#Block me!! Its free it takes no effort its easy!!!

[whimsidollie]

"omfg youre so fucking mean and toxic (navy seals copypasta length rant ab how im essentially satan incarnate bc one one (1) opinion)"

BRO WHO ARE YOU GENUINLY

[highvern]

Houdini

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: smut, hint of fluff at the end

warnings: drinking, allusion to drug use, sub hoshi likes when reader is mean to him, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, protected sex, reader calls hoshi a furry more than once, cumshot, hair pulling, reader wears bunny ears

Length: ~5.3k

Note: this started as a prologue to a different fic but i wanted it to become its own fic. danke @gyuswhore for being my torture subject as always as well as @onlyhuis @temptaetions @cheolism

Summary: The guy wearing a tiger onesie and ripping a bong in the corner might not be the most promising prospect of the night. But you've got a point to prove and a bet to win. series m.list: Green Light [s], Yuck [f], Talk [a, s, f], Casual [a, s, f], Mine [s], espresso [f, s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The cramped living room is hazy with the smell of pot, cut by cheap led strip lights painting everything in violets and blues. Butt numb from the stiff armrest of the couch, you adjust the bunny ears on your head for the fifth time in the twenty minutes you’ve sat there.

Everyone else skitters around, dressed as different animals. More bunnies, a few cats, a guy dressed like a dinosaur hogging a joint. It’s someone’s birthday; a friend of a friend you’ve never met, but the promise of free alcohol before heading downtown isn’t even close to the worst way to spend your time. It’s why you fished out the dumb satin bunny ears from your closet; a relic from Halloweens past when you needed a cheap excuse to wear something scandalous in public with little judgment. 

June disappeared thirty minutes ago to find the birthday boy, leaving your entire group to mingle until she returns. 

You intently listen as Lily vents about her work crush for the nth time. His name is of no relevance, but she’s convinced herself it's love despite the fact he possesses fewer brain cells than a rock. A proven fact since he didn’t know the difference between consonants and vowels despite being well into his twenties.

“Why all the talk about relationships?” you interrupt. “Can we please have one night where we don’t talk about guys.”

“Some of us want boyfriends.” Anna rolls her eyes. 

“And yet, you can find one hundred percent of the benefits of one with zero effort. At least without all the mind games you two go through every week.”

“Easy for you to say.” Anna argues. “You’re like the poster girl for no-commitment sex.”

“I like what I like,” you shrug. “Not guys that say they want a relationship and then claim you're moving too fast when you ask him to treat you like a person.”

Lily gives an exasperated groan to the ceiling. “We get it. You hate romance.”

“I don’t hate it. I just like to be realistic. Most guys are good for one thing and I happen to admire them for that.”

“Do you realistically think you can get any guy here to sleep with you?” Anna asks. 

Any guy is a stretch. You’re easy but not without standards. Taken men are strictly off the menu. Along with weirdos or guys that look like they’ve never seen the inside of a shower. Anyone looking for a relationship typically removes themself from the running after figuring out you aren’t looking to be saved or changed, just a warm body that’s easy on the eyes.

“Pick anyone and if I pull him you owe me breakfast tomorrow.” You challenge them with a smirk. It’s slim pickings so early in the night, but nothing you can’t work with.

“Okay, then.” Lily agrees. “What about him?”

It takes you a moment to decipher who her manicured finger is pointing at. There's a small crowd in the corner of the room, guys too scared to mingle or uninterested in anything beyond their circle jerk. But he’s easy to spot; a tiger onesie and a dark crop of hair are all the details you get from this far away.

He seems to be the main entertainer of the bubble. Hands fly in different directions, chaotic but graceful. Now that you’re locked onto him, the boom of his voice floats under the heavy music. Tiger guy isn't your usual type. He’s lithe and lean; maybe a dancer or something athletic. You like them tall and domineering. It makes it that much sweeter when they try to dominate you, only to be beaten at their own game. Mingyu wasn’t your A-list fuck buddy for no reason. A damn shame he moved away at the end of last year.

But the man Lily’s picked will do what you need him to; prove a point and grant you a free meal. If you get at least one orgasm out of it then that’ll be a bonus. Chugging the last of your drink (which smells like nail polish remover and paint thinner had a very toxic baby), you drop the empty cup into Anna’s hand.

“And we want proof!” Anna calls as you stalk toward the far wall.

One of the other guys he’s talking to sees you approach, and you watch the way his eyes convey your presence, nearly bugging out of his skull. A gentle tap on tiger guy’s shoulder has him turning to greet you.

