#rey writes

[reybeeze]

rewatching good omens and the way crowley unapologetically watched aziraphale eat in e1 is fucking insane i love him

[myreygn]

Camaraderie

summary: Two bros chilling in a bath house, five feet apart 'cause they're not gay. No, for real, they're not. They're not even friends. Or whatever.

so uhh hey @kakushigotofanclub idk if you remember but last year you made this little saneoba post and i asked you if i could write a fic based off of it and you said yes and i said thanks and then i didn't. anyway i'm crawling back out of my cave now to tell you that IT'S DONE and i hope you like it a little bit <3

taglist: @giggly-squiggily @sticky-badger

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There is nothing weird about this. That's what Obanai continues to tell himself over and over, because there isn't. That's why there's a public bath house in every goddamn town and village in the country, because it's normal to take baths with other people, with strangers too, and right now there aren't even any strangers in this particular bath house, so it should feel even less weird. Only that it doesn't.

He has never seen Sanemi naked before, he realizes, and right after that realization he realizes that that's a ridiculous realization to have. He's never seen Sanemi naked before, really? Sanemi who runs around with his shirt unbuttoned down to his crotch, that Sanemi? It's not like Obanai has never seen him naked before, he now realizes, it's more like he has always made a very conscious effort to look away whenever it happened. And now Sanemi is taking his clothes off right in front of Obanai and there is nothing weird about that, except there is. Because he's making it weird.

“Are you staring at me?”

Sanemi doesn't sound annoyed or angry or even accusatory, but Obanai feels called out anyway. Called out on what exactly, he's not sure. He's not staring. Well, he is, but it's not like that. It's not.

“I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

Who's being ridiculous? Sanemi, who's getting naked in front of his comrade? In a bath house, where people are supposed to be naked and take baths? Or Obanai, who's in a bath house, where people are supposed to be naked and take baths, and refuses to get undressed? There's a very clear answer to that question and Obanai is unwilling to even think that answer. The question is phrased badly anyway. Is Sanemi ridiculous for parading his scars around, or is Obanai ridiculous for keeping his scars covered? That's better.

“I'm being ridiculous?” Sanemi sounds amused, whatever the heck is supposed to be funny about this situation.

“Very much.”

He's not being ridiculous, Sanemi is being ridiculous. Scars aren't meant to be paraded around. Scars aren't meant to be seen by anyone except one's own reflection, and even that is entirely optional. They're not meant to be seen, is the point, and Sanemi missed that point by twenty miles, almost as if he's doing it on purpose. As if he not only doesn't care but actively wants to show off. Ridiculous.

Sanemi just rolls his eyes and turns away, finally, to slide into the hot water. “Well, feel free to join me as soon as you're done staring.”

“I'm not staring.”

Ignoring Sanemi's following scoff, Obanai turns way from his friend- his comrade to take his own clothes off. Scars aren't meant to be seen, but clothes aren't meant to be bathed and God knows he needs this bath. It would be fine. Sanemi would look away if Obanai told him to. He would think it's stupid, but he would do it. That's what Obanai likes about Sanemi and he's pretty sure that Sanemi likes this about him too. Sanemi thinks it's stupid that he's ashamed of his scars and Obanai only knows that because Sanemi had a bit too much to drink once. Obanai thinks it's stupid that Sanemi is ashamed of not being able to write and Sanemi doesn't even know that Obanai knows about him being ashamed of not being able to write. Because they don't talk about this stuff and that might just be the best part of their friendship. Camaraderie.

Rinsing himself off the sweat and blood feels like heaven and the heat of the water seems to suck all of the tension out of his muscles. Obanai groans quietly, unable to keep this sound of contempt in. You never realize just how draining a fight was until you experience the slightest bit of comfort and notice how much your current state sucks and how much better it could be.

“I didn't know you could make that noise.”

Leave it to Sanemi to ruin a nice moment of relaxation. Obanai shoots him a glare, trying to ignore the spark of amusement in Sanemi's gaze. No, he didn't take off his bandages, so what? Why is that funny?

“Was there really a need to comment on it?”

“Sounded like you were getting off for a moment.”

“I was relaxing.” Obanai can't believe this guy. Insufferable. Heat rises to his cheeks and he glares back at Sanemi's stupid smug grin in an attempt not to let his embarrassment shine through too much. Thank God he didn't take his bandages off. “I was getting comfortable.”

“You look anything but comfortable.”

Gee, I wonder why.

