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polybiiex · 9 months

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PULSE DEMON (from 2020)

a redraw of the album cover of merzbow's iconic album "pulse demon."

#my old art #merzbow #pulse demon #noise #harsh noise #eye #fake album art #album art #demon #artists on tumblr #minimalism #1990s

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 2 months

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Before You Go

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is a grad student in college trying to work hard for her degree, but a certain green eyed stranger keeps showing up and turns her life upside down. Will she push him away? Or will she finally realize that he’s not going anywhere? (I’m so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Tropes: Angst, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Age Difference (Reader is early to mid-20's and Dean is probably early 30's)

Word Count: 5.5K (I have an addiction don't judge me)

Warnings: Some swearing (once or twice), mentions of sex (not explicit at all), implied sex, self-deprecating thoughts (Dean), Dean might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. I’m not going to lie, this one is a little self-indulgent. This is only my second supernatural fic, so please be gentle. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Masterlist

Part 2

********************************************

"Did you understand anything from that lecture?" Tim asks nudging your shoulder.

The sour smell of beer and sweat fades in and out of your nose as you make your way to the Science building through the mass of students on the way to the football game. It was a Thursday night, Thursday night for everyone else meant tailgating, cheap beer, and face paint, but Thursday night for you meant four hours in the anatomy lab surrounded by the oppressive smell of formaldehyde and bent over a table examining the internal intricacies of the human body.

It wasn’t unwelcome, you knew what you signed up for when you decided to go to medical school, but you still wished that the lab was earlier in the day instead of at 6 pm.

The air is filled with the dull throb of energy, pulsing with the music from speakers all over campus, and through the throngs of people that pass you on the way to the stadium. The buzz of excitement in the air vibrated through your nerve endings. If you paid attention to how well the football team was doing, you would have known that tonight was the championship, but the closest you got to pigskin was the bag of pork rinds in your backpack and the occasional football player that asked you for help finding research materials during your shifts at the library.

"Nope." You reply jostling past a group of guys toting a giant stuffed pig wearing jersey of the school’s rival while they catcall some girls up ahead dressed from head to toe in bright red.

"Then why did you keep nodding?"

"Because Professor Drake was staring right at me!"

"You didn't have to make eye contact."

"It's a little late for that don't you think?" You smile up at him. He's taller than you, with dark hair falling forward into his glasses and a lean build. "But it's alright, I'll just binge watch YouTube videos."

Tim laughs adjusting his backpack over his shoulder. You had been lab partners since your first year, randomly assigned and forced to collaborate, but after many late night study sessions and mental breakdowns, Tim was one of your only friends.

“You seem to spend a lot of time on YouTube." He smiles.

"It's free education."

"Seems ridiculous to pay all this money just to learn it on YouTube."

"If YouTube handed out degrees for watching videos I’d be a doctor by now. I’d probably also have a degree in culinary arts.” You look down to check the watch on your wrist. You were both running late for lab. Dr. Welsh hated it when students were late, in fact, he was notorious for locking the door. Each week there was always some poor soul that banged on the door for entry, but Dr. Welsh knew no mercy. One time, you witnessed another student attempt to sneak in through the window an hour late. Dr. Welsh made them go back out the way they came, despite the lab being on the third floor.

At least the student brought a ladder with him.

“Culinary arts?”

“I like pie. Plus baking helps me cope with my stress.” You knock into his shoulder to shut him up. “What? You don’t watch anything weird on YouTube?”

“I usually start watching videos to understand the lectures and suddenly it’s been 7 hours, it’s 3 am and I’m watching a timelapse of metal rusting.”

“We’ve all been there buddy.”

"Hey doll-face!" You hear from somewhere behind you, but you ignore it, believing it to be another group of guys who splash beer over the sidewalk.

You glance down at your watch again.

"We're not going to be late." Jake says sensing your anxiety. "We've got 5 minutes."

"Early is on time, on time is late, late is inexcusable." You sing-song.

"Dr. Welsh embroider that on a pillow for you?"

"No it’s just-"

Someone grabs your backpack and pulls you back a step. What the- You whirl around prepared to cuss out a drunken frat boy, but you weren't expecting Dean Winchester.

"Dean." You say in surprise.

He looks better than you remember. Dean's wearing a red flannel covered by a black jacket, his hair tousled just the right amount to look effortless, his green eyes crinkled around the edges as his mouth pulls into a smile that makes your knees weak.

Your relationship, if you could even call it that, began your first week of classes, two years ago. You had just moved into your apartment and met your new roommate, but instead of going out to the new student mixer with her, you decided to stay in and unpack. It was past midnight when you heard a commotion in the apartment next door and when you opened your front door to investigate, you found Dean in the hallway leaning against the wall. His clothes were torn, he had a knife in his hand, blood was soaked through the front of his shirt, but when his eyes met yours, you weren't afraid. He looked so broken, so small that you had to help him. So you pulled him into your apartment and stitched him up the best you could, while he tried to lie about how it happened and explain why he looked like he'd been through a blender. Dean had never been good at lying to you, not even then. He was also the biggest baby you had ever met when it came to wound care.

In the months that followed Dean continued to show up, each time with injuries less and less life threatening asking you to help him, until one day he showed up perfectly fine and continued to show up. You would spend every minute together for a few days and then he would leave like nothing happened, only to show up again in a few weeks and it would start all over again. Sometimes you thought that he wanted more than just a few days together, but then he would just leave, not giving you any other explanation. You hadn't expected to fall for him as hard as you did, but each time he left it broke you. You found yourself hoping each day that he would show up, only to be disappointed when he didn't. Days would drag by fading into shades of gray until finally Dean would show up and everything went back to color, only to sink back into monochrome when he left. The last time you had seen him was a month ago, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and told him not to come back.

But now he was here, again.

"Hey Doll-face." Dean smiles wider.

You try to ignore how your heart stutters in your chest when he smiles at you.

"Do you know this guy?" Tim asks you taking a step forward to put himself between Dean and you.

Dean's eyes trace Tim, smile slipping into confident smirk as he sizes him up. He opens his mouth, but you interrupt whatever thought was about to come out.

"Unfortunately I do." You sigh. "Tim can you give us a minute."

"Sure. But-"

"I know." You say, understanding that he was going to remind you what time it was. "We won't be late."

"I'll be over there." Tim puts a healthy distance between the two of you, far enough to give you space, but close enough that he can see you.

Dean is still smirking at him. "Boyfriend?" His eyes flit to yours, amused.

"Lab partner." You adjust your grip on your backpack unsure what to do.

I said everything I needed to say the last time. I thought that was it. Did he think I didn't mean it?

You think about the last time he was here, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and when he finally left, how you skipped all your classes and stayed in bed for two days clutching a pillow to your chest and wishing that it was him. It had felt like the end. The end of whatever the hell this had been. Sometimes you wished that you had defined it the first time you slept together, wished that you had told him you didn't do that ever, that you didn't just sleep with people without feelings because you knew sooner or later it would end up like this.

Then again you knew that you always had feelings for him, since the moment you locked eyes with his the night you met.

