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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 2 days

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It Is Your Birthday, Enjoy

In honor of my birthday I wrote this really self indulgent thing featuring the first two survivors i loved in IDV lolol

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: Based on AoM, BDSM Themes, Virgin Norton, Voyeurism, okay is just horny man

Orpheus and you are writers.

Two different genres yet both understand the work and details needed to create the pieces you both make.

“He agreed!?” Stopping your pen to give Orpheus your full attention as he keeps writing.

“Mr. Campbell did indeed agree provided he is given extra pay for the trouble.”

You do not know the reason why Orpheus hired Norton Campbell, a former Coal Miner turned unemployed Prospector. You only see him when crossing paths after Orpheus pays him. Considering Orpheus is both a secretive man and one who does detective work as if he is solving real cases (you have to wonder though given most of his books are based on old cases), Norton may be hired muscle.

“I… Am surprised. Are you sure he is willing?” Concern about Norton agreeing to this with no hesitation from what your partner explained in his retelling of the event prior to him visiting your room.

The Oletus Manor, Orpheus claims it from a childhood he is slowly piecing together. The manor was in ruins, barely standing even. However, with the funds of a renowned Novelist, the manor looks as if nothing ever burned or looted these walls.

He is quite proud of it.

“Of course,” Closing his notebook, “Mr. Campbell is willing as long as the money flows into his hands.”

You frown, “You make him seem like a prostitute, Orpheus…”

There is a coy smirk on that devilishly handsome face, “Your words, not mine, beloved.” Getting up from his seat at your desk to kiss your forehead as you are lying on the bed writing. “Upon dawn, all that you desire shall be yours.”

The following morning, you go to breakfast thinking about how you rather eat ice cream right now. Oh, maybe there was that chocolate truffle cake Orpheus snuck in when he thought he was being sneaky. You smile as you enter the dining room then see Norton standing over by the window with his arms crossed and a grumpy look on his face.

“Good morning, Mr. Campbell.” Greeting him.

Norton snaps out of his thoughts to see you walking toward him, “Mornin’,” His eyes skim at you over your form dressed particularly nice today, “Suppose you're expecting something from me right now.” He is not frowning but still looks stern.

“Huh? No, I only wanted to be polite.” Oh, he probably has the wrong impression of you, “Uh-hmm, I wanted to ask about what Orpheus—” Cut off by lips on your, hand pulling you in close by shoulders. His lips are not badly chapped. When he stops kissing you, you realize he tastes of chocolate.

“Happy birthday.” Walking away leaving you confused and frazzled.

This will not be the only time he kisses you.

After breakfast, eating alone as Orpheus said he would be busy until the evening, you find out Norton is to be your company for the day.

“You can't just kiss people like that!” Currently outside on this sunny day at the racecourse, “At least, warn me!”

“Where's the fun in that,” Laughing a bit as he oversees the repairs, “Anyway compare getting a kiss to,” Lowering his voice and leaning into your space beside him, “Being told how you want another man inside of you.”

You are grateful to be up on the tower overlooking the racecourse so no one but Norton Campbell can see you embarrassed and fumbling with your words.

“Lucky you, I don't mind letting you wet my dick.”

“Must you be so crude!?”

“Why bother sugarcoating it when your precious Novelist said much worse.” Pulling back to look at his clipboard full of papers, “The man knows how to paint a pretty picture with those words of his… Especially about you.”

“How much…?”

“I'm sure he told you.” Norton glances over at you to see you looking at him, “Understand, I don't mind this arrangement so long as I get paid and I am only touching you.”

You feel shy, “Only me.”

“Only you, Orpheus will have to add more if he thinks I'm going to be his bitch. Even then, I ain’t taking his fucking dick in me.”

You want to tell him that Orpheus would much rather do the opposite but you stay quiet instead.

A few hours in the racecourse before you both start heading down the tower to go back to the manor for lunch. You only stop when Norton tells you to follow him into the stables.

There are no horses, yet, the stables are barren as it is not the priority compared to the rest of the racecourse. You wonder what and why Orpheus is repairing a place with such a dark story. His book brings back to light the fall of Mary Kreiburg, both by family and by the people's hands. You look around the messy area as Norton walks ahead of you.

“Look over here.” Norton pointed to something ahead of him. You raise an eyebrow as you go over in front of him only to see a broken shelf of trophies and pictures of horses and their riders.

“It looks old— Norton!?” Trapped in his arms.

“Relax,” You do as you realize too quickly his intentions when hands are on your breasts, “We have to be quiet.” You shiver as his breath is hot on your ear. You hold the shelf's frame as Norton touches you with the barrier of your clothes limiting the sensation of his hands on your skin.

“Open your legs,” You do, “When he said you would give in easily, I didn't think you would be this easy.”

“Would you rather I treat this differently?” You bite back though you moan when his hand slips down your pants.

A suit. Orpheus picked it for you when you wanted to be more masculine. Though he adores your dresses, he also enjoys the eroticism of suits on you.

“You can fight, your partner told me everything you like,” Norton gets your pants down your ankles, underlings moved to the side exposing your intimate part to the air, “Who would have thought you were such a—”

“Please don't.” Stopping him mid-sentence, “I know what I am… I didn't mean to force you into this.”

He stopped, your head tilted back to look up at him, “(Name), I ain’t doing this by force.” The sound of his pants being undone follows, “I want to fuck you, writer.” You gasp as his cock rubs between the lips of your pussy, “Going to make sure you are screaming my name all night.”

It is a bit difficult for him to grind against your pussy as you are not wet enough, so he stimulates you by touching more. Rubbing your clit, playing with your breasts, kissing you; you get wet and breathing heavily.

His pace is slow, one can say sweet as he guides you close your legs, kissing your neck and ear. When he goes fast you learn Orpheus made a single rule, one Norton agrees to only because he wants to see the way you are at the mercy of another.

“Don't cum. Boss's orders.”

“Norton, please.” Barely able to keep your voice down, “I need, oh God, please!?”

“No.” Slapping your ass causing you to moan louder, “Damn, you are into anything.” Chuckles at your misery, “You can cum but know you're the one facing the consequences.”

You struggle to not crumble as Norton is not making it easy for you, each thrust closer and closer bringing you to the edge.

It is downright a blessing that Norton cums before you fall, his cum on the shelf and dripping on the floor. You whine with frustration, your body trembling as you are going to have to walk around miserably horny.

“Well look at that, you didn't cum.”

You are going to explode.

“Glad to see you two had fun,” Orpheus is in the small living room with a small glass bottle in his hand, one leg over the other as he sits by the unused fireplace. There are pillows, leather cuffs, and a blindfold on the rug, “Were they well-behaved?” Pleasant as if you are not looking in shock at the things laid out so casually.

“Very. Like a dog.”

Your arms are crossed over your chest your breasts are tender, “This feels like a chapter from 120 Days of Sodom.”

Orpheus' laugh is rich, loud, and pure, “My apologies but my greed for you will only allow for one another to share in such debauchery. All with the participants' permission of course.” Eyes shifting from you to Norton, “Mr. Campbell.”

“Tsk, I already signed the damn contract, what more do you need?” Moving from your side to stand next to Orpheus.

“Contract?” Curious.