Confusion clouds his face. He’s cuter than you expected, with furrowed eyebrows and a pout that draws your eyes to his mouth with curiosity. You’ll find out their talents soon enough. 

“Hi,” you smile.

“Hi?” he parrots.

“I’m Y/N.” Eyes round with faux innocence, you make a point to take a few seconds staring at his mouth before meeting his curious gaze.

“Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung. The name rolls along your tongue easily. You light up at the way his eyes follow the curve of your mouth around the sound. It’s too easy.

Pushing forward, chest to chest; raising on your toes. You relish in another shiver at the brush of your mouth against his ear. “Is this your party?”

“Yeah, it’s my roommate’s birthday,” he says.

So that’s who June knows. 

“Cool. Wanna show me your room?”

“What?” You can hear the record scratch in Soonyoung’s brain; see the disbelief in his eyes.

Stepping into his space, your gaze burns a path from his lips to his eyes before you repeat, “your room?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can…definitely do that. This way!”

His own friends, still circled in the corner, gape in their own disbelief. Soonyoung has you charging through the crowded living room and down the hallway. Good. Even more bodies fill the narrow space but he nearly pushes them aside, waving off any grunts of discontent at his roughness.

You pass several doors on each side, all closed from prying eyes but you don’t have an interest anyway. His room is at the end of the long passage. A whiteboard with a crude image of a tiger and a rainbow hangs at eye level, coupled with ‘TamTam + Hoshi 5ever’ but you don’t have time to admire the art before you’re inside.

“So, this is it,” Soonyoung announces, hands wringing in front of his chest nervously. 

The tiger thing isn’t so much a coincidence and more of a theme. A poster of a tiger hangs on the wall above the dresser. But it’s not the worst of it. His bed hosts several plushies, all different sizes and shapes but certainly tigers. 

Whipping around, you eye him with incredulity. “Are you a fucking furry?”

“No!” He shakes like a bobblehead. Like he’s had to explain it dozens of times before. “It’s a joke! From college, with my friends.”

“A joke where you collect tiger memorabilia as a grown man?” You shoot back.

“It’s not that bad.”

Eyebrows flying to your hair line, you make a sweep of the room. “You have a framed picture of a tiger, are wearing a tiger suit, and have a miniature army of stuffed animals.” 

“Okay, maybe it is that bad, but I’m not a furry.”

If he was hiding more of the garish pattern out of sight you wouldn’t be surprised. For good measure, you fold over the blanket of his bed and sigh relief to find navy sheets instead of orange. You’ve slept with weirder guys for less but it’s nice to know he isn’t that weird.

“Whatever you say. But if you ask me to wear a tail, I’ll walk back out there and tell everyone.”

You peel your shirt off without another word. Once your vision is free of the fabric, you’re met with a starstruck man — mouth open, eyes skimming your chest, and what seems to be a half-chub tenting his pants. You revel in the silent awe rolling off him, preening at the attention. So easy.

But Soonyoung seems to come to his senses when you start working on the zipper holding together the back of your skirt shut.

“Woah, okay. We don’t have to go so fast,” he says, taking a step in your direction.

“So I should put my shirt back on?” You make for it like the threat is real.

“Let’s not be too hasty! I’m just saying, maybe we should, like, talk a bit first?”

Your feet carry you until there’s barely a breath between his body and your own. Soonyoung’s shirt brushes against your naked stomach with each stuttered breath as you eye his lips. “Well, do you wanna talk or do you want your dick sucked? Because I can only do one at a time.”

“Definitely the second one,” Soonyoung starts, dipping his hands to your ass for a harsh squeeze while shepherding you to his bed.

His mouth tastes like smoke and need. A disgusting combination if not for your tipsy brain easily ignoring it in favor of focusing on the roughness of his touch.

Soonyoung is eager, to say the least. He can’t touch you fast enough; hands darting from your ass, to your sides, to your breasts, and back down again. If this was happening at your apartment you’d tie him down and refuse to let him feel anything at all just to watch him squirm. 

You manage to flip him under you, pinning him in place with your thighs to rest across his lap like a throne. Taking the change in stride, he uses the new angle to mouth over your bra; sucking harshly at your covered nipples till they stiffen for his fingers to pinch at.

“Condoms?”

Soonyoung shakes his head. 

Digging the heel of your hand into his forehead successfully unlatches the suction around your nipple.  He pouts at the interruption.

“You don’t have condoms?”

“I do, but I’m not about to fuck you after two seconds of making out,” Soonyoung argues. “I‘m not even hard yet.”