Obanai bites his tongue and just sinks further into the water, careful to not let it go up all the way to his face. He will not entertain this tomfoolery any longer, absolutely not. And he won't look at Sanemi anymore either. He won't give him the satisfaction of even being regarded. Right, that will show him.

He gets approximately one moment of peace and quiet, then the water moves and laps against him and Obanai furrows his brows. That better not be what he thinks it's about to become.

“Iguro.”

No.

“Look at me, Snake Boy.”

No.

“Hey, Kanroji!”

No, because here's the worst thing: he knows it's bullshit. He knows he's being fooled, but on the off chance he's not... Obanai can't even fathom his own reaction before he turns around to look towards the entrance, then he turns back to glare at Sanemi who's a lot closer than he was thirty seconds ago and smirking at him like a dick.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don't.”

No, he doesn't. But he doesn't say it out loud. Because they just don't talk about this kind of stuff.

Obanai leans away until his back hits the edge of the bath tub and narrows his eyes at Sanemi. “What do you want?”

Sanemi narrows his eyes back at him in a way that has Obanai perking up a little and then tilts his head in a way that has Obanai sure that Sanemi is just messing with him on purpose. “You're staring at me.” Just for fun.

“Because you're all up in my face!”

“You were staring earlier.”

“I told you I wasn't- why do you care?”

Sanemi grins and Obanai feels ready to strangle someone. Sanemi doesn't care. Of course Sanemi doesn't care, why would he care? He can't button his shirt to save his life, of course he doesn't care if anyone stares at him while he's naked. He would probably fight demons naked if Oyakata-sama allowed him. There's something about that complete lack of shame that's very admirable and Obanai hates that he recognizes that.

“You're childish.”

Something akin to hurt flashes through Sanemi's eyes and Obanai is sure that he wouldn't have caught it if Sanemi hadn't been so close to him in the first place. It's a strange sight, one he isn't sure he has seen before, and before he can take a closer look, Sanemi pulls back and turns away. Obanai watches him go underwater briefly and emerge, shaking his head like a dog.

“You're not supposed to do that.”

“Bite me, Obanai.”

Oh, okay.

Obanai's gaze lingers on a water droplet running down Sanemi's back and getting caught in the slightly different texture of a particularly big scar for a moment. As the droplet runs further down Sanemi's back, Obanai's gaze lingers on the scar and the way it stretches when Sanemi reaches over his shoulder to rub his shoulder blade, subsequently moving the skin on his back. It looks like a slash, or maybe a scratch from a claw. One of the less smoothly healed off injuries.

Slowly, Obanai moves closer, now watching the water lap against Sanemi's spine. Sanemi's hand stills the rubbing and for a moment, his nails dig into his skin, then he lets his arm fall down his side again and doesn't even flinch when Obanai grazes his fingertips of the prints Sanemi's nails left behind. They're nothing against the many scars all over his back, but they feel more severe. Maybe because Obanai feels like he caused them himself. Maybe because they're proof of the effort it costs Sanemi to trust him to do this. Though that's not a bad thing, not entirely, that their trust is costing him effort. Obanai likes the thought that Sanemi is putting effort into their friendship quite a bit. Camaraderie.

Suddenly, he feels sorry for calling Sanemi childish just for messing around. That's also not a bad thing, feeling comfortable enough to be foolish. Obanai never sees Sanemi fool around with anyone else.

His fingers now graze the big scar and that doesn't make Sanemi wince either, even though it probably hurts, at least a little bit. Even though Obanai touches the scar like it's nothing. To Sanemi, it probably is. Admirable, in a way.

Obanai's hand goes up to his own face, then he leans forward and Sanemi jumps away with a yelp, whipping around. “What the fuck?!”

Obanai examines the mark his teeth left in Sanemi's shoulder with a pleased look on his face.

“I bit you.”

Having Sanemi stare at his face when he doesn't have his mouth covered feels strange in a way he can't entirely put his finger on, but he doesn't do anything about it. He knows that Sanemi will scoff-laugh and say something jerky in a moment. He wants Sanemi to see him laugh too.

Three seconds of silent looking – looking, not staring – then Sanemi scoff-laughs and shakes his head. “You're ridiculous.”

“Yeah.” Obanai smiles and allows Sanemi's gaze to linger for a moment longer before he pulls his bandages back up. “Maybe a little.”

That might just be the best part of their camaraderie. Friendship. Whatever.