“An agreement between gentlemen, my dear,” Waving it off, “Now this is about you, not us. We are merely your gifts this evening.” Orpheus is studying you, “Undress.”

Norton half expected him to be one doing the work or having to put on a show. Instead, you undress with no nervous moments, and when done after placing your clothes on the couch, you stand there with your hands behind your back.

“Kneel,” Orpheus is stern, “Wrists presented.” Norton is not sure what to do but watch the events unfold, this seems odd. Odd because Orpheus is cuffing your hands together with leather cuffs, tilting your head back as the blindfold is placed. Norton had to look away when you were panting from the silk gloves tracing your skin, applying pressure on the bite mark on your shoulder. The side eye he got from the Novelist has malice, it is amused.

“(Name), lay back,” You do as you are told, “Open your mouth.” You open your mouth as Orpheus pops the bottle open and pours gently the thick purple contents into your mouth.

Once done, you lick your lips then smile, “Grape.”

“It took a few attempts but there you have it.”

There you lay naked on a nest of pillows, you fidget in your spot, “Thank you…Both of you.” Beaming as your lover kisses your cheek before returning to his seat.

“Mr. Campbell, it is your turn.”

Norton snaps out of his wandering thoughts and clears his throat, “About time.” Stepping forward until Orpheus cuts him off with his hand blocking the way, “What?”

“Undress,” Spoken with a lighter tone, “We are the gift.”

“Tsk, maybe if you didn't cuff them maybe they could've unwrapped their gift, Orpheus.”

A hum, “Point made.” Norton curses at the way Orpheus, who looks weak compared to him, can also seem so intimidating, “Shall I take responsibility?” The hand moves up and hooks a finger between the suspenders and the workman's shirt.

“N-no,” Shoving passes as he undresses, “What did you give (Name)?”

“A form of aphrodisiac. They wanted to experience it.” Shamelessly watching the Prospector undress, enjoying the seconds of hesitation when Norton catches those brown eyes on his figure.

Feels like a wolf… A wolf in sheep's clothing. It would be disrespectful to call Norton the sheep, a ram perhaps?

“Orpheus,” You were quiet as the drug worked through your system, “I… Can I cum?”

“As freely as you wish, however,” Norton is not fully naked and feast for the eyes, “You should ask Norton for permission now.”

You whimper, “Norton,” Hands are on your knees opening your legs, “I was good. I didn't cum all day.”

“Begging already? Hah, you are like a dog.”

You hate that made you moan, wetter (bad enough you were wet from before still), and needy as all hell.

“B-bark.” You do not do what he wants, “L-like that?” Genuinely asking.

Orpheus snickers from behind as Norton stares in shock, worse that made his cock stir, “Just say my name, fuck.” Grumbling.

You do say his name, loud enough it echoes in the room, as Norton drives in between your legs without warning. Legs arching as he eats you out as if he has been denied all fucking day. All day as if he has not been the one keeping you on edge by randomly touching you until you were begging— And you beg easily.

Another man is touching you, another man is touching you in front of Orpheus, and Orpheus wants to see you fall apart.

Orpheus had been the one who asked your thoughts on Norton Campbell, he wanted honesty. You think the Prospector is handsome, intimidating, but you said too you understand him. Well, you understand what it is like to struggle against the odds against you, the beating life gives is relentless, and you understand the hatred.

You put that hatred into words in a book.

Orpheus watches as Norton is not the brute with you as he had tried to scare him into believing, the Novelist had simply told Norton to look to him if he needs assistance.

The Prospector is a virgin. Plain and simple, the Novelist does not think little of him for lacking experience. It is natural for a distrustful man not to allow him to be vulnerable, the world is cruel. Seeing you understand that, tell Orpheus of bitter feelings, jealousies, and resents… This is as much a gift to you as it is to Norton.

So indulge, seeing Norton explore a body already claimed; fall into the illusion of lust, see Norton consumed by the wonder that is your presence; often nightmares are the sweet dreams that ensnares, you kiss him as the man enters your welcoming heat.

#reader insert #fanfiction #identity v x you #idv reader insert #identity v x reader #idv x reader #identity v #idv orpheus #idv orpheus x reader #idv novelist #idv orpheus x you #idv x you #idv #idv prospector #norton campbell #norton campbell x reader #norton campbell x you

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spop-romanticizes-abuse · 3 days

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Midsommar vs SPOP: Cults and Religious Trauma

i watched Midsommar recently and was struck by how subtle and nuanced the Hårga were, in comparison to the Intergalactic Horde. of course, i don’t expect SPOP to show the kind of brutal gore that Midsommar did, but what i’m talking about is the way these cults indoctrinated members.

Horde Prime just mind controlled everyone to follow his orders and praise him, and it just felt so immature, especially compared to the way SPOP handled some of the other deeper topics. you’re telling me they wrote an actually good manipulator in the form of Shadow Weaver, but couldn’t do the same for Horde Prime? cult leaders are supposed to be manipulative. they don’t just force you to join their cults because it’s so much easier to break out of it. no, what they do is they convince you that this is for your own good. they promise you support, community, happiness, peace. they especially target emotionally vulnerable individuals, because they are a lot likely to accept help from a large community who is seemingly just looking out for them and trying to help them out.

and this is what happens in Midsommar. Dani recently lost her entire family to a murder-suicide, and her boyfriend had fallen out of love with her at this point and he often manipulates and guilt-trips her whenever she points out his mistakes. she was overall extremely lonely and depressed, trying hard to repress her emotions for everyone else’s sake. this is the kind of person the Hårga were looking for. a lot of the audience didn’t even realize that Dani was being indoctrinated into a cult or that joining said cult was going to be very unhealthy for her. that’s how convincing the Hårga were.

Pelle especially seems like the warm, comforting figure that Dani needed, letting her open up about her feelings and listening to her, in contrast to Christian, Dani’s boyfriend, who was often preoccupied with other things, and didn’t even bother to remember Dani’s birthday. you almost root for Pelle and Dani to end up together, until you realize that he is also part of the cult and all of his empathy and compassion is just a clever way to manipulate Dani into trusting the Hårga.

the scariest thing about the Hårga is that they weren’t large, imposing figures with a god complex. they didn’t have a leader who ruled them with an iron fist. they were just a seemingly normal community with seemingly normal people who had fun rituals and celebrations, and seemingly supported and cared for one another. even after seeing two people die brutally, Dani was still manipulated into joining the Hårga because they took advantage of her trauma and her loneliness. she desperately needed actual support and a shoulder to lean on, something her boyfriend didn’t provide. so when the Hårga offered her that support, it was easy for her to believe that this community was exactly what she needed.

and i think SPOP could have pulled something like this off, especially with Catra. if they really wanted us to believe that Catra felt guilty about her actions, they could have gone a more interesting route. i mentioned this in a previous post but instead of Horde Prime chipping Catra, they could have shown him manipulate her and promise her that she can be absolved of all her sins if she joined him. instead of being all like “teehee i know you have a crush on adora, you gay kitty”, they could have shown him feed on her insecurities and loneliness, and promise her a happier future of she joined him, playing on her need for validation and affection.

and in a moment of desperation, Catra believes him. she has lost everyone at this point, so she accepts what little comfort is offered to her. and then it’s the writers’ choice whether to redeem Catra by having her come to the realization that worshipping a genocidal tyrant with a god complex is actually not going to help her become a better person, and that she was just repressing her guilt and convincing herself that this is the best option; or to have her stay and face a tragic ending of sorts. either way, i think it would have been better than what we got.

i know that Nate apparently struggled with religious trauma and guilt (according to a few posts i saw, at least) and i’m not trying to say that i know his experience better than he does. i just think the execution with Horde Prime was really off, and he was almost like a funny caricature of a cult leader, rather than a representation of an actual cult leader.