"He’s cute. If you’re into that geeky kind of thing. Though you could always date Sam-"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood. Plus I didn’t want to miss the big game.” Dean's eyes flit to the mass of people swarming around you, shouting and singing as they stumble down the cracked pavement. The dark shadows of the buildings stretch long over campus, illuminated by the lamplights that line the sidewalks.

"You should have called"

"I did. You never pick up" He arches a perfect eyebrow.

"Most would take that as a hint"

"Well Sweetheart given my profession you not picking up made me worry."

By now you knew exactly what he did. Despite Dean not acting like he wanted a relationship, when all was quiet and it was just the two of you laying in bed he confided in you, told you things about his life that made you hold him close and wish that you could make him forget all about it. You loved those soft moments with Dean, when it felt like more and you could imagine that Dean wanted to be as wrapped up in you as you were in him.

Your heart clenches in your chest as you try to forget it all, forget the day he walked into your life, and forget how much you like him.

"I can’t do this with you right now, I’ve got a lab in 3 minutes." You turn towards where Tim is standing, prepared to leave.

"Come on you can blow off one lab.” Dean grabs your backpack turning you back to face him. “We can go to the big game. You know I can’t say no to free beer-“ The look in his eyes is joking.

He doesn't understand.

You shake him off. "No I can't Dean. This is important to me. This is my life. I can't drop everything just because you show up out of the blue."

"It wouldn't be out of the blue if you picked up your phone." His smile dips into an attractive pout that makes it very difficult to think.

"Dean why are you here?"

"I told you, I was in the neighborhood-"

"We talked about this. I can't do this anymore."

"I remember you talking about it."

"Yes and I remember you leaving." You snap as the memory of the last time you saw him rises in the back of your throat. You think about the days that followed, when you couldn't focus and flunked a test.

"Y/n-“ Dean sighs.

"Look, I like spending time with you, but I can't keep doing this to myself. You show up, we spend every second together for days, and then you leave. It would be one thing if we were trying to do long distance, but we’re not. All I get is radio silence for weeks and then you show up all over again like nothing happened, expecting to pick up right where we left off, and the cycle begins all over again."

"I don't go radio silent for weeks. It’s you that doesn’t pick up your phone or text me back.”

"Yes you do and I can't do it. I won't do it. Because every time you leave I wonder if it's the last time I'll ever see you and-" You take in a breath to stop the ball of emotion that lodges itself in your throat. "It does something to me. And I'm not saying that what you do is any less important than what I'm trying to accomplish here. I’m not telling you to stop hunting. But this is my life Dean, my future. And I don’t want to put that in jeopardy because you show up every few weeks when you’re feeling restless. I want more than a few days every few weeks. I want more and I'm worth more. And if you can't give that to me that's fine, but please stop coming around and so I can find someone else who can."

The expression on Dean's face shifts, it's no longer the playful smirk or attractive pout, it almost looks heartbroken.

But that can't be right. Dean doesn't see me that way.

You look at where Tim is waiting for you to avoid Dean's gaze. He’s looking down at the watch on his wrist and you can feel his apprehension.

"I've got to get to my lab." You turn away from Dean, but stop halfway to Tim. "It was good to see you Dean. I wish you the best."

As Tim and you begin to walk away, you can feel Dean's eyes on you the whole way up the stairs into the science building, but you refuse to turn back.

"Are you okay?" Tim whispers.

"I will be. Let's just go before Dr. Welsh locks the door." You mutter while pushing down the guilt that rose when you thought of how Dean looked when you walked away.

********************************************

Despite Dr. Welsh’s attempts to lock the door, you were far too angry with Dean to let another man stand in your way, so when you and Tim arrived to lab 10 seconds before the clock struck 6, you shoved your boot in the door before Dr. Welsh could shut it. And by some miracle he let you in. Maybe it was the murder in your eyes.

Tim had been stunned, you were usually more reserved, not quick tempered. But everything that happened with Dean rubbed you the wrong way.

You couldn’t decide if you liked him or hated him. Right now the hate was winning.

How dare he? You thought to yourself, hand clenching on the scalpel so tightly that Tim backed up. How dare he just show up again after I told him not to?

“Y/n, are you okay?” Tim had asked.

“I’m fine. Don’t I look fine?” You’d snapped at him.

Even Dr. Welsh had given you a wide berth through lab.

After you cleaned up everything it was 10:26 pm, which meant you had a little time before your late shift in the library.

“Did you want to go see if that shawarma food truck is still parked around the corner?” Tim asks hesitantly.

“No. I’m just gonna go to the library and study before my shift.” You mumble, shouldering your backpack and ignoring the urge to think about Dean.

Hopefully he took the hint and he’s gone. The thought brought a prick of guilt. Would that be the last time I ever saw him? Would those be the last words I ever said to him? You fight the urge to call him, to apologize, because the one thing you had wanted to say was that you liked him and you didn’t want him to go, you wanted him to stay in your life permanently. Sure long distance was hard, but for him it would be worth it.

“Oh.” Tim pauses for a minute. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Huh?”

“Well that Dean guy. You seemed kinda upset.”

“I was- am. But it’s okay, give me a few hours I’ll be over it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

“Make sure to send the link to that Timelapse of metal rusting.” You try to smile, but the joke falls flat.

“Okay.” Tim watches you go.

The library was only a 9 minute walk from the science building, but it still felt too long. You longed to be lost in your notes, to think of anything else other than Dean, but you couldn’t.

Why did he have to come back? Why couldn’t he have just let it lie? I was doing better- You think about the weeks that followed his last visit, a haze of homework, tests, and work. Well, I was doing okay.

The thrum of music is still in the air, but now less people pass you as you walk down the sidewalk, and the ones that do are holding hands and laughing. Your thoughts shift to Dean again.

I like him, but I have to get over him because it’s not going anywhere. You think about the first time you slept together. Maybe this is my fault, maybe I should have defined this from the beginning. I mean, I know the kind of person he is… That thought makes you pause. Sure the first few times you’d patched his wounds Dean was sexy and flirty, but all the times that followed he seemed, sweet, charming. It wasn’t that you spent every moment in bed, he had taken you out to dinner at the diner down the street, fought with you over the last slice of pie, took you to a bar for drinks where he shamelessly beat you at pool, other times he waited for you to be done with your classes to make sure that you didn't have to walk home alone at night. You remember how mad he had been when you told him you did that, but gas was so expensive and it was easier to walk the four blocks.

Someone grabs your arm from behind, pulling you out of your memories, and you finally snap. Using the only self defense move you knew, besides S-I-N-G from Miss Congeniality, you knock off the hand and flip the offender over your shoulder prepared to spray them in the face with the mace in your pocket.

But then you realize who it is.

Dean frowns up at you from the ground. “When I taught you that, I didn’t expect you to use it on me.”

“Just be happy that I didn’t pepper spray you.” Your eyes narrow.

Maybe I should. It would make me feel better.

“Would have been the highlight of my night.” He stands up from the ground brushing off the front of his clothes with a pointed look.

“Dean what are you still doing here?”

