealousy that flashed through his system, causing every nerve in his body to ignite like a flame. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Robbe replied.

“I’d rate it five stars on booking,” Sander spoke, a slight lift to his voice, the flirtatious tease in his eyes as he stared at Robbe, his eyes going up and down his body, slowing and surely.

While his mind and heart did thump a bit at the implication, the jealousy in his gust was quickly replaced with anger. Robbe didn’t understand Sander, didn’t understand anything at all about this entire situation. One minute, Sander was telling Robbe that he needed a break that they were moving too fast and not even a week later, he was dancing at a club with a girl (and, according to Milan, who had told Robbe even though he didn’t really want to know, it was not innocent). Now, he was standing here in front of him, acting as if nothing had ever happened, and flirting with him (and undressing him with his eyes).

“How was that girl at the club?”

Sander blinked. “Huh?”

“At the party on Saturday,” Robbe continued, his fingers at his tie as he undid it, or attempted to. “The girl that you were dancing with and kissing.”

“Oh,” Sander whispered.

“What was she?” Robbe questioned.

“Nothing compared to you.”

Yeah, right. Robbe turned away from him, heading back to get into his jeans and hoodie.

“Robbe, wait.”

“Sander,” Robbe spoke, turning back around. Sander looked as grief-stricken as Robbe felt. His stomach ripped apart at the sight of Sander, who was always so confident, so sure of himself, looking as upset and unsure. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Sander confessed, his voice so quiet that Robbe almost missed it.

“I’m already hurting,” Robbe replied. There’s a look that crosses Sander’s face before he looked at his feet and Robbe stepped away, unable to stand there any longer.

As Robbe turned the corner into the dressing room, Zoë practically ran into him, a confused look on her expression. She looked like she was about to pull him out to where he had just been with Sander. But, she must’ve caught sight of the blond artist because she didn’t. She wrapped a protective arm around him, pulling him back in the dressing room.

…

Sander posted a picture on Thursday night.

Well, that’s not true. It was late on Thursday night, so late that Thursday night had blended into Friday morning. Robbe should’ve been asleep, sleeping or trying to get some sleep, before he had a class in about, he squinted at the time, eight hours. But, Robbe had fallen asleep, waking up rather violently because he dreamed of the blond artist stripping him of his clothes and pressing heated kisses everywhere that Dream Sander could’ve possibly touched.

So, despite having class in the morning, despite the fact that Robbe was still disappointed that Sander had found him in that tuxedo shop but didn’t offer a real explanation about what had happened and why it had all happened, Robbe was sitting here in the middle of the night, his eyes glued on the phone and his finger hanging in the air, trying to decide if he should like the picture.

Robbe lowered his thumb, staring at the picture.

Sander was standing in a wooded area, looking down at his camera. But, it wasn’t right. It was like the negatives were out of place or purposely manipulated to where it looked like it was flickering, not matching up. It was like he, or the camera, had completely glitched out. There was a red echo on the photo, of Sander’s face, his hands holding his vintage camera, the trees behind him.

His eyes dragged over the caption beneath it.

Lived with the best times Left with the worst

Robbe’s mind had felt the familiar pull of the lyrics and it’s only a quick Google search to confirm his suspicions.

David Bowie.

Robbe locked his phone, dropping it on the bedsheets. He turned over, wrapping the sheets around his shoulders. Despite the fact that everyone had been asleep, the apartment was too loud. He could hear the sound of Jens’ snoring. He could hear the sounds of everyone outside. It was all too loud. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he opened his phone again, pulling up a random playlist, and setting it back down.

David Bowie played through his phone’s speaker and Robbe let out a sigh, relaxing into the sheets and slightly praying that he wouldn’t dream of Sander again. He wasn’t for sure if he could wake up again into the universe where they weren’t together and his heart would break again because the dream wasn’t real.

#unattainable fic #wtfock fic #sobbe fic #rosander fic #sobbe #rosander #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #it's missing sobbe hours everyone!#though at least we know they're still alive!#my fic #my story #edit: wow i put sending twice for the texts lol

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nyadere · 5 years

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Reposting this bc the link got messed up when I changed URLs!!

My all time favorite Destiel fics, in no particular order. (More to be added over time) {last updated 10/08/2019}

Too Much TV Will Rot Your Brain by EndlessRain Rating: G Words: 7397 Summary: “Angel?” John asked. He had been in Heaven for a pretty long time, and had been hunting even longer, and he never had heard of angels actually existing.

“Oh for God’s sake,” Ellen said, “That’s your kid’s boyfriend!”

Notes: A short, sweet fic with mostly humor and a bit of angst mixed in. – How (thanks to Gabriel) Dean and Castiel (accidentally) raised each other (and Sam). by Vera Rating: E Words: 69693 Summary: In which, Gabriel meddles with the time line and Castiel becomes Dean’s angel rather sooner than intended.

