So I Got Into Grad School Today With My Shitty 2.8 Gpa And The Moral Of The Story Is Reblog Those Good

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

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

Are u one of the three ppl who is both obsessed with MHA and Do androids dream of electric sheep?? Then oh boy have i written the fic for u (it was mostly for me,,, but im not NOT gonna promote it its 16k words!) welcome to todoiida blade runner where todo is an android and iida is deckard also its not bladerunner its DADOES :) also i get tired and it rushes a little at the end also my finance major becomes so incredibly obvious :) please i need to find my people,, there must be someone who is as crazy abt this concept as i am

Wrote a fic after watching the new deadpool & wolverine movie ❤️💛

SPOILERS !!! Just FYI :) marvel are cowards they should’ve fucked

Uh-oh have some more; i have a problem ! Huskerdust pt. 2 🕸️❤️‍🩹

It’s stupid. Really, it’s fucking insane, nonsensical, and the worst goddamn idea Angel’s had since he sold his soul. Still, though, he can’t stop humming the song.

“I’m a loser, baby…” He sings to himself, curled around Nug as he stares out his window into the neon lights and building fires that ever burn throughout the city. One thing he likes about the hotel- aside from actually having people who care about what happens to him, and a safe (and free!) place to sleep- is that he can’t see Val’s from his room's window. He can fall asleep without his sword hanging over his neck, without the constant reminder of what he’s allowed himself to become.

Before tonight, before Husk’s surprisingly uplifting little song and dance number, Angel hated most of what he was. Yeah he likes sex, but he doesn’t like being a whore. Doesn’t like being Val’s whore, especially. 

And it didn’t make anything better, not really. Not in any way that matters. But it was nice to smile at Husk and not be expected to put out for it. To dance and sing without a leash, and instead gentle fleeting touches to guide him through the steps.

Angel curls further into himself, Nug makes a soft squealing noise at the jostling. 

Husk was so careful with him. They were on the side of the goddamn street, next to a puddle of bum-puke (which Husk had prevented from getting on him!!) and Husk chose to be kind with Angel. What an idiot. What a gentleman.

They’d never work out, Angel has to remind himself of that when a shiver of a feeling he’d thought had long been fucked or beaten out of him by now works its way through his body. Warm and sugary. 

Both beholden to contracts they’d signed, pets to egotistic psychopaths entirely too eager to make them suffer. What now feels so comforting could very quickly turn into something agonizing and painful. Plus, Husk doesn’t want him. He’s made that abundantly clear by now. Sure he’s being nice now that Angel’s ‘respecting his boundaries’ or whatever but the boundaries are there for a reason. He doesn’t want Angel. So much that it makes him uncomfortable if he gets too close.  

Angel can feel his eyelids getting heavy, but there’s a jittering in his chest that signals a rough night. Shit, even with a night as good as this one, he can’t sleep in peace? 

He’s a loser. Damaged goods. Maybe he’s not alone, but fuck if he doesn’t feel it right now. 

Nug wriggles out from the lax cage of his arms and jumps off the bed. 

***

There are texts from Val waiting on Angel’s phone when he wakes up. 

He was right, it was a rough night. Only managed a cool three hours of fitful tossing before his alarm rang for the hotel’s ‘daily activities’. Say what you will about him, he’s nothing if not punctual (and Charlie had looked real pitiful when she asked him to come down in the mornings more, it’s really impossible to say no to her face). 

The texts are a long eternity of scrolling pink. Angel sighs at the few words he manages to catch as he makes his way to the top, “whore” (unoriginal), “bitch” (overdone), “ungrateful” (points for accuracy), and a whole myriad of other demeaning things that his exhaustion addled mind can’t be assed to fully compartmentalize.

He didn’t know how much he’d miss being called “baby” in that smooth low baritone until now; being called all the regular stuff makes his stomach churn in comparison. Or maybe it’s just who’s calling him what. He’d let Husk call him whatever he wanted if he kept being all gentle with him. Shit, it hasn’t even been a day and he’s already mooning like a whiny romance protagonist. Eugh. 

Looks like he’s got another long shoot today. He’s expected over in an hour or so, and Val had signed off with an “xoxo” which really means “or else”. God, he’s really punishing him for stepping out of line this time. Angel can feel a twinge of something in his back as he stands from his bed. Even with an enhanced body, fourteen hours nonstop took it’s toll, and it’s just going to get worse from here. He winces to himself and moves to rub at the sore spot. “Fuck.” He mutters, casting around for a decently sexy outfit so Val doesn’t have another thing to nitpick about. 

It doesn’t take long, after the first several years of coming home sticky and itchy Angel had curated his closet to be both sexy and comfortable. Every piece strikes that balance perfectly and nothing clashes when combined. He’s quite proud of it actually, but it’s not something that comes up often in conversation so he doesn’t really ever have the occasion to brag. 

Husk is- as he always is- shining glasses behind the bar when Angel makes his way down. One has to wonder if the dishes he’s cleaning are actually dirty, or if he just needs something to do with his hands. Angel would put a lot of money on the latter, no one here- even with all the alcoholics- could possibly go through glasses that fast. 