“I want to talk.”

“I’ve said all I need to.”

“But I haven’t.”

“I don’t care. You’ve heard what I need to say and I’m sick of you not listening.”

“Y/n-“

“Fine, I’ll say it one more time, but listen this time. I've never, never depended on anyone else in my life. It's been me, me for a long time.” You poke your finger into his chest to emphasize your point. “Then you just sauntered in and changed everything. You made me care about you, worry about you, and you made me depend on you showing up in my life. Every time you leave it breaks me. Every time I’m in a funk for days. The last time you left, I cried for two days and I didn’t go to any of my classes! I'm trying to be serious about my life. And I can't do that if you show up every few weeks and make me expect something and then leave a few days later and I'm devastated.”

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“I have to get over you Dean, and I can't do that if you keep showing up. So please just go.” You turn away from him.

His hand comes down on your arm again to turn you back to him. “I don’t want you to get over me.”

“What?”

“Do you think I like leaving you? Do you really think it’s that easy for me?” He looks hurt.

“It certainly seems to be when you walk out after a few days with a smile like it means nothing! Like I mean nothing-“ You fight the tears that burn against your eyes. You wanted to be something for him just as much as he was something for you, but you were afraid. You hadn’t depended on anyone since you graduated and moved away from home. You weren’t used to needing someone in your life this much.

"You mean everything!” Dean shouts grabbing your shoulders. “It’s me that means nothing."

You blink your eyes for a second, not comprehending what he’s trying to say. "Dean what are you talking about?"

"I didn't think you wanted that-" He looks down.

Your eyes trace the slump in his shoulders, the frown on his handsome face, and the way he won’t meet your gaze.

What is he talking about?

You try to think of a time that you’d seen him look so vulnerable, but the only time you imagine was the night you met.

"Wanted what?"

"Me.” Dean’s voice is a whisper.

"I'm confused."

His eyebrows are furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m nothing like you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re a little younger than me and you’re smart and you’ve got this bright future ahead of you. You don’t need someone like me dragging you down-“

“Someone like you? Dragging me down? Dean what are you talking about?" You can't comprehend what he's saying. You reach up to cup his cheeks, but Dean pulls back from you, glancing away.

“I didn’t go to a fancy college, I barely finished high school. I’ve spent most of my life in motel rooms committing credit card fraud and trying not to die. And then I met you. You’re funny and caring and so smart, and I just thought that you would like it more if I came by every once in a while to relieve some tension. I didn’t think that you would want me to stay.”

He didn’t think that I would want him? That can't be right. Dean is so confident usually. You search his face and see the genuine vulnerability behind his green eyes.

“Are you serious?” You ask him.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Dean, you are smart-“

“Not the same way you are”

“Dean.” You can’t help but take his hand. Dean’s green eyes focus on yours for a second, wide and open. “You don’t have to go to college to be smart. You’re resourceful and you know more about supernatural creatures than anyone else. Even the top scientists and doctors in the world don’t believe in them and they went to stuffy old colleges and fight with one another over who’s smarter. I don’t care that you didn’t go to a fancy college. What you do is important, probably more important than what I’m going to do. You protect people, you’ve saved the world more than once, and sure maybe it’s not glamorous to some people but it is to me.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“Have you thought that maybe I like spending time with you because you’re so different than the people I see everyday?” You ask him softly, squeezing his hand.

“No.” Dean mutters.

“I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I don’t have lavish wealthy parents bankrolling me. My dad is a mechanic. I work two jobs and send him money so I don’t have to worry about him. Sometimes I feel like a fraud. But when you show up I don’t feel like a freak. With you I feel like I don’t have to pretend, I can just be me. And I like you, a lot. This has never just been about relieving tension or sex for me. Ever. I mean it’s nice-“

“Just nice?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

You flush bright red. “I like spending time with you without that too. All the times we spent laying in bed or went to a bar or went to get food, and we talked were equally as wonderful for me. I like talking with you. I like hearing about your life. I just assumed that you had someone in every state that you visit when you’re feeling restless and that you didn’t want a relationship.”

“There’s no one else. Hasn’t been since I met you.”

Deans eyes lock with yours as you comprehend what he just confessed.

“Really?” Your voice is only a whisper.

“Fuck I’m not good at this romantic comedy shit-“ He mutters to himself shaking his head. “I like you too. I wish that I could be here all the time. I hate leaving you. It’s too quiet. When I’m not here all I do is think about you, what you’re doing, how your day was.”

Your entire body explodes with his words, heart beating so fast you think it’ll grow wings and take flight.

“When I was younger I used to laugh at Sam because he wanted a normal life, but with you I understand. You’re so different than anyone I’ve ever met and it hurts me when I’m away from you.” Dean continues with a soft smile that makes you lose all feeling in your legs.

He takes your other hand. “I understand that what you’re doing is important and I’m not asking you to quit school. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance. I want to make this work. I know that long distance isn’t easy, but I want to try.” His eyes search yours, begging for a answer, but you can barely breathe let alone speak. You watch his face fall as he takes your silence as your answer. “But I understand if you don’t want to, because you are worth more. You’re worth more than a few days, than a phone call or a text. You deserve someone who can be here with you all the time. You’re worth more than what I can give you. And you shouldn’t have to settle-“

You grab the front of his flannel because you can’t think of anything to say and pull him down to you for a kiss. Pins and needles trace down your spine as his soft lips move against yours. He smiles against your mouth, folding you into him, his large hand on the small of your back just under your backpack causing warmth to shoot down your spine. You lose yourself in the way his body fits around yours

“I’m not settling.” Your hands cup his cheeks as you look deep into his eyes. “I never want you to feel that way, because you are worth a hundred of any man I have ever met in my life. And if it’s my cross to bear to make you understand that every day of my life, then so be it. Because I would be lucky to spend any amount of time with you. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you, Dean. I’ve wanted you since the day we met and every day after. And I’m yours as long as you want me.”

Dean’s smile breaks open something in the pit of your stomach and goosebumps scorch across your skin. “I can’t imagine not wanting you.” He presses his forehead against yours.

You stand there with his warm hand pressed into your back trying to think of another time that you felt even a fraction of what you feel for him. You think about your high school boyfriend, about a few of the guys you dated in during your undergrad years, but you come up with nothing. Because you can’t compare him to anyone else you’ve ever met. And it hurt you to think that Dean thought so little of himself in the grand scheme of things.

He leans down to kiss you again, pulling you against his chest so tight that everything blissfully falls away.

“Are you hungry?” He whispers against your lips after a minute.

“Yes, but my shift at the library starts soon. I’m there til 2.” You tighten your hands at the back of his neck, not wanting to let him go.

“Okay. I’ll go with you.”

“Dean it’s okay if you just want to go back to my apartment and sleep. I can give you the key-“ You notice the dark circles under his eyes, but you know that Dean wasn’t one to complain about being tired.

“It’s worth being tired if I get to see you.” Dean smiles. “But I’ll go get us some food, because I’m hungry too.”

“Don’t forget the pie.”

