Out Of Curiosity, What Ships Do You Take Requests For? Is There Anything Banned?

Out of curiosity, what ships do you take requests for? Is there anything banned?

Well nothing illegal (obvi) and im not super into writing smut that isnt overly fluffy asf (if you couldnt tell from my prev fics lol) but other than that I can’t think of any categories that are all yay or nay so if I ever get an ask I’m uncomfortable with I’ll probably just ignore it :) but im not against writing m/m, f/f, f/m, nonbinary folx basically i don’t discriminate based on that kind of thing if thats what ur wondering :) it’s my belief that limiting urself in that way limits ur writing

Not Huskerdust but Angel centric character study (feat. dad lucifer)

It's not a sharp pain. Not something that stabs and tears until you are nothing but pain and flesh and blood. No, it's constant. A low-grade ache in-between bone that gets worse when it rains. Always in the background, but easily ignorable if you can find something else to focus your attention on. If you can just not think about it. 

      Angel has perfected the art of Not Thinking About It.  

      His thighs are on fire, he doesn't even want to think about the mess that awaits his med-kit beneath his skirt, and still, he's more preoccupied with the weight in his chest than any of the vicious stinging going on literally everywhere else. Husk isn't at the bar when he tiptoes through the door, shame, he'd been hoping for a pick-me-up after today. They've been warming up to each other, he thinks, at least he's warmed to Husk and his- at first, rather off-putting- demeanor.  Husk remains as blithe and unreadable than ever. But he's stopped calling Angel out on it when he dons his 'fake' affect. 

      It's necessary, sometimes. The reality of his job is that it's exhausting. That it injures him about as bad as it might if he worked as a boxer, that he hates himself a little more after each shoot because he signed for this. He allowed this. Val never lets him forget.

      Sometimes, when the mood takes him, Val will want to 're-stake' his claim on Angel after he's been passed around a fair amount. Says, "It's to show the bitches what's mine" and Angel knows that includes him. It's never nice, never soft and overwhelming but only in the good ways, like it used to be. It just hurts. Val seems to take more pleasure in the humiliation of it than the act itself. He always moves faster when Angel cries, or bleeds, or- even better- both.

Angel's a professional, he cries when he needs to. When it means it'll be over faster, and he can crawl back into bed to try and sleep it off.

      He doesn't know if Val realizes that, if it would make a difference. If it’d make it worse.

      Point is, he needs to be fake sometimes, even still. Charlie, especially, wouldn't be able to handle it if he acted like he really felt all of the time. It helps him, too, focusing on maintaining appearances rather than the crushing realization that he is going to die, bloody and exposed. 

      Angel is so wrapped up in his- rapidly spiraling- thoughts that he doesn't clock the slumped form splayed across the couch, muttering to themselves, until they pop their head up at his late-night intrusion and lock eyes with him.

      Sans top-hat, and his usual cutting smile, Lucifer fucking Morningstar is staring back at him, jaw dropped as his gaze struggles to remain on his face. That's fair, Angel supposes, he hadn't bothered cleaning up before heading home, not wanting to spend another minute in the studio and thinking the majority of the hotel would be in bed. Keyword being majority. 

      Fruitlessly, angel crosses his lower arms in a way that attempts to preserve his modesty. 

      "What crawled up your ass and died?" Angel drawls. Perhaps not the proper way to be addressing the king of hell, but it's going to be light outside soon, and to be fair, he does look like shit. Huge bags gather beneath each eye, his cheeks gaunt with a unique kind of Victorian despair you only really read about in books. At Angel's words, though, he chuckles- it's small, but seems real-and pushes his disheveled hair back from his forehead. 

      "You're one to talk, hm?" Another chuckle, "Come here." He pats the space on the couch beside him and scooches over to give Angel ample room. As he moves away, Angel can see what he's been muttering over- a small round frame, holding a picture of what looks like himself, a much younger Charlie, and a woman Angel has never seen before. Ah. Well fuck. 

      Angel, unprepared to be dealing with this minefield of a conversation, shakes his head. 

      "It's late, your highness. I've gotta cleanup before today's 'morning bonding activities'." 