[reyolfx]

destiel fic excerpt - claire kinda tricks dean into going to pride with her

okay i've been in a massive block lately for any writing whatsoever but i'm TRYING to get back into it. mentally i'm just not really anywhere but i would like to be anchored back down into writing mode.

so here's a little bit of the destiel fic i have in progress. it's a dean focused post-15x19 (lol what finale) fix-it that deals a lot with dean's grief. this particular excerpt is quiiiiite a ways in, cas has been dead for almost a year at this point (happy destiel ending guaranteed fam). dean is still absolutely grieving but he's been doing a lot of work.

(warning dean does use the word queer here in a way that's like, halfway between accepting and internalised homophobia - it's not made out to be a big deal in this but i thought it would mention anyways)

***

"I'm not a parade guy, Claire, and I sure as hell ain't a flag waving queer. I'm not - I'm not this." Dean gestures vaguely to the revelry and upbeat atmosphere around him. He feels like a fish on a bike.

Claire shrugs with her whole body. "I don't really give a shit what you think you are or aren't, grandpa. Every baby gay needs to attend their first Pride, it's like a right of passage or whatever."

Dean gawks at her. "What- uhh," he sputters. "Baby- did you just call me grandpa and a baby gay in the same sentence? What the fuck is that?"

Claire rolls her eyes like Dean's a fucking idiot. He feels like one right now, in his jeans and flannel with a knife tucked into his waistband, surrounded by rainbow everything and kids making out in those weird napkin tops that don't pass their navels.

She says, "exactly what it sounds like, loser. You're old, but you finally had your big gay realization, it's fresh and shit, erego, baby gay. Reborn a queer, hallelujah."

Dean stares at her like she's speaking another language, but he latches on to one bit that's plain. "Ain't that fresh," he mutters.

Because. Because it's not like Dean never had an inkling he was into dudes as well as chicks before. Not like he never had any tiny lightbulb moments while drooling over Doctor Sexy or being 16 and watching a hunter in his 20s clean a gun in front of him. It's just that every time that lightbulb flicked on, Dean had been very quick and very thorough in burying it 6 feet under like it was a body in a grave after a salt'n burn. Expert, even. Like he was was with real graves. He could go years without that lightbulb resurfacing, and he could forget. He could flirt with women and forget, kiss women and forget, take women back to his motel room when he was 24, haunting small towns all alone, and forget. It was easy. Because women's waists and women's hair and women's voices made it easy. When they pitched their words low and came on to him with confidence and a shadow, a daintier echo of violence than what he was used to, it was easy. What would have been the point in—in anything else?

Nothing. No point.

Until his best friend told him he loved him and his graveyard of buried lightbulbs was flooded, upturned, exposed. Electrified. He sees the bones of every man he ever desired like they're cartoons sticking their fingers into sockets.

Bzzzt. That hunter with his rolled up sleeves, exposed forearms, cleaning his gun while chatting easily to John. Dean sitting there, trying his best to be a part of the conversation, puff himself up like he belonged at the table, 16 in a too-big jacket, a real hunter, a real man, dragging his eyes away from the hunter's hands again and again until he could unfocus them entirely with the beers his dad let him sip.

Bzzzt. A shop teacher of his, once, during a 9th grade stint somewhere in Nebraska. Mr. Callaghan. Showing the class how to use a circular saw, sparks flying, Dean's eyes wide, mouth a little dry.

Bzzzt. Benny in purgatory. Slicing and hacking his way through monsters to get Dean to Cas before they could escape. Dean's weird, twisted up, sickening feelings of - I love you because you know my secret. Because you know I love someone else even though I won't let my own self know. I love you because you have big hands and a big heart and an appetite for blood and because I can bully you into staying, searching, endlessly, for the one. The one I love the most. I love you until I find him and then I still love you a little because you helped make that possible and because you did it for me.

Bzzzt. Cas. Castiel who walked into a barn, sparks again (maybe men are electric and women are grounding, or - fuck, who knows, maybe sparks are just hot) a few days after Dean rose from the dead. Castiel who walked towards him with steady eyes of blue fire and withstood every act of violence Dean could commit against him (or so he thought). Castiel who saw into his soul, maybe not even into it, just the whole scope of it, macro and micro. Cas who shoved him into walls, laid hands over his mouth and a knee between his thighs (accidental?), Cas who spoke to him vulnerably one moment and then disappeared the next, Cas who stared into his eyes and made Dean's chest feel molten, his tongue feel heavy. Cas who wore a stupid trench coat, even when given a fresh start, an opportunity for reinvention. A trench coat Dean grew to hate because of the sheer amount of times he imagined pulling it gently off the angel's shoulders. It always stayed. Dean could burn that fucking coat.