“Have I ever?” He brushes his lips to yours one more time, but you don’t remove your arms from around his neck. “You’re going to have to let me go doll.”

“Just 5 more minutes.”

********************************************

You spend the weekend together in your apartment. All those blissful moments together solidify the thought that this is real, that this time it’s going to be different. Every night going to bed with Dean tucking you against him and waking up every morning with your head on his chest feels like a dream, and you never want to wake. Every kiss and intimate moment between you feels like more, and you have to keep reminding yourself that it isn’t just sex, hasn’t ever been just sex. Dean wants to be there with you all the time, hold you close to him and share things with you. And this time you finally understand that you do help him forget and know that you do bring him as much comfort as he brings you.

When Monday comes and Dean has to go, you try not to think of it as the end.

Dean leans back against the door of the Impala, his hands on your hips, green eyes blazing in the sun, but it’s his eyes that warm you more than the sun’s rays.

"Sweetheart-" Dean begins, sensing what you’re thinking. His thumbs rub smooth circles against waist where your t-shirt rests.

"I know." You press your face into his flannel, inhaling the scent you ascribe to Dean. He smells like oil, leather, and the spicy scent of the soap he uses that tickles your nose.

"Hey." His free hand comes under your chin to raise your gaze back to his. "I promise I'm gonna come back. I promise that we're going to make this work. It’s going to be different.” He cups your cheek, eyes soft and understanding.

“I know, but you’re still leaving.” Your tighten your arms around his chest.

“I wish I didn’t have to. But Sam called, he needs me-“

“I know.” You breathe.

You don’t want Dean to feel any worse than he does about leaving, especially when you remember what he said to you a few days ago, about you deserving more and about how he wished he could be more for you. Deep down you know that both of you are determined to make this work, so you put on a smile.

“It’s okay.” You gently rub his back. “You’ll be back in 2 weeks and I’ll be on spring break in a month.”

“Does that mean I’ll get to see you in a bikini?” Dean grins.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Hmm. Well until I see you-“ He raises his right hand from where it rests on your hip to remove the large silver ring from his finger. "Don't panic, it's not an engagement ring." Dean's smile breaks you a little. "Just me promising that I'll come back, that I'll call and text you so much that you'll be sick of me." He slides the ring onto your thumb, the weight comforting.

"I could never be sick of you."

“Just you wait.” He winks, holding your hand to his chest. “I bet I can prove you wrong.”

“I welcome the challenge.”

The kiss goodbye is bittersweet, but you hold yourself together, refusing to cry as Dean gets into his car and leaves. You watch the Impala disappear around the corner, taking your heart with it, but just as it does your phone rings.

“Hello?”

“I miss you.” Dean’s voice fills the line and this time you can’t stop the tears.

“I miss you too.”

“I promise I’ll be back in two weeks.”

“Okay. Please be careful.” You remember all the stories he's told you over the time you’ve known him, all the horrible things that happened to him and Sam. Sometimes you wish he hadn’t, because you can’t help but worry.

“I’m always careful.” You can hear him rolling his eyes.

“As the person who has spent the past 2 years patching you up, I can say with certainty that you are not always careful.”

“Then I promise to be more careful than usual.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” The wind picks up, pulling your hair from the ponytail at the back of your head.

“I’ll call you when I make it back to the bunker.”

“Good.”

“Bye y/n.”

“Bye Dean.”

Your gaze drops to the heavy ring on your thumb and you hold tight to the hope and belief that this time is different, allowing the memories of the past few days to brush away any doubts that threaten the thought of what the future will bring.

********************************************

Thank you so much for reading! I am considering doing a series with this reader and Dean, but let me know what y’all think!

#spn #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #spnfandom #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fluff #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fic #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #soft dean

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mrs-gucci · 7 months

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For the Hunt

{ werewolf!flip zimmerman x female reader }

anon

Werewolf Flip wanting to knock you up (or role play at it) and scenting when you’re ripe for him and chasing you down and pounding you

thank you for submitting this!!

warnings. SMUT (18+), werewolf in rut, primal kink (hunter/prey), breeding kink w/no intention of actually getting pregnant, dirty talk, outdoor sex, creampie, minimal aftercare.

word count: 995

🐺 written for werewolf wednesday 🐺

Your breathing is soft, exhilarated, creating little puffs of steam in the cold night air. A shiver runs down your spine, out of excitement or nerves, you’re not really sure.

You two have an agreement that on rut nights, he has full consent to use you however he wants or needs to. He tells you what he needs from you on a particular night and you give it to him willingly, whether it's being tied up on the bed down in the basement or up at his remote mountain cabin.

His absolute favorite thing, however, is when he gets to hunt you. Which is why you’re currently standing behind a big pine tree, trying to steady your breathing.

By now you’ve nearly perfected the art of giving Flip a good chase, having been with him for almost six years. And tonight is an extra special full moon because you’re ovulating, which gives Flip the ultimate prize in his werewolf brain: the chance to breed you.

He looks up at the full moon with his golden eyes, knowing it’s time to hunt, he lifts his snout eagerly.

Almost instantly, he picks up traces of your scent and his paws thud against the earth as he runs into the thick Colorado wilderness. He can already feel that this is one of his more mild ruts, but he's still just as desperate and tuned-in regardless.

Flip slows down and sniffs the air again, knowing that he's close. You can feel him nearby, sticks snapping and leaves crunching under his large paws.

You sneak a look around the tree and he doesn't seem to notice, so you quickly attempt to sneak to another tree. But of course, his head whips over and you freeze, then take off running.

He feels the familiar tingle of his primal hunting instinct creeping up through his body, but he still gives you a head start before taking off in your direction, eyes beginning to turn black with desire.

Your breathing is heavy as you sprint away from Flip, trying to give him a good chase. He growls softly out of sheer thrill and quickly dips to the side to run around you, then stands proudly. You come to a screeching halt.

Strands of drool hang from his jowls as he takes a step forward, then another, piercing you with his lustful stare. You let out a shaky breath and step back, not actually afraid but acting so anyway.

"Please don't hurt me," you say softly, eyes flickering down to his hard member for just a moment.

He grunts when he notices your quick downward look and stands a bit taller, eager to present himself to you.

"I have something else in mind," he says in his deep, gruff voice. "If you do your job correctly, then it should be pleasurable for both of us."

You bite your lip as he steps forward again, sniffing the air.

"You smell especially good tonight, little girl. I could smell your ripe, fertile pussy from back at the house. You're so ready to be bred."

"I don't--"

"Run," he says, interrupting you. "If I catch you, you're mine."

Immediately, you take off again and he gives you a moment before taking three long strides, catching you and causing you to fall over. He quickly catches you with a clawed paw, though.

He brings his mouth down to your ear as he lowers you to the ground.

"I got you," he says. "And now, I get to pound you until you're swollen with my seed."

You whimper softly as he holds your wrists down and takes a sharpened claw to your pants, tearing the crotch open to make room for his thick, pulsing cock. He lets out a shaky breath as he pushes your legs apart and lines himself up with your wet entrance.