      Lucifer gives him a dubious kind of look.

      "You're going to do 'bonding activities' like that? You'll keel over. Come here, I think I can help." Angel isn't really sure how, considering angelic power hurts sinners and he doesn't see any med-kit around here, but he is vaguely afraid of rejecting the king of hell outright and incurring his wrath. They haven't had much time to get to know each other; considering Angel's track record with powerful demons, he's chosen to keep his distance. He's not sure how much Lucifer knows about his job either, or how much he knows about hell in general as it is now, considering he's been a recluse for decades. 

      "Uh..." Angel hesitates, glancing for a moment up the stairs towards his room. Wishing, more than anything, to be in bed cuddling with Nug right now. 

      "I'll be quick. Just... please let me help. You're one of Charlie's people, and I couldn't live with myself if I just looked away while you..." He gestures to Angel's body, and the violence carved into it, and Angel gets it. With a sigh, he makes his way to the couch and settles as far away as he can from where Lucifer is sitting, drawing both of his stiff legs to his chest when sitting normally makes him feel too exposed. 

      Lucifer chuckles, again, and Angel can hear what he mutters to himself, this time.

      "Just like Char-Char, roly-poly-ing as soon as you get hurt." 

      Angel bristles. "I'm not your fuckin' kid, sicko. Do what you're gonna do and let me go, I've got a pig to feed."

      Lucifer meets the words with wide eyes that almost immediately soften into something gentler, almost baleful. "Sorry." He mutters, then cups his hands and closes his eyes. After a few seconds, golden light starts to pool in the makeshift basin he's created, building upon itself until it's about a half-inch deep. Looks angelic to Angel, and, despite his name, he knows that kind of shit will kill him if he gets too close. 

      "Sir, I dunno if-"

      "Shh..." Lucifer hushes, eyes still closed. There's a knit between his brows that wasn't there before. Angel wonders if getting in touch with his powers is painful at all, after what happened to send him here. He glances at the picture on the table, Charlie and her father look ecstatic, with matching face-splitting grins that they're exchanging with each other. The woman stands about an inch away, with primly folded hands, and a restrained smile on her lips. Angel isn't quite sure how to feel about her. 

      Before he can ponder any further on Lucifer's family and love life, the angel gasps, "Done!" 

      In his hands, the once-golden pool of light has turned a deep red, almost-like blood, just a shade lighter. It's a little close to Val's color, and Angel has to be thankful that it's liquid, not smoke. 

      "Now, can you set your legs down?"

      Angel doesn't tear his eyes from the liquid in Lucifer's hands. What if it's not a cure? What if it hurts? Worse, what if he likes it? maybe that's what Lucifer's banking on, him liking it. that's how Val got him, and the colors are almost exactly the same.  He can feel his chest constricting. He knew he should've just gone to bed.

      "Ooookay... Or we can chill for a little bit." Lucifer gingerly places his cupped hands in his lap and lets out a low, unassuming whistle. Angel hates that it helps him calm down. 

      They stay silent and frozen for another few minutes over which Angel's breathing- excruciatingly- slows and his shoulders drop.

      "Sorry..." It's his turn to mutter. Lucifer just smiles at him. 

      "That's alright. Can you get your legs now? Or do you need a minute?" He's so nice. Why is the king of hell so nice? Why does Charlie have such complicated daddy issues when her dad is so. Fucking. Nice? Angel throws his legs off the couch.

      "Do your worst." He almost tacks on a 'daddy' at the end there, but catches himself just in time. Force of habit. 

      Lucifer smiles to himself like he knows, but telegraphs his movements as he leans forward and presses the liquid to the middle of Angel's chest, right at his heart. Angel flinches a little at the initial warmth, but Lucifer kindly ignores it, stepping back as soon as all of the liquid has- somehow, likely magically- seeped into Angel. 

      It's pleasant. Doesn't hurt, even as Angel can feel all of the deep, bleeding wounds on his back and thighs closing up. All he can feel is a steady warmth, like sitting in front of a fire, as it works its way through his body. A satisfied hum remains thrumming through him, even as the liquid finishes its work. 