#tw cult #tw religious guilt #tw religious trauma #tw manipulation #spop critical #spop salt #spop #spop discourse #spop criticism #she ra #anti spop #horde prime #catra #spop analysis #midsommar

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dovrt · 3 days

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Read The Secret History for the first time and I got obsessed with it so I wrote smth. Kind of want to write a whole fic but should I ??

Does such a thing as the “fatal flaw” so prominent in Ancient Greek myths and plays exist? And if so, what makes it fatal? What makes it have the power to unravel a person from the inside out? To be the very reason behind their downfall? To be the reason behind the madness they descend into.

My given, legal name is Bartemius Crouch Jr, after my rather self absorbed father. I am twenty three years old and this is my suicide letter.

I do believe such a thing exists. A fatal flaw. Something in the core of one’s soul, one’s psyche. Something fixed and immutable. A core part of one, around which the rest of their being is built.

Mine, I would like to think, would be something striking, perhaps climactic and dramatic. A morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.

That sounds like something an old friend of mine might say. In a way, my writing of the events that follow, is a letter to him. To justify, perhaps, or to explain. I am not asking for forgiveness or understanding. This is simply a recount of what happened.

As is the case, the search for “aesthetic” might not be my fatal flaw at all. It is pride, or perhaps hubris, as the Greeks called it. A call for attention. I did this! We did this! Oh we’re all sick bastards but how fucking glorious was it?

Perhaps a smarter man might analyze that, sit me down and ask me why I feel like announcing this to the world. Is it because of the lack of attention I had growing up from my father? Or the feeling of being absolutely inconsequential and meaningless?

I grew up hearing, listening, reading, about old men and women who went on soliloquies, about the importance of family. Blood maketh family. Toujours puur, was the motto of my friend’s family. That is what all the adults believed around me, while I was young and even now.

Family above all else.

I feel as though they might have exaggerated the consequence of a family, making me believe I would never be greater than my father, that all my existence would be tainted by his. I would follow in his footsteps as a lawyer or perhaps a public servant and waste away like he did, with a wife and a child I never wanted.

Now, writing down my bitterness for my family, I may come across as a bit harsh. But that is the truth.

My father, a lawyer, who settled down in the south of England in a quiet sort of city, had never wanted to get married, nor to have a child. The fact was painfully established. Clear even to me as a child. I was unwanted. I was a hindrance, just another mouth to feed. Then as a teenager, a recalcitrant, rebellious waste of space.

I had a few friends growing up, none of them significant. I had always felt a shadow of dread, something rotten in my core, perhaps my fatal flaw. And it was this that other people, even children my age, could sense. I suppose that is why I was so swept up in the romance of it all at college. My first real friends, the ones who understood me, just as rotten and downright ugly on the inside.

It sounds shameless and repulsive on paper, but it is one thing to read about the events and another entirely to live through them, to live despite them, though I won’t much longer.

In my younger years, I did not have much of an affinity to the classics. I found them boring and incessant. It would be long until I grew to love everything I despised about them.

My father was a tall man, someone who, to me, had always seemed foreign and distant. We shared the same name (a bit egotistical in my opinion to name one’s son after oneself), and according to my mother, even shared the same features (a sharp nose, dark brown eyes, a distant stare, and a slim figure). I never accepted the comparison as a compliment. Even now, when it has been years since I’ve seen my parents, I detest even the mention of my father.

It is one thing to not want children and another entirely to have one you feel nothing for and push him to fulfill your ambitions that you never achieved.

The trajectory of my life had been decided by him since before I could put one foot in front of the other.

I was to study law, like him, from a better university than him, then with my practices, I was to support my aging parents once my father retired. I have now a few hundred pounds to my name, and I leave it all to them. It is a bitter sort of ending. They will not know about my death until the papers tomorrow.

My mother, in contrast, is a meek woman. She had always been that way and will stay that way until she dies. Passive, docile, doing what my father requests because she is in love with a ghost of a man who aged and turned vile.

She used to tell me stories of their youth. How she had met my father at college, a smart, brilliant, animated young man with great ambitions. She had been charmed instantly. And that is perhaps her fatal flaw. To see someone or something and immediately assume the best of it. To ignore the abuse she endured, and to try and convince me, her son, to see her husband in the same light she saw him— a hard working family man who despite his aloofness and distance, ultimately wanted the best for me.

I don’t know what magical land my mother lived in, nor what rose tinted glasses she looked at my father with.

My only impetus through most of my life was the fact that I never wished to be like my father. I would rather die before I became that cold husk of a man. Rather funny how life works out.

Now I am sitting here in a rented apartment at midnight, scrawling desperately while the love of my life snores in the bed behind me. The only light is the candle burning, something that reminds us both of our old friend. Tomorrow, we will join him.

But for now, I am my past.

My father could have accepted the sciences as a career had I chosen them. If I wanted to be a doctor or perhaps a veterinarian even. He would have been displeased, but ultimately be persuaded. It was my attraction to the Arts and Humanities he despised.

Though my involvement with them was largely an accident.

I was rather lazy in my first two years of college, content to just drift through life (another thing my father disliked). It was in my first year I chose Greek simply because the classes were only twice a week and both times late in the afternoon. That should give you an idea that I truly did not intend for everything to play out the way it did.

A butterfly effect so aptly called.

Had I known I would change the trajectory of my life this way, would I still choose that Greek class in the afternoon? (Now, listening to the soft snores behind me, the answer is obvious. Yes. Of course).

I was nineteen when my life changed. A quite unruly teenager who dramatized his life because he was afraid it would amount to nothing. I wrote in my diary, similar to the one I am now writing in, about everything and nothing.

I would write about the colors of the flowers in the spring, the first breath of fresh air after I had not left my house in some time, the vexatious and futile rituals of teenagehood the rest of my peers conducted, the loneliness I felt, trapped in that house, like my father’s hand constantly squeezing my throat, making it hard to breathe.

It was this diary my father had found, through my own fault. He was rarely, if ever home. He spent nights and days out, never informing my mother of his whereabouts. It left her wondering and fearing for his safety. Though a few days later he would come stumbling back with no explanations.

Sometimes I wanted to hold her by her shoulders and shake her.

Look at him. I wanted to scream, but for fear of becoming a shadow of my father, I did not. Look at his pathetic state! At the secrecy he employs. Business retreats he calls them! And what about the lipstick stains on his blazer?

My mother was either blind in love or a fool.

I hate to think I am a son of those two.

I hate to think I am no different from them.

I had always wanted to run away. Even as a child. I would dream about running into the woods, a mile out from the city. I had quite the imagination then. I would live in a tree, build my own house with my seven year old hands and live right there. I would never see my parents again.

I had written about my urge to run away as well in my diary.