Flip groans when he finally gets the wet, hot relief he's been desiring all night within your walls. He gives you a moment to adjust before beginning to move, his hips delivering sharp thrusts.

You moan unashamedly as Flip growls and fucks you from behind. Hearing his noises of pleasure only arouses you more and you clench, earning a surprised, breathy grunt from your husband.

“F-Flip…”

His noises get louder and he leans down again, beginning to lick at your neck and jaw, occasionally scraping his teeth lightly against your skin as an alternative.

“I need you,” he grunts, hips speeding up slightly. “I need you to h-hold all my cum inside, keep it a-all…give me pups…”

You gasp softly, eyebrows knitting in pleasure.

“I will,” you breathe. “I-I’ll keep it all f-for you, my love.”

His cock throbs and he knows he can't hold on much longer. He always feels guilty that more often than not, you don't get to cum like this. But he definitely makes sure to return the favor the first opportunity he gets.

"Sweetheart, I'm gonna--" He cuts off as the intense orgasmic sensations suddenly rush through him. His eyes flutter shut and he rocks his hips desperately, spilling every drop he has deep inside of you. "O-Ohhhh god..."

You sigh softly as he lets go of your wrists and sits up a bit, still staying buried deep in your pussy. He helps you get up on your hands and knees, then licks your neck again.

"Are you alright? I wasn't too harsh?"

"I'm fine, honey," you reassure, looking back at him with a small smile. "I promise I'm okay. I would've used the safe word if I wasn't."

Flip nods and pulls out slowly, letting out a shaky huff as he does so. When you stand up, he gently picks you up and you rest in his large arms. You smile up at him.

"I love you, Flip."

His eyes soften and wishes he could return your smile. "I love you too."

You sigh softly and look up at the night sky as Flip carries you back to the house.

****

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inkymoon16 · 6 months

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Night In The Dungeons

Masterlist

Summary: Ron x Reader (slight smut)

Halloween is here at Hogwarts!! You and Ron attend an exclusive Slytherin Halloween party.

Now that you and Ron were officially a couple, Halloween was one of the most important holidays to launch your relationship to everyone. To show one another off. As soon as October rolled around, you began to think of costumes that were both unique but recognizable. Naturally, he just wanted to dress as his favorite Quidditch player. But you shut that down fast.

Slytherin was rumored to be throwing a massive party this year. Their parties were always legendary and impossible to get into. As much as you hated it, you had been becoming friends with Draco in your Defense Against the Dark Arts class in hopes of securing an invitation. You guys were friendly in class, but obviously never hung out outside of class. As Halloween rolled around, much to your delight, he brought up the party.

“Oh, Y/N, Slytherin’s hosting a party this Saturday for Halloween, you should come. You can bring a plus one too.”

You smiled in appreciation. “That sounds awesome, thank you Draco. I’ll bring my boyfriend, Ron.” You threw that last bit in just to make sure Draco knew you were strictly friends. You didn’t know if he knew you had a boyfriend or not.

“Cool. See you there.” He said, indifferent.

It was Monday and the anticipation of Saturday followed you all week. You had decided to go as vampires, which was generic enough for Ron, but allowed you to accessorize and make it unique. It was perfect. Saturday rolled around and you began to get ready early, as hair and makeup would take a while.

Your hair was in a messy updo, and you had done minimal makeup. You had put dark cherry red lipstick on and fake blood leaving the side of your mouth. You had done a spell to enlarge your canine teeth to make them pointy like an authentic vampire. You had a black minidress on with black gloves and black heels. Ron had black slacks and a white button up shirt on, which he left partially unbuttoned. You had done the same fake blood makeup on him as well. You guys looked perfect.

You could hear the Gryffindor party begin to start downstairs - the music and chatter floated its way up through the stairwell. The excitement grew in your stomach like a tree and branched out to your limbs, a shiver rolling down your spine. Halloween was your favorite holiday. The idea of being someone else, if even just for one night, was enthralling. Everyone was on their worst behavior and you couldn’t wait to see what happened this year.

Ron squeezed your waist and led you down the stairwell out into the common room. Gryffindor was throwing their own party and as much as you wanted to be with your friends, the exclusive Syltherin party was calling your name. You stopped in the common room to chat with all your friends and get some drinks in your system before you headed over to the dungeons. Hermione was in her Stevie Nicks costume, Harry in his pirate costume, and Fred and George as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum from Alice in Wonderland. Neville had dressed up as Dumbldore which was very creative.

After a little while, you decided it was late enough to head to Slytherin. As you descended the castle, the cold wasn’t the only thing creating goosebumps over your skin. You had no idea what to anticipate, but you knew it would be good. Crabbe and Goyle were guarding the door, checking the guest list. You said your name and they waved you in, albeit giving Ron a side as he passed.

He grabbed your waist tighter as you entered the illustrious Slytherin common room. You had attended one or two parties here, but had never seen in all its glory like this. The dark dungeon was lit by floating green orbs, that illuminated people’s faces only briefly in passing. The music was loud and seemed to pulse between the gaps of people. There was barely any furniture, magically moved for the night. It was amazing. Everyone’s costumes looked fantastic in the dim lighting. Even the air seemed to shimmer with anticipation.

You went to the punch first, filling up goblets of fire whiskey. The first sip sent electric sparks down your spine. Ron still had his arm around your waist. You chit chatted with a couple people near the drinks table while you waited to become more drunk. Ron suggested doing shots which you quickly downed.

As you made your way to the dance floor, you passed Draco. He was dressed as Hugh Hefner with a girl as a Playboy bunny on his arm. You paused, thanking him for inviting you once again. The girl on his arm looked pissed that you were even looking in his direction, even though Ron was right next to you. You rolled your eyes once they left.

“Let’s dance baby!” Ron said in your ear, leaning close to you so you could hear him. His cologne made your stomach flip. You grabbed him around the neck while he placed his arms around your waist. The music was easy to dance to and you found that Ron was a fantastic dance partner.

His eyes were full of lust and his hands roamed everywhere around your body. The alcohol was starting to hit you now. Ron leant down and brushed his lips against yours, sending sparks below your stomach. You pressed your lips hard against him. He pulled you close so there was practically no room between your two bodies.

After dancing and drinking for a while you both decided to go back to Gryffindor. His hands were getting restless and all you wanted was to take your costume off and consume him. You stumbled out of the Slytherin common room into the dungeon hallways. You walked back hand in hand. Before you got back to Gryffindor, Ron pulled you into a nook, pushing you up against the wall. He leant down and kissed you. He grabbed your breast, groaning into your mouth.

Your tongues were doing a dance of their own. You didn’t even care who saw right now. He was hard against you. His hands were trailing up and down your waist and you felt very turned on.

Somehow the two of you managed to get back into the common room and stumbled into his room. You quickly became a tangle of limbs and kisses.