Shocked by the sudden attitude, you huff before rolling your hips down. You're met with a familiar lump pressing into the crotch of your pants, and Soonyoung has the nerve to simply return to his previous task as you rock against him again.

“Liar,” you pant after a delicious drag of his teeth on your collarbone and his cock against your ass.

You stay locked like that for a while, writhing against one another as clothes come off without abandon. Your bra first, then the damn tiger onesie. Soonyoung gets you on your back before flipping up your skirt and pulling your panties to the side, revealing your drenched center.

He sucks a bruise on your nipple, tongue messy as he explores what’s between your legs with a gentle stroke of his fingers.

“Can I go down on you? Please say yes.” Soonyoung traces the request across your chest with more nips of his teeth. 

“You have to ask?”

“Consent is sexy.”

“You sound like a PSA,” you comment. “But, yeah go ahead.”

Your hips lift to aid in removing the last scraps of clothing. There’s no shyness as you spread your legs wide, flashing the aftermath of a good make-out session for Soonyoung eyes only.

“Oh my god,” he moans.

The heat of his breath fans across your folds, sending a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t even blink as you clench from the aching need to be filled with whatever he’s ready to offer,

“What?”

“This is gonna make me sound weird again, but you have a really pretty pussy.”

Not something any previous partners have chosen to comment on, but you preen under the compliment. “Thanks.”

“No. Thank you,” Soonyoung says before looking at the ceiling. “God, thank you so much for blessing me like this.” 

“Stop being lame or I'll leave.” 

“Sorry, you’re hot.” He says it like an accusation. “Just wanted to let the universe know I recognize that and appreciate it.” 

“How about you recognize the fact I’m drying up as we speak?” 

“No you aren’t,” Soonyoung argues. “You’re dripping on my sheets.” 

Your hand skates across your front, falling between your thighs. Like hypnosis, he watches with rapt attention as you frame your clit between two fingers, giving a clear target for his attention. 

“Then do something about it.”

With a hand fisted in his hair, he does. An aggressive suck against your clit without warm-up sends a tremor through your core. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting until he’s forced away from your cunt with a petulant frown. 

“If you keep licking my clit like a scratch off I will make you cry.” A jostle of the bed tells how effective your words are. “Oh my god. Did you just?” 

“I’ve never been threatened in bed before, okay? I'm just as shocked as you.”

He hides the embarrassment by wedging back between your thighs, gentler than before, lapping away the new flood of arousal from his responsiveness. A thrill hums down your spine and settles where Soonyoung’s mouth returns to work. His shoulders burn hot against the underside of your thighs, every surge of muscle rocking you back into the slick of his tongue. 

“Fuck.”

“Better?” he asks around a mouth full of pussy.

There might very well be a crowd at the door listening to every lewd squelch and pathetic whine, but you don’t care. A little direction, a grind of your hips when he does well and the sting of your nails when he gets ahead of himself does wonders. Soonyoung is eager to please and impress. You could probably lay here for an hour without a complaint for him; if anything, he’d actively encourage such indulgence if it meant your approval. 

It makes the temptation to overwhelm him too sweet to ignore. 

One of the hands flat against your stomach falls away easily, knotting his fingers through yours because of course he’d be the type to hold hands during sex. It’s cute, but that fondness is stomped down for something safer. 

Like sucking two fingers between your lips like it's his cock.

Soonyoung grunts frustration straight into your core, refusing to watch you wet his hand even when you moan at the prod against the back of your throat. Another hump against the mattress as an edge of teeth drags over his knuckles. 

You can’t help but laugh as he scrambles to stretch you across them. He curls one slowly, like you’ll object. When you don't, Soonyoung adds the other and resettles your thigh so he can watch them disappear inside. His knuckles return even more soaked and even you can’t pretend it isn’t a turn-on. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Before you can respond, he’s licking away the fresh wave of wetness from his praise. It isn’t new information, but Soonyoung is impossibly earnest and you’re pretty sure if he came from eating you out he’d be just as satisfied as if you fucked him.

“Gimme a third.”

Soonyoung moans like he’s the one getting off as he does what you ask. 

Your legs lock, sore at the hips from being dragged to the edge so quickly. It bubbles just under the surface. Too far away where you can’t reach it but know Soonyoung can. He knows it too by the way you whisper his name. 

“If you touch yourself right now will you cum?” 

“Probably.” 

“Good.” You're overeager, just like the man between your legs, but the idea he can get off from eating you out can’t be ignored. “Show me.” 

“If you make me cum twice tonight I will talk to my therapist about you, so no.”

You whine a protest. Something that would sound far more responsible falling from his lips in the established dynamic, but you don’t care. One of your feet wedges between the bed and his crotch, toeing along the bulge still hidden behind a pair of thin boxers.