He kept that coat. He carried it. He misses it.

Dean comes to in the middle of a fucking pride parade with the desperate, overwhelming urge to press a coat that he no longer has into his nose. He needs—

"Earth to fuckin' Dean Winchester," Claire is saying, eyebrow cocked kinda like Cas, which is weird because he doesn't remember Jimmy ever doing that. He guesses he didn't know Jimmy very long though. Maybe he's just seeing Cas wherever he can manage it.

"Sorry, kid," he says lamely. No follow up. He feels the hole and it aches and aches and he needs to get a hold on it before it engulfs him.

"Dean," Claire says gently, and she sounds like she knows where he is. Like she can find him back here among his grief that is so far removed from, and unrelated to the situation.

He looks at her and forces a grin that cracks his face. Painfully. Half rolls his eyes.

"C'mon kid, show me the ropes then," he says. He's here now. Probably wont ever be again, but he's with Claire.

And he loves Claire. Because she reminds him of his not so long ago self—young and angsty and passionate and angry and full of mistakes past, present and future—and because she reminds him of Cas. Her face, her independence, her stubbornness, her smile. Because Cas loves (loved, Christ) her, even if her feelings towards him might be more convoluted.

She doesn't let him off easy, a trait she kind of shares with both of them.

"Dean... I miss him too".

Years ago, maybe even just months ago, Dean would have rolled his eyes and changed the subject. He would have deflected: "so how do you get on one of those floats" or "why is there so much mesh here" or maybe mouthed the words to You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) right along with the drag queens in the parade without even realising it.

But now—

"Claire—I can't. Not if we wanna— not if today's gonna be any good."

His voice sounds far away and raw and he feels tears in his eyes even still. Even still after all these months. He wants. Wants Cas back so hard it scalds his insides.

Claire's mouth sets hard and she nods once. There's a grim-feeling cloud around the two of them, a black hole in the middle of this rainbow candy-land ass street block on a sunny day.

And then Claire scares it away. Physically waves it off like she can see it and then plasters a grin on her face that's almost conspiring. She can rally, Dean'll give her that. It's not as if Claire completely fits here either—she looks more like him than she does most of the other revelers. Black tank top, red flannel tied around her waist, black shit kickers. Hunter get-up. But she grabs some stickers from a drag queen that's handing them out and slaps one on her chest - it says "I support gay rights and gay wrongs" on it and the circle behind it is striped orange and white and pink. Dean snorts. He doesn't know for sure what that means but he guesses it's probably for lesbians cause he knows everybody gets their own flag in this world. He's learned that through osmosis at group*.

She grabs his hand and slaps another sticker on the back of it. The circle is blue, purple, and pink, and he does know the bi flag, has figured that one out at least. The words in the centre say "oh no, everyone is so hot".

Dean rolls his eyes so hard he almost throws his neck out. "There's no way in hell you think I'm keeping this on," he says.

"You are keeping it on, old man, and if i see you've taken it off I'll take you to the face painting tent and make them give you full bisexual glam." The threatening tone of her voice contrasts too deeply with the contents of that sentence and Dean huffs out a surprised laugh.

"Oh yeah? How do you think you're gonna make that happen?"

"You're not the only one packing here, Winchester."

Dean keeps the sticker on his hand. Stares at it for a minute, then looks all around him, taking in the colour and the joy like a thing that's not used to the sun would. A rodent or a worm. Maybe a monster.

"Don't get me wrong but this doesn't really seem like your scene," he says.

Claire shrugs. "I dunno. Maybe a couple years ago I woulda felt the same. Used to think it was all real frivolous and silly y'know?"

She pauses for long enough that Dean's pretty sure the conversation's over. Finally, she speaks again, just a bit quieter: "But, I kinda figure, I can be more than just one thing, right? I can be a hunter and still enjoy some of the nice shit in life. Frivolous and silly is kinda fun."

She's not wrong. Dean doesn't get a lot of moments to be frivolous and silly, but he takes them when he can. Feels like maybe if he'd been born in an different universe he could've known those feelings full time like they were an engrained part of him rather than just fleeting visitors.

Then Claire says, "you're more than one thing, y'know. You're lots of things"

Dean huffs a little laugh and shakes his head, not really sure what he's denying.

"Don't make me give you a whole rundown on your own personality dude. You're not just some workhorse hunter, you got other stuff. Like, gay shit like this doesn't have to be one of your things. But everything's worth a shot once, right?"