My father found it tucked between the cushions of the sofa after I had fallen asleep the previous night writing in it and retired to bed, forgetting about the notebook.

There was screaming, a few objects thrown. An anger at the way I had written about him and my mother. It was all truth, of course. I never knew why he had the audacity to treat us the way he did, but not enough courage to own up to it, denying it entirely and loathing the truth I wrote about him. He could not hope to face the man he had become and took it all out on me.

I slammed the door of my bedroom hard enough for the frames on the walls outside to rattle. No one could bring out my father’s worst traits in me better than the man himself.

The day was cold, my windows closed. I wanted a breath of fresh air, but with my bad luck that day, I probably would have lost my balance and fallen out of my window and broken my neck on the pavement below.

That’s when my eyes fell on the brochure, shoved carelessly in my closet somewhere when I had been looking for colleges. My father had insisted on some local college not far from the house to cut back on the cost of living had I gone somewhere across the country or continent.

We weren’t poor, exactly. Not rich either. And the campus on the brochure made it clear Hogwarts University of Humanities and Arts was not for people like me. With its grand castle-like buildings, the rolling hills that surrounded it, blanketed by snow in the winter when the photo had been taken, and the classical medieval looking classrooms inside, I wanted it more than anything I had ever wanted.

Greed, I suppose, could also be a flaw of mine. I am chock full of flaws. All the sins rolled into one. Although I hope you wouldn’t hold that against me. It is so much more interesting to get swept up in the amorality of it all.

From the moment I had laid my eyes on the brochure, I knew I wouldn’t stop at anything. I wanted to be there and I would. Sometimes my ambition showed through. Greed, ambition, hubris, maybe not concerning on their own.

I flipped through the brochure, eyes scanning the important parts of the text. Perhaps if I could get a scholarship, which was certainly possible with my above average grades and excellent record in my local university.

#tsh #the secret history #donna tartt #regulus black #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #marauders era #rosekiller #marauders fanfic #tsh au #evan rosier #james potter

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forestshadow-wolf · 2 days

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do you have any roach fic recs... any ship, any plot, any length, i literally have no preferences other than /roach/ i need more roach centric fics in my life....

I DO!

but first you should check out this post from @/boxofthings they have quite a few Roach centric fic recommendations. however it has been about six-ish months since then so I'll just add ones from recently

"you are a memory" by withyourrythm

"It takes 8 days of nursing an infected gunshot wound at his thigh, of trying to keep Roach breathing through the nights, before Ghost realizes that there is no help coming. Then, it’s time to move on."

"Roaching Around" by KDFoxbug

"Roach is captured by the enemy and becomes buggier"

"GhostRoach teehee :3" series by ghostroacharemybabies

Filled with a bunch of little stories I wrote of GhostRoach. Some sad, some happy. It’s just a mix of a bunch of emotions.

"Candy shop" by littlehorusaximand

roach is down bad for his lieutenant and his captain, and they accidentally find out.

"serendipity" by bravo six going queer (cornerdreams)

Roach gets back from a mission involving ice shelves, a compromising of his captain, and a harrowing snowmobile chase. Ghost is just happy he came back home safe. Both of them do a little reflecting.

"Just one kiss" by grechka_zhest

“Hey, L.T. ,” Roach muttered, licking the spoon and wincing right after at the taste of metal and canned meat, if it can even be called one, on his tongue. "Hm?", the lieutenant’s voice was tired and quiet, like Roach's own. It's nothing new. The sergeant quickly licked his dry lips, covered in small cuts. "Ever kissed before?", Sanderson asked with a grin in his voice. He himself doesn’t know whether this was supposed to be a joke or an insult. But behind the malicious grin there was a lively interest. Ghost chuckled, placing the now empty can on the ground, next to the sole of his boots.

"Memento Mori" by Anonymous

Roach got his callsign from being an unkillable insect with very little self preservation instinct. Unfortunately the rest of the team can be a little like that too, to the detriment of each other.

"How (not) to ask someone to marry you" by kkyso

Gaz needed to find a quick way to propose to Roach, but all his ideas seemed to go wrong. Until Soap has the brilliant and absurd idea at the same time, Making Gaz rethink the whole plan.

"These Bones Are Broken" by fixfoxnox

Roach nearly loses someone and it results in a momentary break in his carefully constructed mask.

"Two sergeants, one lieutenant" by Roach_Simp

Gaz, Ghost, Price, Soap and Roach go on a mission to get intel, finds out the mission was a set up then Roach gets kidnapped and tortured before they find him and then Roach, Ghost and Soap cuddle before it turns into spice. :3

"Roach" by MorningGlory30

"I promise I'll come back in once piece." After the death of his father, Gary "Roach" Sanderson thought that he should join the military just like his dad. He never really gave it much thought and as a seven year old, it never meant much to him. As he grew older, he came to like the idea of joining the military--of doing something better for his country than just being another rugby player. He joined as soon as he graduated and had worked hard in the SAS to be picked for an elite group of soldiers. Serving under Captain John Price and Captain "Soap" MacTavish wasn't the easiest thing to do because of how high the expectations were but it was something that he could handle. Even in the toughest times, Roach knew he could make it out of any dangerous situation and keep the promise that he made to his older brother.

"Raindrops" by TheCalmCreature

Gary doesn't seem to be fine after a mission. Simon checks up on him. written for the prompt: "[GhostRoach] Maybe they tend to each others injuries after a mission or they just need to make sure the other is ok? a happy/comfort ending”

"FNG... or something..." by KairaKara101

Gary knew those dreams were something strange yet it filled an empty part of his soul. There was something off about him. A bad luck charm perhaps? Gary really wished he knew why he was always the FNG. This time... being the FNG sucked. But past (?) collides with present. Once an ODST always an ODST. And you know what those ODST always said? Are you prepared to drop? Feet first into hell, troopers.

"Thorns in my lungs, petals on my tongue" by MossTimeBaby

the Roach Hanahaki fic that I was desperate to read

"Roaches Can't Die" by pinboardscarecrow

Ghost and Roach are betrayed by General Shepard; shot and killed by their own leader. But moments later, Roach wakes up back in the forest outside Makarov's safe house. Can he change his and Ghost's fates?

"is it really better to have loved and lost?" by MossTimeBaby

When Ghost has to fake his death to go deep undercover, Roach is left behind to pick up the pieces of himself.

"Two Sides of The Same Coin" by Vityed

It was Gary's first Christmas with Task Force 141, seeing as he had only joined the team six months earlier. As such, he had no idea what to expect. He just hoped it would be a good time to get to know everyone. Everything was perfect and ready. A Christmas tree decorated with tinsel, baubles and twinkling lights, and topped with a shining star, and plenty of alcohol to go around. What could possibly go wrong?

"Dear to you" by vani_tas_talk

messy university roommates breakup AU, starts as Roach/Soap/Ghost, endgame Roach/König

"If We Crash (I Hope We Do)" by mintyiecat

Simon and Gary live, and fall into a steady sort of companionship. Gary starts wondering (dramatically) what they are exactly. “How do you do that?” Simon scowls. “Swear to God it always jams.” ‘Magic fingers,’ Gary signs, and wiggles his.