“Is it not enough that I might cum from you insulting me, you have to see it happen?” He asks. 

The picture behind your eyelids is nothing short of demonic; pulling Soonyoung’s boxers down and the inside sticky with cum, but his cock still hard because once is definitely not enough. Or streaks of white coating his chest and thighs, the perfect trail to trace your tongue over. 

You don’t even have a chance to share the fantasy before he splits you on his tongue again. Firmer this time, with a hard press to your knees that has you vulnerable and exposed. He keeps his tongue flat and heavy on your clit. Perfect to grind up against until you shudder.

Since you can’t get Soonyoung to give in, you settle for ruining any future encounter he might have by making a show.

Your fingers tickle up your stomach, nails raising goosebumps at the soft touch. Back and forth and back and forth, a little higher each time until you catch the hill of your chests and circle the hard peaks. There's no reason to ease into it, not when you sneak a glance down and find a pair of brown eyes framed between your legs.

The way he watches makes you feel dirty. Nipples pebbled between your fingers, you arch into his next move. His tongue stays flat for you to use. You curl into it, humping Soonyoung’s face like he’s nothing more than a toy to get off on. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” 

He’s definitely slipped a fourth finger inside. The stretch borders just on the edge of pain but you take it in stride. Soonyoung looks like he might cum before you do. 

“I’m – oh. Just like that.” You groan deep from your core. 

Your clit is throbbing with sensitivity as he continues to coax pleased sounds from your tongue. Heating from the inside out, your hands abandoned the torture on your chest in favor of keeping Soonyoung in place so you can rut against him.

A switch flips with your next moan. Hands on your stomach, your breasts, shoving your thighs out of the way as he digs into your cunt like the best meal the world will know. 

“Cum for me. Please let me see you come,” Soonyoung begs. 

Fizzling out, you do what he asks. Your stomach tenses for a second and then you fly off the mattress from locked muscles. 

Soonyoung doesn’t stop as you twitch, nor when you kick an ankle into his side. Maybe you go a little wet at the eyes as he forces you straight into a second orgasm without an ounce of reprieve but it's probably coincidence.

Soonyoung finally moves away at an inhuman whine. His mouth is stained with the taste of you, but he wears it well. It almost makes you want to push him back down and see if you can survive a third orgasm.

To stop from blindly following temptation, you roll until you’re sat in his lap. You must look as disheveled as you feel; sweaty and strung out. Ready for more.

“Wait,” he sighs with the pain of a man delaying his own gratification. “Wear these.”

The wrinkled satin bunny ears knocked from your head earlier come back into view. Soonyoung doesn’t  even pretend to be ashamed as he plants them back on your head before finding the dip of your waist again.

You hate the idea of giving in so easily, but Soonyoung’s need rolls off him in thick waves feeding straight to your ego.  “Oh, but you’re not a furry?” 

His cock fits well against the curl of your fingers as you stroke him, standing tall and proud from his lap. Oddly enough, you get his earlier sentiment. You’ve never thought of a dick as pretty but Soonyoung’s is nice. Red and leaking at the tip, you’re tempted to duck your chin and get a taste, but Soonyoung drags you up to his mouth before you can even make a good faith try.

“Stop being mean to me or I’ll bust a nut,” he whines.

“Can’t have that,” you snicker. “Condoms?”

“Drawer.”

The door slams open in your haste. It’s a mess of lube, sex toys, and random chargers. Who keeps a phone charger where their lube is? Too eager for the promise of such a pliable partner doesn’t leave with an interest in asking, and the way he continues to suck at your throat isn’t helping. Until you find something that stokes your curiosity even more.

“Soonyoung. What are these?” 

A set of fuzzy tiger print cuffs dangle from your fingers. The jokes write themselves. But you ignore the re-occurrence of orange and black because you really want to know if he likes bondage. (Hopefully it’s a yes. Even more hopeful is he likes to be on the receiving end.)

“Birthday present.”

“Your friends are weird,” you say. “Have you used them?”

He looks shy, like he hasn’t just asked you to don animal ears and ride him into the mattress. Handcuffs are nothing in comparison but you wait out the nerves flashing on his face. “Maybe.”

“On who?”

“Umm…”

“Have you been handcuffed?” 

Do you want to be? The idea is just another fantasy you’ll think about later in the dark of your room when you need a quick way to get off. 

“No.”

“Lame,” you tease before tossing them to the floor and shoving a foil packet into his chest.