#ron weasley one shot #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley halloween #ron weasley smut #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley x yn #ron weasley x you

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thisisahyperfixationnow · 10 months

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Okay so I saw atsv recently and while I love reading everyone’s takes on the art styles, I have to bring up the music

I’m a pretty basic music nerd with minimal theory study, but I’ve taken to just playing the soundtrack. (I’m referencing specifically the Metro soundtrack, I prefer songs with lyrics, but I’m positive this will apply to the other soundtrack too, the crew of spider verse are that amazing) And in doing so, I just need to bring up how carefully these songs are constructed??

See, backing track songs need to be subtle. That’s what (in my experience) can make them boring or difficult to compose - how do you make something interesting but able to blend in? But these people, they’ve just - pulled back layers?? And spread them out???? Rarely is there more than about 3 things happening at any one point in the songs, and it means they can pack so much into them. And more than that, it gives them room to give every song a style, a reference and a character to link them to!

Take ‘Hummingbird’, for example: it’s the song that plays when Gwen opens the portal above Miles’ bed. Then compare it to ‘Sunflower’, from the original movie. The artists are completely different, the tone of the movie has changed entirely, but the songs mirror each other!! The way the vocals have a little flick (flick? Reach??) at the end, the bass and trap in the background, heck, even the emotions they convey! Miles, in each instance, is at a turning point, whether he is aware of it or not.

But the composers haven’t just decided to mimic Miles’ song from the original song - they’ve dampened it to fit the tone of the movie. The trap beat and pulses are muted, and the vocals are slightly subdued. And of course, the lyrics are very different. They are both about love, but one is optimistic, and one is resigned. GOD these people!!

And it’s like this with basically every song I’ve come across! While a lot of the characters have less (or nothing) to compare to, the composers have put bits and pieces in to make the characterisations and emotions peak through. Just look at the percussion in ‘Link Up’ (a mixture of the clicking from ‘Self-Love, which kinda was Gwen’s theme in the album, and the percussion from ‘Silk & Cologne’, which I think is supposed to be Miles’ family and their party (?)) which I took as showing Miles’ split between Gwen and the Spiders, and his family.

Just, this soundtrack has som much care and love stuffed into it. I don’t know how much this makes sense (It’s 3 AM), but I didn’t see anyone talking about it and that is a CRIME

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zmediaoutlet · 11 months

Note

what about an outsider POV Castiel, with a side of pining?

Happy wincest wednesday!

Castiel reforms on Earth in a blaze of shattered streetlights. Jimmy Novak's body slips on like -- as a human might say -- a comfortable pair of slippers, or perhaps a t-shirt worn from too many times in the laundry machine, soft and thin in places and just what one wants when one is in need of rest. Castiel is that. Rest, respite. Stasis, but he can't be allowed that because there's too much to do, too many to save, too many humans in worn-thin shirts who will be snuffed out like so many blazing streetlights if he loses this war. If he can't do what must be done.

Two humans in particular. One, most particular, which is redundant or perhaps contrary to the meaning of particularity and yet he commands the contradiction, given that he is contradiction. Castiel learned from the best.

He is invisible as is his wont and he moves through the glowing heaving miracle-planes of his Father's creation to the hotel, dilapidated, beautiful in decay -- to the stairwell, redolent with micturation, ripe-sharp with chemical volatility -- to the room at the top, with purple carpet radiant with mites and the bed stained with the spill of many humans before and two humans, two most particular humans, sprawled like art over the bedspread, naked, astonishing. His Father's creation in all its exquisite, long-descended glory, bred to this most perfect of perfections, split into two who are one. And one --

Sam -- resouled, glowing with it -- kisses Dean slowly, purposeful, as though by doing so he is communicating more than Castiel understands the act normally does. Dean seems content to be kissed, on his back, his head held cradled in Sam's large hand, his fingers resting lax against Sam's stomach, his penis thick over his thigh but not urgent, not demanding as Castiel has seen it in the past. Sam's is but he doesn't seem to be moving toward the next and natural stage, opting instead to sweep Dean's thigh over his hip and kiss him again, and deeply, and then to kiss his cheekbone and his jaw and the spot below his ear on the right side that Castiel has watched, himself, seeing the pulse there beneath the skin, where Dean's life churns urgent and without his say-so or even desire, but continues nevertheless.

Dude, what's with you, Dean says. In this form Castiel hears all words as though muffled through layers of glass. Sometimes preferable to the shocking waves of energy that emit from humans in his most-physical form. This is like -- lookout point in high school.

Let me, Sam says, speaking quiet against Dean's throat, and then picks his head up, and moves his thumb along Dean's cheek to his jaw to his ear, the same path his mouth made. You almost got hit by your own car. I'm taking a minute.

Dean's eyes open, slowly. He looks up at Sam, frowning, and says, I'm fine, but of course he and Sam and Castiel can all tell that it's patently untrue, and rather than argue about it Sam touches his mouth and then kisses it again, and then his throat, again, and then he sinks further down the bed, kissing Dean's chest and his nipples in turn, and a spot below his navel, and then he curls over Dean's hips and kisses his penis, and his testicles, and a spot on his pelvis where there is a rare mole larger than a freckle, which Castiel has also admired in the way that one admires an imperfection that raises a thing to art. Dean touches Sam's hair, and sighs, and turns his head and of course he cannot see Castiel but his eyes are pointed directly at the space in which Castiel is not-standing, and Castiel stares back at him, wondering. He knew about the Winchesters' recent brush with death as he knows all things that happen to the Winchesters but Dean's injuries were minimal; what's left, beyond the physical, is a strange soft soreness, somewhere inside that Castiel can't touch. Sam can.

Sam applies his mouth more generously and Castiel watches, rapt, while Dean's heart beats harder, while blood flushes pink in his chest and shoulders and his ears, and his eyes shudder closed, and he is still, letting what will happen happen. Like when Castiel first found him, although the circumstances are somewhat different.

Righteous, Castiel thinks, as he always does. What Castiel always yearned to be, even when there was no hope for it. Contradicting that essential loyalty in their natures to be loyal to a greater purpose; oaths kept and forsworn so that a new oath could be made. Castiel learned this here, in this body. This particular human. If he could he would surge inside Dean Winchester and he would fill him from edge to edge and he would try, with whatever grace he had, to communicate even an atom of what his righteousness had meant to Castiel, from this day to that first painful second when Castiel touched him and was changed -- but Dean is not his vessel, and never will be, and in the physical form Castiel's left with, in the shape of Jimmy Novak who is long-ascended to heaven and in whose skin Castiel is able to find what respite he can find, Dean's righteousness stays separate from him.

He watches Sam bring Dean to orgasm. It's very lovely, although no more of a miracle than Dean's usual breath and heartbeat and thinking mind ever are. Dean holds Sam around the shoulders once Sam has also finished and he presses his lips to Sam's throat, and they're stinking and glorious and have added more stains to the bed, and Castiel feels in their presence -- in his presence -- as though he has taken in light from the source at the center of heaven. They fall asleep together, tangled like children, and he passes a hand over Sam's brow to ensure the sleep is untroubled, and over Dean's to do the same, and lingers there, his inadequate skin against Dean's warmth, and becomes physical for a stolen foolish second to imagine what it might be like -- in another day, in another life. If all were otherwise. Dean's eyelashes flutter at the contact and Castiel flies instantly away, shorting the lamp by the bed. When he returns to his army there is much to do and not nearly enough time in which to do it but he holds in himself a sensation of sweat-damp warmth that carries him through many days after, until he can see them again.