Husk’s eyes dart up to his when the stairs let out a sharp creak, announcing his presence. With a small, private smile he waves him over.

“Mornin’ Angel. Fancy a drink?”

It’s really pathetic how much Angel has to fight to not give in. Not to walk over and settle at the bar, letting that warm, even voice soothe all his decades old aches and pains. He smiles, but it’s tight and untrue. Husk glances down at his lips for a moment, frowns, then goes back to shining.

“Sorry, Kitty, got a shoot. Raincheck?” He hopes he says yes. What he would give to be able to see Husk at the end of the- long, painful and entirely exhausting- day and share a drink. He’s never been to heaven, never even tried thinking about what might be up there because, well, look at him. It’s not really his kind of place, is it?

Still, though, a drink with Husk at the end of today’s misery has got to be pretty damn close. As close as Angel can ever hope to get, anyways. Husk sets the newly polished glass down, and leans against the countertop.

“Sure thing. I’ll have a cosmo waiting.” Angel can tell he wants to ask, that he wants to say something about Val and the fact that this is the second day in a row Angel is going in for a long shoot. About the bruises that are still visible, having just started purpling against Angel’s skin. But he doesn’t, he bites his tongue and offers what solace he can. The feeling that bubbles beneath Angel’s skin at this realization is hot and dangerous. 

He nods, curt and with another stiff smile before scurrying off. He hates that Husk has seen him like this. 

“I can’t wait.” Angel mutters- more to himself than anything- at the cusp of the doorway. 

And it’s the gospel goddamned truth. 

***

It’s late, definitely later than whatever ballpark time Husk had in mind when he accepted the raincheck for tonight and though Angel knows Husk’s not really one to give much of a shit about punctuality-  when you have eternity ahead of you, ‘on time’ becomes pretty damned relative- he still feels like shit for keeping him waiting.

He’s fidgeting in the back of a sleek, pink limo Val had been kind enough to provide him when, at the end of today’s shoot, Angel had found himself frighteningly unable to walk. Of course, nothing is ever free in this unlife, so Val had taken a cut of his earnings to ‘compensate himself’ for having to cart Angel around, when, if he’d just done as he was told, he wouldn’t have gotten himself hurt enough to need it. 

Angel doesn’t want to buy into the idea, but Val has a point. He needs to be more careful if he’s going to continue being of any use to the hotel. As much as he pretends to be an uncaring freeloader, something itches beneath his skin at the thought of actually becoming one. He can pull his weight. He can pull his goddamned weight.

The limo swerves in front of the hotel and lets him off with little fanfare; Angel gingerly picks his way up the hill to the large front doors, wincing and trying to ignore the stabbing agony going on below his waist with each step. 

He doesn’t expect to see anyone when he walks in, it’s late, and they have ‘redemption’ exercises to do in the morning; even Husk has to have a bedtime and it’s late enough that Angel assumes the time has already passed. Hell, if Angel didn’t have work today he’d probably be asleep by now. 

And yet- as he tiptoes past the threshold, gently pulling the door closed behind him- Angel hears a low rumbling sound. The lights in the lobby are off, as expected, but there’s just enough ambient light to reveal a small lump curled up on the couch. Upon closer inspection, Angel realizes that the sound is purring, and the lump is Husk. 

“What the fuck…” He mutters to himself, as Husk’s purring is interrupted by what Angel can only describe as a hitching snore before resuming with even more force. His wings, which have been wrapped around himself in a facsimile of a blanket, tremble and shudder with the power of the vibrations. Angel has to strangle the coo that tries to escape his lips at the sight. 

Fuck, that’s adorable. He really is just a kitty underneath all that jaded bullshit, huh. Unwitting, Angel’s hand reaches out to coast over the fur on his head. Not quite touching, but close enough to feel the warm shudder of contented purring. It’s enough to make Angel forget about his injuries for the moment, too enamored with the rare sight of a pleasantly sated Husk in the throes of sleep. 

Alas, the bliss of the moment is short-lived, and before Angel can tug his hand away, Husk snatches it out of the air, scrambling up into a sitting position to glare at him and hiss. Okay, even his hissing is kind of cute, but that might just be Angel’s fucked up-ness talking. 

“Hey… Huskie…” Angel eeks, trying to pull his hand away from Husk’s bruising grip. His body’s already got its work cut out with his other injuries, it doesn’t need more paltry bruises to expend its energy on. 

Husk shakes his head and, after a moment, his eyes clear of the film of sleep. Once he recognizes Angel in front of him, he drops his arm, as if burned. 

“Fuck, Angel. Y’can’t sneak up on me like that.” Having regained his senses, he takes a moment to apprise himself of the state of Angel, eyes roving critically over each exposed patch of skin in the dim light. His expression gradually hardens as he becomes more and more aware of just how much damage there is to contend with. Angel, desperate to talk about literally anything but his bleeding body laughs hollowly.