      After less than five minutes, Angel feels as good as new. He doesn't think he's felt this good in decades.  He can't help the grin that creeps onto his face at the well of feeling that bubbles in his chest.

      "Shit! Thank you, sir! I feel great."

      Lucifer is already looking at him when he whips his head around to thank him. He's got a wistful sort of look on his face that Angel couldn't even begin to decode. He returns Angel's grin, even looks a little better-for-wear himself. Got some color back, maybe.

      "Anytime, Angel. And I mean that, anytime at all, even if it's not dawn and we're not the only ones here. I know a thing or two about keeping up appearances. It won't be a big, embarrassing thing."

      With that, he winks and from thin air, his hat, coat, and staff appear, falling precisely where they usually sit. Once Angel recovers enough from the shock of that to look back at his face, his trademark pointy grin is firmly in place.

      "Good morning Charlie! Ready to seize the day, huh?" He calls to a disheveled looking Charlie; she must've just woken up. 

      "Mo-" A yawn interrupts her greeting. "Morning, dad... Angel?" Angel grins over at her and nods.

      "Just got back. Don't worry, I'll be up and at-em for our 'bonding activities' or whatever, m' just gonna go feed Nug."

      For a moment, she seems dubious, but before she can ask further, Lucifer swoops in. 

      "I was just telling him to go get a little power-nap in! Here, while he does that, how do we feel about pancakes?"

      Charlie gasps, sufficiently distracted, and follows him to the kitchen.

      "My favorite!"

         Angel chances one last glance at the two of them before heading upstairs. It’s a domestic scene, Lucifer has magicked an apron onto himself that says ‘Be Nice to the Cook’ and is whisking frantically while Charlie dozes on the island behind him. He’s still smiling, even when turned away from her, but Angel can see that it’s pasted on.

         The picture has disappeared, too, he notices, when he finally turns away.

         He’s not quite sure how he feels about any of this, right now. But nothing hurts.

         Not anymore.

100 Followers Celebration 🎉!!!

OMG GUYS!! I just hit 100 followers on here (I honestly can’t fathom that many people wanting to see my insane and erratic fics) and I wanted to do something to celebrate!! And to thank you all for being here and enjoying my work!! So- here’s the plan:

- 100 words for 100 days: For 100 days, I write and post 100 word microfics about different pairings or gen relationships that could either come from y’all (if there’s one you really want to see put it in my askbox and I’ll add it to the list!!) or from whatever I’m hyper fixating on at the moment. Don’t worry, if you’ve already posted in my askbox about certain pairings, I’ve added them already. I think it’ll be a great warmup, as well as a really fun way to keep myself accountable and productive in terms of honing my writing. I hope you’re all as excited as I am about this!!

The 100 days will begin next Monday!! I’m moving this week so gotta delay it a little but TRUST I’m so excited!! 🙏🫡

I am OBSESSED with your huskerdust + radioapple fic, I need MOREE🙏

Aww thank you!! I’ve been thinking of doing something else with them perhaps centered around a different character (maybe husk pov?? I dunno if I’ve got a strong enough grasp of him tho…) any specific tropes you’re wanting to see?

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

A little comfort continuation of my riz 💚character study (aftermath w/ jawbone to the rescue!! hes such a dad 🐺)

Riz meant to go back inside. He did. He was going to heave himself up and amble back in, wedging himself between Fabian and Fig (if they hadn’t already filled his space with their flailing limbs in the short time he’d been out).

He was going to do it. Just as soon as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Just as soon as he got a handle on things.

It can’t have been longer than twenty minutes after Pok hung up when the door behind him creaks open. Shit. He thought he had more time. Riz swallows and blinks frantically as if that will somehow cover the puffiness to his eyes, the tear tracks that- despite excessive scrubbing- won’t completely go away.

 “Riz.” It’s Jawbone. There’s relief in his voice, but something else too. A yawning kind of drowsiness. Riz takes a deep breath, ignoring the sinking ball of guilt in his gut.