Notes: This is a must-read, the writing is perfect and the idea is also perfect. Throwing Castiel into the boy’s lives from the start and the dynamic it brings is such an interesting take on the story.

–

Destiel, Actually by Bloodism Rating: E Words: 15973 Summary: Picture your typical rom-com cliché. Now picture Dean stuck in that rom-com cliché. With Castiel. Because that’s what happening to him - a crazy whirlwind of your typical-and-not-so-typical cliché’s. He’s playing the main lead in all of them and Castiel’s his counterpart. Of course, the culprit is obvious. Gabe’s enjoying himself too much, lying back on his favourite cloud with a tub of salted popcorn.

It was about time someone kicked the two knuckleheads into gear.

“And… ACTION!”

Notes: Funny & light-hearted, featuring everyone’s favorite trickster.

–

Angel’s Wild by LimonadeGaby, riseofthefallenone Rating: E Words: 389271 Summary: But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels.

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Notes: Another must-read. This fic is a huge, long and a bit of a slow-burn but its so worth it. One of the first destiel fics I fell in love with, an immersive AU with fanart included.

–

Things Dean Winchester Loves by tuesday Rating: M Words: 3623 Summary: Castiel makes a list, Sam gives good advice, and Dean takes a while to catch on.

–

In the Shadow of your Wings by Enochian Things Rating: M Words: 57268 Summary: Dean drains his bottle of beer, sets it on the table and gets up, heading for the kitchen. Maybe to fetch another, maybe to leave. But Castiel doesn’t want him to go, doesn’t want to leave this conversation unfinished; he remembers his regret of just a few hours ago, that Dean had never known how he loved him.

“Wait,” he says and gets to his feet as Dean passes by. They’re standing close – close enough that Castiel can feel the heat of Dean’s body, the vibrancy of his soul brushing against his grace. “Dean, I have to tell you something…”

Set after the S11 finale.

Notes: another long, slow-burn. The buildup in this fic is fantastic, dealing with a jealous and in-denial Dean while poor Cas is dealing with his own feelings. This fic is so in-character I can see it happening in the actual show.

– Everything Comes Back To You by VioletHaze Rating: E Words: 32970 Summary: Dean knew better. Of course he did. But Cas seemed so charmed by the antique-filled bed and breakfast that Dean went along with it when the proprietor mistook them for a couple. Telling himself it gave them a strategic advantage to be so close to the crime scene, he agreed to the weekend special she offered them. When the case ended up being a bust, they stuck around anyhow because hey, the second night was free…

Notes: I love love loveeee this fic. Canon!verse with fake/pretend relationship. Dean in denial with mutual pining? Yes please. – Sam Winchester Sees the Light (And Dean’s Awkward Boner Face) by YamiTami Rating: G Words: 2447 Summary: Castiel is falling and he has to start doing human things to save energy. That means eating for sustenance, sleeping, and learning how to use a washing machine. This leads to a revelation.

Shamelessly inspired by a gifset of Misha putting a shirt on.

–

The Mirror by cloudyjenn Rating: M Words: 24568 Summary: When Dean touches a strange mirror, he’s whisked away to one alternate reality after another and it doesn’t take him long to realize the universe is trying to tell him something.

Notes: This. fic. is. amazing. I love reading about AU versions of the boys and this one has plenty of variety. Cute with a bit of angst mixed in.

–

In Your Sweet Little Bungalow by annodominique Rating: E Words: 13680 Summary: All things considered, Castiel has a house. All things considered, Castiel has a life. Without Dean.

It has been seven years since Sam died, seven years since Dean left Castiel, broken and human, and disconnected from humanity. Cas had to cope on his own somewhere along the way. He chose a little town of Oregon to settle in.

Seven years, and Dean shows up at his door on a chilly February night, saying the stupidest set of words to ever be said to Castiel’s face.

“I was–just passing by the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by…to see you.”

And Cas doesn’t know what to do.

Notes: This fic is so angsty but so worth it.

–

When the Bough Breaks by captainshakespear, deanisthesun Rating: M Words: 73963 Summary: Years after the Darkness has been defeated, Dean and Cas are living the apple pie life in small-town Kansas. They don’t hunt anymore, and would like to keep it that way, but some young hunters knocking at their door have different plans.

Dean, Cas and Sam reluctantly agree to help out, but what ought to be a simple case becomes way more complicated and dangerous than they counted on. And when the hunt starts to invade the normal lives they’ve carved out for themselves and their kids, Dean and Cas begin to wonder if escaping the hunting life altogether might have been wishful thinking.