#happy wincest wednesday #answers #my writing #wincest #pining!cas

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lascitasdelashoras · 4 months

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Nirvana - Nevermind - From Minimal Pulse Art

#nirvana #musica #rock #grunge #nevermind #posters #canciones #diseño

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mywifeleftme · 6 months

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196: Earth // The Bees Made Honey in the Lion's Skull

The Bees Made Honey in the Lion's Skull Earth 2008, Southern Lord (Bandcamp)

The most money I’ve ever spent on a vinyl record is on the stupid fucking quadruple LP Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness boxed set, but that was only because I allegedly scuffed the first track on the first side of LP1 of my friend’s copy while putting it away at a party, so I had to buy him a replacement and got his old dinged one—but I’ll write about that another time. The most money I’ve ever spent on a vinyl record I wanted was on Earth’s The Bees Made Honey in the Lion’s Skull, and specifically on one of the editions bound in faux Bible leather that Southern Lord reissues from time to time. From the first time I heard the record back in 2008, from the first time I read the title really, Bees has held a strange fascination for me. Despite being a broke college kid, I ordered a Bees Made Honey hoodie using my first credit card and hemmed and hawed over whether to snag the leather record, though I didn’t even know how to use a turntable. I didn’t end up actually scoring a copy till more than a decade later, by which time I’d already pretty well carved the thing’s grooves so deep in my brain I didn’t need to listen anymore to hear its contents.

The inner sleeve.

Still, there’s the pleasure of handling it, opening up the gatefold and reading the hoary language in elaborately-filigreed gold text:

“from strength sweetness from darkness light the bees made honey in the lion’s skull”

A1. Omens and Portents 1: The Driver A2: Rise to Glory B3: Miami Morning Coming Down II (Shine) B4. Engine of Ruin C5: Omens and Portents II: Carrion Crow C6: Hung from the Moon D7: The Bees Made Honey in the Lion’s Skull D8: Junkyard Priest

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I grew up just religious enough to really fear God and love His language, especially as filtered through all the fantastical art that’s borrowed the diction of the King James Version to command a sense of gravitas. It’s a tone of voice that still compels me, and it’s the perfect dressing for this era of Earth’s looming, desertified music. Starting with 2005’s comeback Hex; or Printing in the Infernal Method, Earth has been working on a form of Western-inspired instrumental post-rock that looks to the Bible and fire-and-brimstone writers like Cormac McCarthy for words to match the weathered lurch of Dylan Carlson’s lithic guitar. Bees continues this direction, and it’s broadly considered the best of the band’s later efforts: something elemental captured in the songs; extra pristine production; sterling contributions from Steve Moore on a variety of pianos and organs, plus famed jazz guitarist Bill Frisell; and above all the languid pulse of drummer Adrienne Davies, the sheer weight of her pauses (best exemplified on the title track).

When Davies joined the band in 2002, she became the long-term musical partner Carlson had never really had, and her playing has become as distinctive a signature of Earth’s sound as his. In the exhaustive 2023 documentary Even Hell Has Its Heroes, her interview is the most enlightening from a musical perspective. An amateur when she began casually jamming with Carlson, she soon found that all of the drumming instructors and guides she consulted emphasized focusing on how to refine the angles of her playing, minimizing the time and effort required to play a beat. But for Davies, playing in a band whose rhythm swells and resides like the breathing of a massive steer, this advice ran counter: her arms wave in slow, swooping arcs, drawing out the tempo in the air before falling into the drums, letting gravity provide the consequential force.

Despite the band’s mugshot stares and stupendous volume, that signal phrase holds: “from strength sweetness / from darkness light.” There’s no violence in this songs, only some obdurate quality of endurance; no aggression, only flickers of the transcendent among the amps. That’s the notion embedded in its title, a nourishing work transpiring within sinister ruins.

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196/365

#earth #halloweek #drone #drone metal #post-rock #ambient americana #dylan carlson #southern lord #'00s music #minimalism #music review #vinyl record #seattle music #adrienne davies

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electricbluebutterflies · 5 days

Note

jessleto but it's jessica overstepping (in some way leto couldn't care less about) and trying to make amends through a little seduction ☺️

I finally got to use some of my favorite headcanons in a fic! Mid-era, vaguely nsfw, and also on ao3.

Say the wrong thing to one person one time…

Jessica is trying, she really is. The boundaries she sets for herself grow less harsh as time passes, but she still-

It might be an incident. It might not be. It’s too early to call. She needs to run damage control anyways.

There is an art to how she maneuvers her life, every cautious step with full awareness of the ecosystem around her and of her specific place in it, and she knows she could just let this go and get comparable results but there is still that part of her that wants to earn the loyalty her partner shows her because that is how the world still works in her mind, that is how-

He used to ask for her presence, innocent requests with optional implications. In more recent years neither of them has tried at all, intimacies become a part of quiet domesticity. For her to initiate…

It is unlike her to slip into his study earlier in the evening than they would usually cross paths, and even more unlike her to wear a dress that exposes more of her skin than she is comfortable with but oh she has a point to make and-

Her partner responds to the sound of the door, glances at her and she can see the emotions cycle through his face, worry always dominant around her, always-

“What did you do?” So casual, barely an accusation just an understanding of their existence.

“Not sure yet,” Jessica murmurs. “But I would like preemptive confirmation-“

Intimacies do not fix them. She is above this behavior. At the same time, her programming hasn’t felt so strong in a while, and-

She clears the distance and takes kisses, deep and desperate. She knows she does not owe this anymore, but still-

“That much of a possible incident,” he breathes against her skin.

“Could still be nothing, but… if it isn’t, it would be in my favor if you have a recent memory that my mouth still has uses.”

She hopes the implications are clear enough to go unspoken, how she may have gotten herself in trouble and what she’s about to do and-

“Do as you will, my storm.”

She knows he delights in these rare moments of assertiveness from her, knows he wishes it would happen more but… her descent into more submissive tendencies was a part of her rebellion, she hopes that is understood, and these flickers-

There is no need for such reflection right now, she thinks as she falls to her knees. Later, perhaps, but not now.

She knows this is safe, knows her partner will tangle his hands in her hair but will not change her pace. Minimal skin exposed and the safety of it, no one else has touched him in a decade and she believes that fidelity like nothing else in the world and-

Eyes closed, instincts high as she takes his part into her mouth. This is hers as the rest of the body it is attached to is hers, and this act she only initiates when she needs to prove herself…

Not that he’s any better, she reminds herself, but not like she’s about to complain about such an apology method, whereas this-

Senses up, aware of his reactions, the changes in his breathing as she moves, changed tension in his hands – not to hurt never to hurt but to keep her close – and an uneven pulse and-

She is efficient in this, as in all things. There is no reason to tease him when he aches for her, and she has perfect control, and a flick of her tongue, and-

He falls apart with her name on his lips as he always does, and from her current position she cannot see the beauty of it, and that awful voice in her mind says this is all she is good for, and-

She separates their bodies and still the surprise as he hands her a cloth, still-

“You do want what you want.”