“Hey, Jawbone, sorry. Did I wake you up?” He almost surprises himself with the calmness in his voice, but is glad of it, nonetheless. What an inconvenient time to find out he actually can lie convincingly.   

The door creaks again and there’s a sharp click in the silence of the night as Jawbone shuts the door behind him. There are a few moments of scuffling before a weight settles over Riz’s shoulders- warm, fluffy- and Jawbone sits next to him on the steps.

Riz looks down to find that he’s been wrapped in a blanket, one of the nice ones from the linen closet. Had Jawbone known he was out here? How much had he seen? Did he hear anything?

Riz pulls the blanket tighter against himself, suddenly aware of how cold he is.

“Thanks.” He mutters. Jawbone hums and turns to look at him.

“Course. Saw you shivering, didn’t want you to catch a cold or nothin’.” Maybe this is something to do with guidance counselors, or faculty at Auguefort in general, but Jawbone’s gaze is piercing. Riz feels at once flayed open and carefully examined.

He coughs, curling further into himself.

“I can go back in now. Was going to, in a second, but…” He can’t finish the thought, everything that comes to mind is either childish or worrying, neither of which he wants to be in front of Jawbone. He swallows thickly.

Jawbone leans into the railing behind him, getting comfortable. “There’s no rush, Riz. I mean, I do think you need to sleep at some point tonight, but that can wait a little. At least until your tail stops swishin’ like that.” Riz immediately tucks the thing under one of his legs, embarrassed at being betrayed by his own biology. His face burns.

“I’m fine. You’re right, I need to get some sleep before the exam tomorrow, or I’ll be totally useless to the party.” He doesn’t turn to look at Jawbone as he speaks, simply stares resolutely at some of the loose brick in front of him.

“Now I didn’t say that last part, kiddo. You need to sleep ‘cuz it looks like you haven’t gotten a proper eight hours in a while, and I can see it weighing on your shoulders with the rest of it.” Jawbone says, gently. Riz bristles, almost wants to hiss at him. What does he know about what Riz carries on his shoulders?

“I said I’m fine, Jawbone.” He grits, standing. “I should go.” Jawbone curses.

“Wait. Please.” Riz pauses, finally meeting his eyes. They’re as sharp as ever, but soft, too. If that makes any sense. Jawbone continues, “It kills me seein’ you like this kiddo. I feel like a broken record sayin’ this, but I really do mean it, I’m always here to talk if you need to. Or, even if you don’t want to talk I just- it just seems like you could use somebody, is all.”

Riz feels like he’s glitching. His mind is screaming at him to keep walking, to get back in the house, lay down, and close his eyes tight until the sleep takes. But he’s so warm. And he kind of wants to cry again and Jawbone would give him a hug, probably, if he asked for it. Right?

At war with himself, all he manages to do is freeze in his tracks and utter an intelligent, “Um.”

Jawbone smiles and pats the stone next to him.

“Come on. You don’t gotta say anything, but at least sit down. And- oh, here,” He reaches into one of his cardigan’s pockets and produces a small mini chocolate bar. “A little pick-me-up.”

Riz settles gingerly next to him, closer than before but not close enough to touch. He reaches over and takes the chocolate, movements slow as he raises his eyebrows.

Jawbone shrugs. “I always keep a few on me, just in case. Never know when you might need ‘em.”

Riz smiles, small and to himself, for the first time in what feels like hours. Jawbone grins back.

“There he is. If you want another, just ask, I should have one or two more on me.”

Then it’s silent for a good, long while. Riz stares into the pitch black that pushes up against the safe halo of light surrounding the house as he chews on silky chocolate. He can’t help but replay the conversation with his father over and over again in his mind. Jawbone’s head is tilted to the stars.

For all he knows- for all Riz ever knows- that could be the last conversation he is able to have with Pok until he dies again. The watch is what allows them to talk across planes and it, like everything else Riz is and owns, is breakable. It’s unlikely that the watch will break tomorrow (Riz is a ranged fighter, he never gets close if he can help it, nothing should get near enough to him to get to it…), but not impossible. Never impossible.