“Yeah, sorry man. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep before, though, did you know you purr?” Husk gives him a blank look at the obvious attempt at deflection but, after a moment, shrugs and scoots over, patting the space beside him on the couch. “I was aware. Must’ve passed out waiting for you.” He scratches at the chops of fur just below his chin as he speaks, seemingly unconcerned with what he’s just said. That he waited for Angel to come back so they could have their raincheck; that he waited up and Angel was late. 

Angel feels a little sick, the mixture of butterflies and sinking despair in his gut creating something entirely new, and entirely nauseating. He winces, but settles on the couch, curling into himself. “Sorry about that, Tuts. Got a little caught up at the studio… Y’know you didn’t have to wait up, right? We can always raincheck another day.”

It’s quiet for a long, excruciating moment, before Angel feels Husk’s eyes on him again. He can’t bring himself to meet them, instead staring further into the relative safety of the knotted wooden floor. Husk sighs.

“I know. I wanted to.” 

Oh. Oh, fuck. Angel is infinitely thankful for the fact that the lights are off because he can feel the aggressive flush working its way up his cheeks and knows it would be incredibly obvious, if it isn’t already. He coughs into one of his hands. 

“But… I was late…? It’s- it’s like four AM. I wouldn't blame you for just going to bed.” Angel isn’t really sure why he’s arguing with Husk about this, all he knows is that none of what has happened since he walked into the hotel has made any goddamn sense, and it’s making his stomach churn. Husk’s tail swishes, hovering lightly over the span of Angel’s hunched shoulders, not touching, but close enough to feel. 

Finally, after another long minute of silence, Husk speaks.

“I just wanted to make sure you got back okay.” Part of Angel swoons at the gentlemanly sentiment, the rest of him bristles at the implication that he needs that. That he can’t make sure he gets back okay on his own. That he’s weak. He whips around to glare at a startled Husk. 

“And you don’t think I can get myself back safely? Fuck you, man, I’m not some weak little damsel in need of saving.” He spits. Husk shakes his head, eyes wide at the vehemence in Angel’s words. His hand raises from his lap- perhaps to reach out, to comfort- but at Angel’s expression, he brings it to his own arm to rub at his tricep sheepishly. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth, Angel.” He scolds, brows furrowed, “I don’t think you’re weak, I just don’t want you to feel like you’re facing this alone.”

Angel scoffs and turns away. Evidently, that’s the breaking point for Husk, because he huffs and snarls, “What? I can’t care about you?” There’s a static to his movements, a ruffling to his fur that indicates real irritation. For some reason, that makes Angel angrier. 

“Not if you’re not fucking me! Not if you don’t get any fucking thing out of it! Fuck!” His wounds give a valiant, biting twinge at the end of his sentence, causing Angel to hunch over himself and press a hand against his side while he struggles to catch his breath. Through the haze of agony, he hears shuffling, and feels the couch straighten as Husk rises to leave. 

Good fucking riddance. Angel knew it was all talk. He knew it. 

His breaths remain ragged for a long time while he tries to get ahold of himself again. Enough, at least, that he can drag himself back to his room. He curses Husk, but more so he curses himself for getting himself into this situation in the first place. What was his one rule? Don’t get attached, don’t let them lure you into thinking they care because they never do, and you’re just going to end up getting your feelings hurt if you keep being stupid about it. 

The pain does not abate, even as his thoughts spiral ever downwards into despair. 

After an excruciating, indeterminate amount of time, he feels the couch dip again and, unwilling to face whatever well-meaning do-gooder it is this time, Angel shakes his head. 

“Leave. Me. Alone.” he grits, each word more painful than the last. The person does not leave.

“Are you gonna let me help you now, or is it going to be another fight?” It’s Husk’s voice. He’s back. Fuck, why is he back? The noise of confusion that bursts from Angel’s lips is entirely unwitting. He opens his mouth to offer a scathing rebuttal, but can only manage a soft groan. Husk scoots closer. He’s warm. Fuzzy.

“Just nod or shake your head. Can I touch you?” Angel takes a moment to think about it, but has to acquiesce to himself that if he doesn’t let Husk touch him, he’s going to be in agony for the rest of the night. With great effort, he nods. A heavy breath punches itself from Husk’s lips, fanning warmly across Angel’s head. 

“Okay. Good. I’m gonna lay you down so I can get a better look.” Angel desperately wants to make a joke about the phrasing of that, but doesn’t get the chance before he's being manhandled onto his back. It’s a familiar situation, but the usual spike of fear in his throat is noticeably absent this time. Angel doesn’t dwell on what that might mean. 

Husk works quickly and efficiently on Angel’s wounds, soothing him with a warm hand through Angel’s hair whenever the pain gets to be too much- punching miserable little sounds from him- and keeping his touches strictly clinical. When he finishes, he sits back on his heels with a sigh. Settling back at the other end of the couch and allowing Angel his personal space again. Angel’s eyes feel surprisingly heavy. He catches a soft look from Husk before they flutter closed. 

Husk chuckles, soft and low.

“See? Doesn’t always have to be a fight.”

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.”