–

Home is Where by ChasingRabbits Rating: E Words: 15170 Summary: Casual vagrant Dean Winchester blows into Palo Alto to check on his little brother. What is meant to be a quick visit ends up drawing out when he meets and accidentally ends up clicking with Sam’s strange, grad student roommate Castiel.

Notes: non-canon verse AU where Cas has Asperger’s and is Sam’s roommate, this fic is very cute.

–

Out of the Deep by riseofthefallenone Rating: E Words: 488608 Summary: Stay away from the light-beds. Stay in the deep.

It is the first thing hatchlings are taught the moment their fans unfurl and they can swim without their parents to buoy them along. It is the first rule, the first law. It is the beginning of every boogey-monster bedtime story told when they settle against the cliffs to sleep.

Castiel should have listened better.

Notes: I cannot express how much I love this fic. Another huge AU with copious amounts of fanart and detail. Slow-burn, Merfolk AU. I will admit I was hesitant to read this at first as I don’t usually like mermaid/merfolk AUs but this story is so beautifully written and the attention to detail is amazing. Riseofthefallenone never ceases to amaze me.

–

Going Postal by captainbarnes Rating: Not Rated Words: 6799 Summary: Castiel,

Hi. My name’s Dean, just Dean — that’s all you’re getting out of me.

I don’t really know what else to say, I’m not good at this and I really don’t want to talk much. But it’s for a grade, and I’m already flunking English, so I guess I don’t have a choice.

Your name is weird as fuck.

— Dean

Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak became pen pals because of a school assignment, and they tried not to get attached to one another. They really did. Sort of. Barely.

–

King of the Road by loversantiquities Rating: E Words: 15890 Summary: Contracted out by the local police in Moriarty, New Mexico, Dean is sent to investigate the happenings around a church outside of town, the Angel-worshiping congregation reportedly flocking to the location in recent days. As it turns out, though, instead of snake charmers or devil worshipers, Dean finds an Angel crucified to the cross, said Angel unreasonably snarky despite being tied up against his will.

Turning over Castiel to the authorities, though, doesn’t work in Dean’s favor. With nowhere to go and Heaven having abandoned him, Dean agrees to haul Castiel across the country on two conditions–he doesn’t smoke in the car, and he doesn’t rob convenience stores in broad daylight.

God, Dean might actually kill him before this is over.

–

Rock of Ages by winter_of_our_Discontent Rating: T Words: 7430 Summary: It starts because they need a rock. Not, of course, just any rock, but apparently this particular critter needs an Aztec-style obsidian-and-jade dagger right through its human-teeth-and-eyeball-eating heart to actually kill it.

In which Cas gets a ring, and Dean (finally) gets a clue.

–

So There It Is, I’ve Said It All by PorcupineGirl Rating: G Words: 3898 Summary: “Why, do you have something you need to say to me that you don’t think I’ll like?”

I think I’m in love with you.

“Yeah. I guess so.“

–

Receipts by surlybobbies Rating: T Words: 1391 Summary: He’s about to put the receipt down, no harm done, when something about it catches his eye. Pen ink, on the back. He flips it around and reads:

With Dean. He shared his pie with me. His smile was radiant.

Dean stares. Reads it again. Nothing’s changed.

What? -

The Fourth Wall by entanglednow

Rating: T-E (this is a series so different parts have different ratings) Words: 40,339 Summary: (There’s not an exact summary for the whole thing since its a series of 15 different works but basically the boys discover fanfiction about themselves and things get wild) I can’t believe I didn’t add this one before but its one of my all time favorites! I’ve read it multiple times because its just that good. Lighthearted and funny. This series also includes Samifer which I’m a big fan of (but if you’re not into that each part is appropriately tagged so you can skip over it).

Someone Who’s Feeling For Me by ellispark Rating: M Words: 45,876 Summary: Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight. Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away. Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked. Notes: Lots of pining, supportive Sam, angst with a happy ending, the good shit. - Everyone is Trying to Get to the Bar by Balder12 Rating: E Words: 8,111 Summary: Dean still has enemies in Heaven. True!form Castiel to the rescue!

Notes: I love true!form cas fics and this one is written beautifully, the ending seemed a little rushed to me but other than that I really enjoyed this fic.

As You Pass Through Me by wannaliveindeansdimples Rating: E Words: 30,548 Summary: Cas has lived in this house all his life... and since his untimely death. The last thing he wants is a new roommate, but it seems he's getting one anyway.

Notes: a wonderful non-canonverse AU with ghost!Cas....but there’s a twist! This fic is incredibly cute and entertaining and makes me smile everytime I read it. There’s a little bit of what could be considered dub-con in a few chapters but before said chapters the author usually has a note at the beginning.

#Destiel #Destiel fic rec #Destiel fanfiction #deancas #destiel fic recs #supernatural #spn

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