#lovely ask #anon ask #el recs #el rambles #gary sanderson #gary roach sanderson #roach cod #roach call of duty #fic recs #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own

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artemismoorea03 · 1 year

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🫂 between Wukong and Sandy? Please?

Wukong was cold.

He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't cold, but he does remember that he wasn't always cold. He knew that the cold had gotten worse lately. He blamed it on LBD but it wasn't until more recent events that the cold seemed to be worse.

It was almost unbearable.

He wore whatever warm clothes he could despite it being the middle of summer. Sweaters and sweatpants were his go-to for everything but that just made him uncomfortable. He made his skin fill hot and flush, almost feverish and sweaty, but the inside chill remained.

It was so cold.

"Mr. Monkey King?" Sandy asked, walking over to Wukong who was sitting in the sun, wrapped up in his long warm clothing, and even using a blanket to try to warm up. "Are you sick?"

"No... just cold."

Sandy frowned, "May I touch your head? I want to make sure you're not overheating."

Wukong hesitated, he didn't know Sandy yet. But at the same time he did. He knew his soul as Sha Wujing; healed, repaired, reborn. He also knew him as one of MK's closest friends. A trusted friend and ally present life and current one.

"Sure." Wukong finally said.

Sandy smiled, then reached over and gently put his hand on his forehead with a concerned look. But while Sandy was worrying about - whatever it was he was worrying about - Wukong realized that Sandy was warm. The type of warm that he had been looking for.

"You're overheating a bit. How about we get you into lighter clothes? Or at least get you in the shade and get some water in you?" He asked, moving his hand as Wukong chittered sadly causing Wukong to blush as Sandy frowned. "Mr. Monkey King?"

"You're... you're warm. Sorry..." Wukong said.

Sandy's eyes widened. "Oh! I think I know why you're cold."

Wukong perked a bit. "You do?"

"Yeah. Here, let's go to the shade and I'll help you get warm."

This felt like a trap, but he was so desperate he didn't question it as he got up and walked to the shade. He let Sandy take the blanket from his shoulder, laying it down on the grass before he held his arms out to Wukong.

Wukong tilted his head. "Hugs?"

"Hugs." Sandy said.

Wukong raised a brow, this was totally a trap. But his could hear the others in the distance, they weren't going to jump him or hurt him or anything. Ah, why the fuck not. If Sandy wanted a hug he could have a hug.

Wukong walked over, wrapping his arms around Sandy's middle while Sandy hugged him back, towering over him as he rubbed circles on Wukong's back.

The affect was immediate. It was warm. Really warm.

Wukong let the tension leave his shoulders as he put his cheek against Sandy's stomach, his tail dropping as he just held on. Sandy didn't react and instead just kept hugging him and petting down his hair.

"It's warm..." Wukong whispered.

"I'm glad. How long have you been cold, Mr. Monkey King?"

"I... I don't know." Wukong said, refusing to let go. He was finally warm, he wasn't going to let the warmth go now. "Probably not too long... what's wrong with me? Am I sick?"

"No, you're not sick. You're touch starved."

"Touch...?"

"Yeah. It feels really cold, deep inside. Like a cold pit in the middle of your chest or even your stomach. You don't even realize it's there at first until you feel like the cold is crushing you. But it can be fixed like this."

"Oh... but it won't infect you, right?"

Sandy chuckled, "No, it won't. You can always ask me for hugs though when you feel cold. I also know that MK and Mei can help you. Tang would love hugs, but I know he makes you nervous a bit so you don't have to force yourself to be with him if you're not comfortable with him. Pigsy will be confused but he won't turn you down either." Sandy promised.

Wukong hummed softly, closing his eyes. "Tang only makes me nervous cuz he asks a lot of questions and praises me just a bit too much. Yeah, I'm... I'm pretty great... I guess. But I also don't like being reminded of all that stuff all the time. I get hugs from MK now and then but they're short. Mei and Pigsy though... I don't think they like me, so maybe not them. But... but you feel safe. You feel familiar. So maybe you and the kid will be okay until I get to know the others better."

"That's just fine, Mr. Monkey King. I love hugs."

"Sandy?"

"Yeah?"

"Just call me Wukong, okay?"

"Okay, Wukong, my friend." Sandy said and Wukong let out a slow breath.

Hugs.

Who would have guessed?

#lego monkie kid #Lego Monkie Kid Drabble #Ari Writes #ari rambles #this was supposed to be one thing and I wrote another #I think it turned out cute tho #look at them!

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hyakunana · 2 years

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Getting properly prepared for the cutscene decisive battle

#destiny #destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny art #bungie #sailor moon #season of the haunted #the young wolf #hunter guardian #fanart #comic #me: posts sad hcs of my hunter // now we return to our schedule // makes her stupid again #in this house we navigate from humor to sad to humor in a short span of time hope u get used to it asdfghj #this comic was supposed to come before the previous one but i didn't want to miss the bungie day timing #and i still have another one regarding the aotw for me to do and another one to be scheduled #AND the sylnatz one currently on production #I AM ON FIRE THIS WEEK OK #i wrote first 'in the name of the traveler' but then i realized i dont want to compromise w it in case traveler becomes a bad guy #thats my level of suspicion at least the light is just a thing xchoiniozz #@ that one person that called wormhusk one of the ugliest exotics in my replies - you just didn't use that enough to find it neat ok kjcxvxv #it gives the tokusatsu vibes i want for (me) her alright

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mermaidsirennikita · 4 months

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The dichotomy between what's popular according to booktok (from what I've see) from the most blandest books imaginable to the most taboo erotica you can think of is kinda wild.

I think that what gets me with taboo books recommended by BookTok is that they're usually very poorly written. And if the writing is poor, you're not really getting the full "shock" value.

Like, when you read Sierra Simone's Thornchapel series, the scenes read as really intense because Sierra is an excellent writer. In contrast, a book like Hooked (that one dark romance~ modern Captain Hook book, a concept I was very open to and wanted to like, for the record) is very badly written. There's taboo content and a horrible hero, but like... It just reads juvenile.

I'm about 65% through A Kiss at Midnight by Anne Stuart, a historical romance that is QUITE dark, but the writing is frankly fabulous. Because Stuart can write, the darkness (which is not like, the corny "oh he's so bad he's in a motorcycle gang" torture sequence stuff--it's TRULY intense and pretty accurate for the era) is balanced out by emotional progression and honestly? A very dry, at times dark humor. If a lesser writer handled this plotline, it would just seem like shock factor after shock factor layered on just to get people talking. Very 2edgy4me.

And I'm gonna be really real here. Some fanfic authors are made to transition to actual published books. I think Ali Hazelwood writes a really solid contemporary romance. I really enjoyed You, Again by Kate Goldbeck, and that's based on a fic I actually read. The Hurricane Wars works as a book. (And mind you, let's not take away from the work the editors and authors did to rework fics into actual books here.)

Some fic authors are meant to stay fic authors and to excel at that. I personally think that one of the reasons why we have so many blaaand romance novels right now is that a) some of them are written by less-equipped fic authors trying to write real books and b) some of the authors have read less actual books than they have fics.

There are some tensely plotted, exciting fics out there. But personally? I think the standout nature of those fics--fics like Manacled, which... I think.... is not.... for me. However, bland it is not lol--makes people think that is the NORM for fic, when it's not. The norm for fic, and what I think a lot of more casual fic consumers and people who read more fic than they do books (compared to a lot of romance readers who turn to fic to supplement their reading habits) is very plotless slice of life stuff.