Something warm and wet drips down his chin and onto his fist, where its clenched around the blanket. Riz brings his other hand to swipe at his eyes. Fuck. He shouldn’t be crying like this. He thought he was cried-out.

Jawbone’s voice rings out from beside him, tender, “Kiddo.”

Riz shakes his head, curling further into the blanket as if the fabric might protect him from this mortifying situation.

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “I thought I was done with this part.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“It’s okay to need to cry, Riz. Definitely nothing you need to apologize for.”

Riz shivers, somehow cold again, even with the blanket. He wants to burrow into Jawbone’s chest, to cling like he used to, to his mom before he grew out of it and became a man (he was so young, then; he should’ve given it more time, he could’ve given it more time). He doesn’t want to ask, though.

Doesn’t know if he can ask.

Jawbone looks down at him- shivering, hunched underneath a thin cotton blanket- and he must see something that Riz doesn’t mean to betray because his breath catches, and he does the asking for him.

“Can I hug ya, kid?”

Riz nods once, sharply, as soon as the words are in the air. Jawbone reaches out and gathers him up in his arms. Pressing him firmly, but gently, against his chest. Riz buries his face into his cardigan and allows himself a minute of foolishness.

He hiccups.

“I miss my dad, Jawbone. I wish he wasn’t dead.” His voice breaks on the last word, all he gets out is the ‘de’, and he leaves the rest to hang in the air with his sobs.

Jawbone’s hand comes up to rub lightly over his back. He doesn’t say anything, just allows Riz to cycle through his emotions.

“It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he’s gone and me and mom just have to deal with it.” Riz takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“Sometimes… I know it’s stupid and illogical, but sometimes I get mad at him. I get so furious with him. Because he’s not here. He didn’t do what he needed to do to be here for his son. And I know that’s wrong and he couldn’t help it and if he could choose to be here, he would, but it doesn’t stop the anger. I don’t like it. But I don’t know what to do with it because it’s not fixable. I can’t put it anywhere, so I just push it down and hope it goes away, eventually. It never goes away.”

Jawbone hums, and Riz can feel the vibration of it against his cheek. It reminds him of a cat purring, almost. If the cat smelled like dog.

“It’s okay to feel upset that your father was taken from you before you got the chance to know him. That’s not stupid or illogical. I’m sure he beats himself up about it just as much, if he’s anything like his son.”

Riz, despite himself, laughs.

“It’s nice getting to know him now.” He sniffs. “It’s just- I feel like I’m playing a game of catch-up every time we talk. Like I’m late to the race. Most kids know what their dads do for work before high school.”

“But it’s not a race, Riz.” Jawbone’s voice is low, but vehement. “No one is judging you for not knowing these things about your father, because you thought he was unreachable up until a year ago. The fact that you’re taking every opportunity to learn about him, that you spent so much time- even before you knew what he did for work- visiting his grave and updating him about your life, and still do, sometimes. It’s a testament to how much you love him. I think he knows that.”

The silence following those words stays for another minute or so before Riz huffs.

“But I don’t love him enough to bring him back, huh. There’s magic in any strong emotion, Kristin told me that, once. And I just started messing with magic stuff, but you would think that it wouldn’t be impossible. Not if the love was strong enough.”

Jawbone sighs, brings a hand to Riz’s hair and begins to card through it, almost absentmindedly. Riz freezes, then melts into it. It’s been so long since anybody played with his hair like this. His mom used to do it, when he was younger, but then the bills got higher, her shifts got longer. It fell to the bottom of the priorities list.

“You can’t do that to yourself, kid. You can’t. You think if Ms. Barkrock wanted it enough, was rageful enough, she coulda expelled the demon from her chest earlier?”

Riz shakes his head, slightly, afraid to dislodge jawbone’s hand. “Of course not. But that’s different-“

“Not really.” Jawbone cuts in, gently. “Point is, magic don’t work like that. Emotions are a factor, yes, but there’s so much else that goes into it. You love your dad so much, Riz, anyone can see that.”

Riz sniffles. “Thanks, Jawbone.”

Jawbone smiles where Riz can’t see, and ruffles his hair before allowing him to pull away.

“Anytime, kiddo.”