He wants to agree. Thinks maybe he'd like to be a lot of things, but everything is kind of blur right now, has been for a while. What are the things he'd like to be? Like to enjoy?

He shakes his head again, not so much denying as delaying.

"Okay Oprah, what got you so wise?"

Claire smirks. She nudges him forward to follow the parade and says, "the internet mostly."

[lavendermoon48]

INTRO POST

hello i'm lavendermoon, but you can call me luna or rey

my pronouns are she/her/they/them (i'm trying they/them bc gender is weird for me rn) and im a minor

i think i'm autistic but i don't have a diagnosis

i mostly post fandom related content and art so yea. sometimes i do science things related to my hyperfixations

you can usually send asks and DMs are open if i follow you

things i like

the color purple

stars ⭐️

sleeping

softball/baseball

my hair

drawing

writing

cats

dogs

SQUIRRLS

sparkling water

lemon

math :3

physics

quantum physics

science in general tbh

apple sauce

greek mythology

fun facts

i walk on my tip toes

i love musicals

im learning how to crochet

i freaking hate ELA

i pick at my finger skin

i bake food sometimes

i have a crap ton of OCs

they also are part of an intracit story

i'm an ace lesbian (i think im lwk questioning rn)

i also have been practicing hellenic polytheism

fandoms

murder drones

the owl house 

omori

epic the musical

the amazing digital circus (IK THE FANDOM IS SCARY BUT I LIKE THE SHOW)

school bus graveyard

marionetta

bluey

smokeebee

percy jackson/riodanverese (yes i'm still reading the books i have finished yet

ramshackle 

dragon prince

hazbin hotel/helluva boss (this fandom is also kinda scary but i enjoy the shows)

lacey games 

chikin nuggit

amphibia

pokemon

carmen sandeigo

gravity falls

deltarune/undertale

ddlc

fnaf

amanda the adventurer

hooky 

animal crossing

my little pony

ghost eyes

ninjago

funtime phobia

steven universe

spiderverse

heartstopper

stardew valley 

voltron

portal

not even bones

coraline

arcane

mouthwashing

alien stage

cookie run

knights of guinevere

mcyt (lifesteal, vampires, sbk, and others)

stranger things

and maybe more i'm forgetting

Fanfics

Strange Things Happen (For No Reason)

my main hyperfixations rn

cookie run

MCYT (namely squiddo and avid)

not rly a hyperfixation but apple sauce and bunnies <333

DNI IF

you're a proshipper

you have explicit NSFW content (i don't like seeing that kinda stuff)

you're homophobic

you're transphobic

you're racist

you're sexist

or just discriminatory

anyways thank you so staying i love you BYEEEEEEE :3 {last updated on apr. 13}

[taissanatalie]

it is funny that i almost never named my fics after the songs i listened to the most while writing them but the ones that apply to the story better lyric-wise? maybe i should make playlists of everything i listen while writing and associate with the fic? would anyone be interested in that?

[necromancers-incorporated]

Gwen has always had problems, but she has also always known how to deal with them. Her family is her family and she can manage them. Alice has always known this, but when things take a slight turn for the worst she can feel herself starting to get involved and she really doesn't want to. Besides, this is Gwen, right? Gwen who is far too stubborn to let anyone help her without a fight. Set ambiguously in Season 1

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: The Magnus Protocol (Podcast) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gwendolyn "Gwen" Bouchard/Alice Dyer Characters: Gwendolyn "Gwen" Bouchard, Alice Dyer, Samama "Sam" Khalid, Celia Ripley, Lena Kelley (mentioned) Additional Tags: Annoying Coworkers to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, teach Gwen to communicate club, Useless Lesbians, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Dyhard, gwen's family issues Series: Part 6 of Office Shenanigans

Enjoy! I have been plotting away at this and there is much more on its way

[vulturereyy]

I am sorry.

But those words mean nothing to you.

Your mouth could never form the syllables,

Your brain could never understand the words.

Only the gentle vibrations,

And perhaps the heat of my breath.

I am sorry, I say,

But the apology is for my own sake.

You didn't ask to be an omen,

Nor I your executioner.

But I have a duty to protect what ought to be here,

And you have a goal to persist.

I am sorry we played God once before.

And brought your ancestors on a journey,

To a paradise you will always be unwelcome in.

Who knew the wooden crates you once stowed away in

Would also form your casket.

I am sorry, I say.

But you are unable to accept

an apology you can barely comprehend.

- Eulogy from a Floridian to a Cuban Tree Frog

[ninja-grace]

hiii guys nin is asleep and i'm bored what's up