And that's not meant to be derogatory. It works, especially when you're writing about characters a lot of people know and love and are PROGRAMMED to know and love. Even if it's AU and they're basically other people, if you're writing a modern, sedate romcom about Katniss and Peeta and she mentions going to archery classes and Peeta being a baker, people are like aawwwww and they enjoy the nicely written scenes that are just people being people.

That.... ultimately creates a bland story when you're writing a book about original characters nobody has a preexisting investment in.

#romance novel blogging #lol idk sometimes i feel like fic gets this sweeping pass bc we're not supposed to critique the work #and not critiquing the work is fine i'm not here to tell y'all a thing someone is doing for free is bad when they don't want feedback #BUT... i think it's fair to critique the way fic has been uplifted and held on this pedestal compared to books #and EQUATED to books #which is my biggest complaint always #it's not better or worse it's different and if you think you can transition from fics to books #without reworking your products and your style #and frankly often putting a lot more work in #... idk man that's just so low effort and i personally think that's one reason why we see subpar books where nothing happens #they've always existed some people just do that lol but some of it i read and i'm like #this is like someone wrote a review 200k word fic about absolutely nothing changed the names and bit publish #(and another thing--one way you CAN tell there is a different type of work being done with fic is the wordcount dif #the standard for say a historical romance #which is often given more room traditionally in terms of word count than a contemporary romance #is 100k words #contemporaries often have landed between 80k-100k #then you have these 150k contemporaries and they're bloated as hell #but that wordcount is not unusual for fics #and fics are nORMALLY if edited at all being edited by amateur beta readers who do not professionally edit work #and often only look for typos or scene/character issues versus things like overarching plot and structural weakness #ADDITIONALLY! when you read a fic you're usually reading someone writing in real time #whereas if you are reading a well-done actual book you're reading someone's like... billionth draft that's been worked over by #multiple eyes. and i include indie in this bc the really good indie books have usually been professionally edited #on top of critique partners proofers etc)#ANYWAY. MY RANT.

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essektheylyss · 1 year

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me, upon getting added to a Teams team for grad school: how soon is too soon to ask if anyone wants to connect on discord

the first person to post an intro: also no shade to teams but if anyone wants I made a little discord server so we can connect less formally :)

me: oh thank fuck

#listen the fact that i wrote 'Teams team' is like #if you expect me to hang out primarily over teams for three years you've got another thing coming.#HORRIFIC platform. fine for dms and one on one quick clarification calls.#but the actual team function is atrocious #is this supposed to be forum? is it supposed to be akin to a Facebook wall? cuz it's terrible at BOTH of those things

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dinitride-art · 9 months

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looks at ao3, finds nothing new that I want to read right at this moment (probably a fic in there I’m gonna end up reading later and being like woah this is great! But I don’t have the energy for that right now). Goes to my own works page. Stares. Glances over a multi chapter fic (incomplete), moves on. Sees another multi chapter fic, my baby, (incomplete) but… there’s not much else left to do. What if… no. I couldn’t. I- I shouldn’t. But… maybe… if I opened the document I could just… look and see

#the problem with that specific multi chapter fic #is that I started writing it and I wrote a bunch of it #and then I edited it as I went through it #and then I was kinda depressed for a hot minute and that definitely reflected in my writing #and I haven’t been able to figure out a way to fix it yet #also went through a crisis when writing it- and there’s another related crisis going on now #but i working on that one (hello aspec identities I’ve been ignoring)#so writing this is just… gonna be interesting #like hi yes I’d like to write about romance while questioning my own ability to feel that specific… thing? emotion?#this was supposed to be a funny fic about mike getting hit in the face in funny and unusual ways #wait- wait a fucking second- I’ve got it- I know how to write the next chapter #holy shit #that’s the answer #the rule of threes #once a wall twice a door and thrice-#thrice will be my final chapter #or second to last- final leg of the story #yes. yesss. it’s all coming together #I think #maybe #fuck #I don’t know anymore #aaauuuugghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #aaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #what do I even have written #what do I have left to write #why did I start writing this fic #I have so many questions

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eggmeralda · 20 days

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just woke up from the best film I've ever watched in my life only to realise it was a dream

#IT DOESN'T EXIST. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FUNCTION #is there an animated film about like these 6 rats or something escaping from this guy but there's all these themes that they go through #and the final theme is death bc one of them gets impaled by a rose thorn and it's like FUCK bc they were almost gonna get away #so there's this old guy who's a bit of a prick but he becomes nicer at the end but he's the one that dies #and these two girls one of them is like idk she's good at a lot of things and the other one is kind of a pushover #then three guys one of them is really pathetic one is kind of silly and one of them i guess is the Normal Main Character type #also there's humans going about their lives in the present but for some reason the rats' lives are set in like? early 20th century italy #and there's all these shots of like the italian scenery for some reason. idk why it's set there but it's a vibe #idk who the guy they're getting away from is or what he wanted with them but yeah #and bc they're rats or whatever type of rodent they were they would like hide in bushes and it would be really intense bc like #what if the guy can see them #and basically not to give any spoilers but then the old guy died and they wrote some quote on a bit of paper and drew a pic of him and stuc #it on the wall as tribute. and idk who's gonna see it bc I think they were amongst some plants at the bottom of like #one of those bench booths you get in restaurants or cafes. I have no idea #but then it ended with them walking up this hill into the sunset or something idek #with this like late 60s/early 70s big produced sweeping strings tambourines etc. banger playing over the credits #also my car was in it occasionally. and this guy I went to college with and never spoke to #and my best friend briefly #and earlier on I had another dream but idk if it was connected. but it was stan kyle kenny and cartman #but they got a job where my dad works in this park as like. toilet assistants. as in when someone went #to the toilet they'd open the door. that was the whole job #but one of the job requirements was they had to be beatles coded apparently #like that's what it said on the application. so they basically just reenacted the history of the beatles #while opening toilet doors #it was like 4 dreams in one but they were all somewhat connected. also the lining in my coat was so reflective it made a sound #and I was telling someone about my favourite chord progression idk what relevance that had but standard dream i guess #anyway. rodent storyline was going on as it did but at the end it became a film and suddenly I was there. watching it with my friend #and i was like ''god originally I would've given this a 4 maybe 3.5 on letterboxd but now it's getting a 5 + a ❤''#ramble #oneiro

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paigemathews · 4 months

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ooh I would like to contribute to the pairing ask

And I'm going to give you a bunch to choose from because I can't decide and also that way you get to do the ones that you find the most fun without trying to do the ones you don't have ideas for (pick whichever you like and feel no pressure to do them all):

wyatt and the manticore baby (this can be gen or romantic, whichever you prefer)

chris and bianca in the past

piper with her niece/nephew (gen, dealers choice for which child)

patty and paige (gen)

victor and henry sr bonding as mortals in a magical family

elise with one of the charmed ones offspring as honorary aunt

more of the baby morrises all grown up however you would prefer

piper re-meeting bianca in the future (gen)

phoebe and andy (gen), preferably with time travel involved, bc we get told andy cares a lot about all the sisters and vice versa but we don't really get to see that as much with phoebe

a charmed one with their ex bf in an unexpected situation (gen, again dealers choice of who)

time travelling wyatt and chris (gen)

and prue and paige (gen) either in a world where its a different sister that dies or after they've both died and they're looking at the mess and drama of future generations and Judging

I went ahead and added this to the initial post bc I did not originally, but I think that one pairing per an ask will probably be easier bc if I do all of these, it will end up being so long that someone will murder me for ending up on their dash. That said, I am begging you on my knees to resubmit the others because I want to do literally all of them please please please

Pairing: Wyatt Halliwell ? Sebastian Johnston (half-manticore baby)

-----

Trudging through the empty cavern, Wyatt kept glancing over to Sebastian uncertainly. His expression was uncharacteristically steely, normal jovial mood absent. Prior to their run-in with the demon, Wyatt had been the same way, intent on finding his siblings and cousins. He still was focused on finding them, but felt his attention split as they walked between worry for them and replaying the demon's words.