“Was that good for you?”

She knows the answer well enough, felt it in how the tension in his body released as his prick did, knows that it’s just as well she was in a mood because she would’ve had to handle this at some point in the evening and at least it’s done now and-

“You are more than I could ever ask for.”

Something in her melts, something deep and vulnerable and sacred and-

“Remember that, when-“

“Always.”

#ebf writes fic #leto x jessica

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 years

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Thank you for commissioning me for a dorm sorting too, @petitelepus! ^^

The shape of thy soul is…

… IGNIHYDE!

The Lord of the Underworld claims yet another soul for his domain. Slotted right in with the other wayward wanderers, you fit right in with those that have withdrawn into their own shells, content to stew in their lairs with their thoughts and their wishes, their hopes and their dreams. It is in self-reflection that one can gain the greatest insights... and manifest the worst of despair. Take care to not descend into the void that awaits in the pits of Tartarus; keep abreast of your studies and let the burning blue flames of Ignihyde guide you during your tenure at Night Raven College.

The students of Ignihyde mind their own business, even passing by in the halls by making as little sound as possible. Sometimes you think they’re more dead than alive; you hear their video games and shows more than you hear out of their mouths. It does relieve you of the burden of communicating with them or risking making a social situation awkward (a quick text will get the job done), so that’s one positive. No one chides you for sleeping in, for hardly leaving your room (you even take your meals in there), or for indulging in the anime and manga that you do. Why tease and accuse each other of being close off or having childish interests when all of you are in the same boat? That makes for a relatively peaceful experience. You respect their tastes, and they respect yours. It’s a win-win for everyone.

… With maybe the one major exception being your dorm leader. Idia’s very opinionated when it comes to the media he consumes, and he makes it very clear where he stands. It’s not worth it to get into an argument with him, so you often avoid him when he’s off on another one of his egotistical rants or raves. It’s Ortho, not Idia, that you get along with. He’s the sunshine and smiles that you need to perk up your day and to help you navigate the admittedly underhanded social structure of the school. It’s easy for him to sense that something’s wrong with his state-of-the-art functions (your pulse has quickened and you’ve started perspirating; are you perhaps nervous?) and to search up whatever might soothe you. Want him to place an order from your favorite bakery? How about a new anime recommendation based on what you’ve already watched and enjoyed? Need someone “taken care of”? Ortho’s various programs can have it all whipped up in a jiffy! He also serves as the go-between for you and Idia, which really helps to minimize your contact with your dorm leader’s elitism. Ortho knows how his brother can be, but he tries not to take sides; he just wants you and everyone else to get along.

Best of luck at Night Raven College!

#twst writing commissions #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #dorm sorting

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thebonesofhoudini · 5 months

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Just got done mixing this up on the Pioneer DDJ-SB3. Here's a selection of some dub techno, acid, and minimal. I hope you enjoy this, and thank you very much for the support.

TRACKLIST

Bitch - High is High Matthew Jonson - New Identity Dib - Troiscenttrois 003 Rod Modell - Solar Cross Maus & Stolle - Pan Donnacha Costello - Green (A) Lux - Debris Dolby - M1 Bluetrain - Untitled (Special Edition 1998) Baby Pop - Alien Pulse Mike Huckaby - The Tresor Track

Cover art: Vishal Bansal

#Temisan Adoki #Dub Techno Mix #11.15.23 #dub techno #techno #minimal #acid #acid techno #electronic music #electronica #DJ set #DJ mix #2023 #SoundCloud

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rawvnoisevcruster · 3 months

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what one of your favorite album covers of all time

I could go on and on about album art so imma just talk about the first three I thought of

This infest self title has such a strong, evocative image of American hate and the distortion by the high contrast turns the flag bearer into such a grimace, and the bold capital font of "INFEST" has such a connotation to it. This album art always grabs my eyes

I don't really have any good words as to why I like this album cover but it just speaks too it but the color combination and contrast of the fff logo is such a look

I love this repress silver color of pulse demon. It really adds that extra punch that make the album cover even better and reflective (pun intended) I really wish I could get this repress, and art on its own has this nice extra mix of both this "cybernetic" style and ultra minimal expression

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backwards-blackbird · 6 months

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Trick or Treat! Share a snippet, headcanon, art, or vibes with your followers, then pass it on. 🎃

Happy Halloween, anon!

Alrighty. Smut time. A little WIP called Heartbeat.

Pairing: Lieumon (Amon/Lieutenant)

Rating: Explicit

523 words

The human heart and I have a complex relationship.

When my father taught me to sense it, it was faint at first. The tender ticking of a wrist watch across the room: nearly undetectable, until he trained my ear to pick it out, to amplify it.

The more practiced I became, the louder the ticking was—even after I left on my own. The city became a cacophony of overlapping, nauseating rhythms for me as a young man, each one the very core of a vulnerable soul. It nearly drove me to madness before I learned to temper my ability: to listen selectively, to filter it out. It took years, but at long last, that sound became the very background to my days. It was the neutral hum of the earth I walked on.

These days, I can tune it in and out at will, like the radio.

I turn it up when I must. But I also turn it up when I please. For you see, it’s not always a burden.

What it took was finding a heartbeat I enjoyed listening to. That came when I instated Lieutenant Lieu, several years back. You see, every heartbeat has a personality, a signature. Like a fingerprint. Lieu’s is warm and eager, steady and strong.

It relaxes me late at night, centers me, when we lie together in my bed. I can feel it in his strong arms when he holds me, in his fingertips when he touches my body, in the slick walls of his mouth when he wraps his lips around me. His pulse has become a comfort.

The first time we had sex, he rubbed his face against my crotch beforehand. Over my lounge pants, along my cock, breathing in the scent of my arousal. I will never forget the way that felt: that glorious friction, affectionate and kind, his large hands cradling my thighs, all to the backbeat of that lovely, fluttering pulse. Keen as he was, he was also nervous. It was endearing.

He asked me how I wanted him to take me. I was happy to accept him on my back.

Oh, spirits. He was so kind with me. Slow with his fingers, opening me up with care, checking in on my eyes, asking how it felt. His face was parallel with mine when I cupped his cheek with my hand and told him, “I don’t do this often, Lieutenant. It hasn’t been a priority. But you are handsome. Very handsome…”

He smiled and blushed, and I heard his heart jolt as the blood rose to his cheeks. “Well, that’s quite the honor, sir. Thank you.”

Lieu kissed my neck and left his face there when he entered me. He pushed in carefully and I gasped with it—the pain was minimal, but it was an intrusion I hadn’t felt in years. He knew this. And he was so very good about it; he talked me through it, praising me, letting me know how good it felt, how good I felt.

“Fuck,” I said, crisp on the final consonant, when he was fully inside me.

“Perfect fit,” Lieu declared.

#Lieumon #LoK #Writings #Amon #Lieutenant #Well if you insist... :)

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