"Poor demon," she cooed, dodging the potion Wyatt threw. Darting into Sebastian's face, she smiled maliciously as she said, "Blonde of hair, fair of face, never will-"

She slammed into the wall as Wyatt snarled wordlessly, trying to get to Sebastian's side as the half-manticore shook off the daze that her spell had left them with. Sebastian opened his mouth, eyes narrowed, but the demon beat them to it.

Throwing her head back to let her hair fall back, she grinned as she threw out both hands. Half a second too late, Wyatt was caught in the blast as she telekinetically threw everything in her past. He lost sight of Sebastian as the demon's workstation flipped and-

Oh, wow, the Underworld really had tall caverns actually. Wheezing for breath for a minute, Wyatt heard the demon start her little rhyme over again absently as he tried to convince his lungs to take in a breath. That was good, because she wouldn't recite her weird... prophecy? spell? whatever over a corpse. Probably. You never could tell with demons.

Also there was no way that Sebastian, who came right behind Chris and Penny as the most likely Warren kid to fight demons by themselves - despite not even being, y'know, a Warren - was killed by one telekinetic blast. Chris did worse, and didn't that thought send a pang of worry about his younger brother through his chest.

Or, actually, that might be that one of the potions on the demon's workspace was apparently acidic in nature, and Wyatt's hand was burning a little now. Fuck.

Bracing himself, Wyatt sucked in a breath and pushed the table back and sat up. The demon was on top of Sebastian, one hand cupping his face as she finished her rhyme, "-of the Charmed One's embrace. Unrequited love is such a pain, little demon, let me spare you of it."

"Get away from hIM," Wyatt roared, throwing hands out, magic distorting his voice in the last minute. At his shout, both Sebastian and the demon's heads snapped over to look at him. Sebastian's eyes went wide, and he bucked his hips enough to startle the demon. Just as the energy blast was about to engulf them, Sebastian shimmered away, unfortunately taking the demon with him. The blast slammed into the wall, destroying the entire shelf of potions lining it.

Wyatt felt more than heard Sebastian reappear, spinning on his heel just as Sebastian came into view. Sending the demon sprawling onto the ground, Sebastian rolled to one side, scrambling onto his feet as the demon rose with a screech.

"Wyatt!" Sebastian pointed at the remains of the demon's knife collection scattered on the ground opposite of them, and Wyatt didn't hesitate. As the demon raised her arms, Wyatt threw out his arm and the demon's destroyed armory went flying at her.

"Well, that seems like karma," Sebastian commented, breathless, as the two watched the demon burst into flames. Seeing as the entire debacle started when the demon sent her own armory at them, Wyatt couldn't help but agree.

Blonde of hair. Fair of face. Something about a Charmed One. Unrequited love. Years of looks between family members and gently teasing comments that Wyatt never quite got.

Sebastian had been one of Wyatt's best friends since he was a baby. Whenever Sebastian spent time with someone, they were almost always guaranteed a fun time that they needed. Beyond just genuine joy, Sebastian would always have his friends' backs. He was Chris and Penny's most consistent backup in a demon fight. He was the person that Melinda would call when she wanted a friend to party with or play video games against. He was the person that would go after Parker when she got a too desperate need to prove herself as a witch. Even if they hadn't been friends themselves, Sebastian's love and care for Wyatt's family would have more then earned Wyatt's love. Despite his heritage, Sebastian was a compassionate person who loved deeply, and he was one of Wyatt's best friends.

But as the pit continued forming in his stomach, Wyatt knew that he didn't love him as more than a friend.

There was no guarantee that the demon had been telling the truth. But Sebastian's expression had been painfully exposed.

Demons were cruel, and it would be so characteristic of a demon to throw that in Sebastian's face right in front of the person he loved.

The thought kept taunting Wyatt, and he knew he needed to resolve it somehow. They were still tracking his siblings and cousins, and whoever managed to subdue multiple Warrens was sure to be dangerous. Being distracted was dangerous, but Wyatt couldn't bring it up to Sebastian and risk hurting him right-

"Dude," Sebastian said, and Wyatt stopped his anxious tirade of thoughts as Sebastian snapped in front of his face.

Blinking, Wyatt looked between the fingers in front of his eyes to Sebastian's face. He was still tired, still worried, but there was a familiar look of bemusement in his eyes as he looked at Wyatt. One hand was on his bicep, a light grip keeping him still, as he dropped his other hand.

"You back with me?" Sebastian asked.

Wyatt nodded mutely.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You spaced out for like. Five whole minutes. None of those demon's potions did anything to you, right?"

Wyatt shook his head. Sebastian opened his mouth to say something else, but Wyatt blurted out, "Blonde of hair, fair of face."

Sebastian's mouth snapped shut, as his gaze became unreadable. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence as Wyatt struggled to find words, Sebastian tilted his head and asked, "And? Is there a problem with that?"

His voice was guarded, but not hostile. Wyatt nearly tripped over his words as he frantically shook his head. "No! Just I don't know if-"

Sebastian's shoulders dropped an inch as his eyes softened. "Wyatt, I'm an adult. I don't need-"

"I'm sorry," Wyatt interrupted, guilt heavy in his stomach. He knew, logically at least, that he wasn't obligated to return feelings, but Wyatt never enjoyed hurting people, and to hurt one of his best friends was excruciating. "If I could, I would."

Wyatt winced at his words, because it wasn't as if Sebastian was unlovable, just that Wyatt didn't-

"No," Sebastian nearly snarled. Wyatt started, and Sebastian nearly looked as startled as Wyatt did. Still, he continued, "I don't need more than friendship, Wyatt. That's enough for me. As long as-"

You're happy, Wyatt mentally finished. Or you find someone. Some kind response that highlighted why Sebastian was great and why Wyatt felt awful.

"-she's happy and safe, I'll be okay."

Wait, what?

"But we need to get going to find them, because the longer we wait-" Sebastian was still talking as he turned to continue, but Wyatt was still stuck on the "she" part.

Had the demon actually... specified Wyatt? Thinking back, there was no actual guarantee that it had been Wyatt the demon was talking about. Blonde of hair, fair of face, and something about a Charmed One? Yes, that was Wyatt. It was also Melinda and Peyton. And sometimes Penny, but seeing as she was a lesbian and Sebastian knew that, Wyatt thought it safe to assume that Sebastian would have had plenty of time to get over it if it had been Penny.

Oh, boy.

Face burning, Wyatt interrupted, "She?"

Sebastian turned back around, voice fading as he took in whatever expression Wyatt had. They were both silent for a minute before Sebastian's lips quirked up. He couldn't control the grin as he asked, laughter in his voice, "Wyatt, did you think-"

"Blonde of hair, fair of face!" Wyatt protested immediately, feeling just a little stupid.

Sebastian outright began laughing as he finished, "Never will feel the daughter of a Charmed One embrace. Unless you have something to tell me, which I completely support-"

Wyatt pushed past Sebastian as he kept laughing, face burning but heart lighter than it was.

As he continued on his path, Wyatt heard Sebastian fall in step just behind him, still laughing. They still had demons to vanquish and family to save, but at least he wasn't responsible for breaking one of his best friend's heart.

Wait. Did that mean Sebastian liked his sister?

#starlightandsunshine #asks #charmed #wyatt halliwell #sebastian johnson #wyatt x sebastian #wyatt & sebastian #i'm tagging both bc that's the question of this so i don't wanna spoil it #also seeing as i named sebastian it's not like i'm spamming a tag the tag doesn't exist #also this is so not a fucking ficlet dammit this is nearly 1500 words #that was not the goal here!!#this was supposed to be short and sweet!#but i had fun but please no one expect things to be this long bc that was not the goal fuck #but also i absolutely adore all of the prompts but this is already humongous so imagine if i actually wrote all of them on this one post #especially bc i was actually initially going to write another ficlet with wyatt and sebastian #but since this is already so long i will no longer be doing that #okay uhhh now i gotta create a tag for all these #how aboutttttt #february ficlets #that'll work for now at least okay cool #hopefully you like this! it was a lot of fun to do lmao even if it so much longer than the goal

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aqqleshiqqing-archive · 9 months

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this is such an indulgent au I made for myself that's not even related to selfshipping but i love to imagine the dexholders in a filipino school setting where some of the kids are part of the class officers and this is definitely based on my irl experiences with my old class when I was elementary to... freshman. <3

#ill just ramble in the tags from here on out #the class batch counts from the kanto to the hoenn dexholders - since they're all the most tied to one another #the officer list might change but the ones ive definitely settled were like #blue. he's the president of the class - he's quiet smart but handsome and would be a teacher's pet because he's also oak's grandson #red is vice president - he's a goofy compared to blue but he still has that vibe of someone you can absolutely rely on (and he does it)#would sometimes get told off by blue for being too carefree with his duties but they still go well together as a duo #i think i wrote secretary for crystal!! since crystal would definitely have a lot of biodata on her pokemon #it's only natrual that she'd be pretty good at being a secretary #in my class being a secretary means to keep track of students' attendances and names - basically writing a lot of things!#she's the smartest i like to think shes probably in the same ranking as blue (high honor students)#red is around the middle #green is the treasurer! (i was the treasurer last school year actually)#now i know this ones such a wild one because green is noctorious for being a good thief but that also means you cant outsmart her with money #and she's sure to keep the money safe. maybe she would spend the money secretly for her personal wants but she refills the amount she paid #<- i totally did that. nobody from my class knows me here so i can say this with full confidence AKSJSJAJJSJSJD #except its not for personal its for emergency LMAO like getting plete for tricycle n shit #looking at my notes apparently i wrote that sapphire and gold should be sergeants - i mean. i mean they can do the job but like #they're also kinda. insane so like - that's gonna be funny #sergeants are supposed to watch for their classmate's misconduct or stop anyone from fighting or whatever #that's all i wrote - i left the rest blank #about sapphire - i totally see her in my old classmate who was crazy about anime boys (except its franticshipping)#she's aggressive (to boys especially) but she also gets super UWU OMG KYAA BOYS <3 bitch THAT'S LITERALLY SAPPHIRE AND RUBY #that girl also acts tsundere at times so like. yeah you're sapphire coded girlie #ok thats all....#i kept this au to myself for like 2 months now PGPPTPTPTPGTP #pokespe hours #🍀 jil's rambling

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earthbaby-angelboy · 6 months

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caramel macchiatos, croissants with nutella, and an angel with sideburns: the musings of a grown child whose trying.

theres a stilling comfort in knowing that i’m awake when everyone else is asleep, being left with an amalgamation of ghosts from past, present and future; it’s like mist dissipating over a lake.

one breath, and it’s all gone.

my head feels fuzzy, and my body hurts. i’m fighting sleep off like a priest fighting demons. the reality of my situation hits me, and panic ensues two or three times; it’s like i’m 7 all over again. except now, there’s something different…

there’s an angel with black hair and sideburns whose wings are covered in multicolored diamonds.

and while i feel like i’m back in the house and like you can hear the screams echoing off the foyer walls, something is different.

this time, i’m sitting in his lap and we’re backed into a corner. my head is leaning against his chest, my arms crossed over my front in lieu of a shield, and loud whine or quiet hum (i can’t tell which is which) is coming from the back of my throat.

our hearts are beating together in rythm, even though his stopped 47 years ago.

for a second, i feel embarrassed for even writing this; it quickly diminishes, though, because i am just a small child having emotions bigger than my own body.

i realize that he’s not here (nor was there) to fight the screams off, or tell them to stop fighting.

he doesn’t care about that, he’s here to help me survive.

it dawns on me now that the universe is recreating a scene from that damned year, but it’s playing out in a way completely unexpected…

cause i’m not 7.

i’m almost 17, but i’m still just as small.

difference is that now, i’m not powerless against the screaming, and i’m not filled with fear.

instead of trying to fix everyone else’s problems, i’m worried about regulating my own.

for moments more slight as forever, he cuts through the cymbals crashing in my brain and i can hear him saying something.

his tone isn’t angry, demeaning, accusatory or mocking, like all the voices i had become accustomed to hearing but banished out to hell.

it’s bizarrely gentle and kind and parental and romantic, all wrapped up into one.

i’m in the present now.

everything has changed, yet nothing at all.

it all happened so fast, and i take a moment to pity myself.

the angel is dead, survived by books and records and the creation of others.

as i’m writing this, i now realize he was dead way back when too. if now, he seems more alive than ever.

but it wasn’t really ‘way back when’, was it?

i see glimpses of his face everywhere i turn now, for nothing more than a few seconds.

sometimes it’s 2:22, or the rainbow made by the moon, or audubon drive popping up on google at 10:34 in the morning.

those few seconds give me enough hope to walk through a dark valley that just keeps getting steeper.

i’ve come to realize the angel that is (and was) with me was NOT the one they claimed to know.

if i try hard enough, he can remain untouched.

it seems that my generation is not rewriting, but retelling the story, his story, all while creating an intense reflection of the comfort so very many of us were denied.

call it inaccurate as you please, we are taking something that was far beyond its time, and applying it to ours.

and i wonder for more than a minute if there was a reason he behaved the way he did.

was there a reason for all the peculiarities other than an eccentric-erratic personality? or is it more like “it takes one to know one?”

because even in our year, i’ve never seen someone in his position behave the way he did: so loving and kind and brutal and rough and erratic…

and terribly brilliant.

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