Soonyoung’s ability to multitask is nonexistent. Not when your nipping his ear lobe and whispering how bad you want him to fuck you; how you can’t wait to feel him inside you; how big his dick is. Perfect flattery that makes him whine and fumble the condom over and over again until you grant clemency and do it yourself.

His hands are rough against your ass as you slip him inside, slow because you want him to suffer just a little bit. Your thighs scream in protest at the angle but Soonyoung looks at you like he’s watching a miracle unfold and the discomfort is more than worth it.

If there was time, you’d let him fuck you from behind just to see how he’d fair with such a visual, but this is already dragging out too long. Soonyoung looks like he needs more time to adjust to the way he’s digging in your walls than you do. So you keep theme and start bouncing on his cock just to watch him go insane.

“God,” he grunts, neck strained and a vein rising on his forehead. “You’re fucking tight. Shit.”

Your eyelids flutter shut in focus. “Keep talking. Tell me how it feels.”

“Feels amazing, oh my god. You’re so wet.”

Your pelvis tilts so he can meet each stroke from below. The slap of skin on skin drowns out any other noise; the music, the screaming partygoers just outside. If someone walks by his door they’ll figure out what's happening in a second. Makes you want Soonyoung to be louder.

“You’re so hard for me.” 

You sink flat until your ass is cradled against the firmness of his thighs. You use the leverage to sit up and give an uninterrupted view of your front; how your breasts bounce with each movement, where his cock sinks deep into your guts without any resistance.

“All for you,” he nods, eyes wild and unfocused. There’s sweat on his neck and you can’t fight the sick urge to suck against the muscle laying underneath. “Fuck you make me so hard.”

“Should’ve let me suck your dick.”

“I know,” he whines. An arm loops around your waist, crowding you into the sheets from a smooth flip. An open mouth kiss, really just panted breath and tongue, distracts you further. A thumb at your chin keeps you pliant to whatever he wants.

He rocks deeper, as if it's possible. Surges right into that spot that curls your chest tight with rough fluidity. Your thighs fold wide to give him room.

One of your hands rubs at your clit to catch up.

“God, yeah, touch yourself for me.” Soonyoung whines. “Can you come again?”

He’s not just a sub, he’s a sadist.

“I—”

“Please,” he begs with a hard rush. 

“Yeah, okay,” you mumble. “Fuck me harder. Make me cum on your cock.”

You dig your free hand in his hair, tugging until it stings at the roots just the way he likes. The reward is another harsh rut of his hips that leaves you gasping for air. 

“Fuck. Right there, baby,” you moan along with the sloppy noise echoing between your thighs. “Don’t stop.”

You scramble to grab his ass, pulling him flush against you for the perfect angle to batter your insides. Your skins on fire as you tumble closer and closer to that point of no return. 

“Soonyoung!” you gasp. It’s right there. That blissful ending is just a hairwidth away. 

“God, you’re so hot,” he folds in half as he says it, crushing you underneath his body until you're bent in half in his lap with the wet of his tongue at your jaw. “Cum for me, cum on my cock.”

You twist tighter under his insistence, shrinking and shrinking, and then — finally — it splinters. The waves rock through you, head forced back into the pillows from the force of moans wrecking your throat. “Oh— fuck, that—god. Oh.” 

Vision black against the inside of your eyelids, you melt into nothing. Only Soonyoung’s grip keeps you from shaking apart into a million pieces as you whine into his mouth. 

“Holy shit, that was so hot,” he’s rambling the way to his own end, hips shaky from the way you’ve wetted his cock. “You’re so hot. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You want to watch him cum. Even if the temptation to lay there and take it is sweet you won’t give in. 

Bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat, Soonyoung is a mess in his own right. Pink at the ears, lips bruised. You can’t get enough. His eyes darken as you suck along his thumb, tongue lashing against the sensitive pad. Soonyoung isn’t the only one that wishes you got to suck his dick. 

“Cum on me,” you whine. 

He pulls out, quickly tossing the condom aside. Your hand is already waiting to jerk him off over your body, the grease of the latex making the strokes smooth as Soonyoung fucks your fist with the same desperation as your pussy. It takes only a few thrusts before you feel the heat of his spend drip across your chest and stomach. You’re careful to stay still, body spread flat as he coats you in pale streaks. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. He twitches when you don’t stop, biting his tongue through the sting of overstimulation until he has to pull away.

Soonyoung collapses to the side. Shoulder to shoulder, you catch your breaths in the dull thump of music.

“That was fun.” You pat his stomach before standing. The floor is a mess of clothes needing to be plucked through. His shirt becomes a cum rag as you wipe away the mess staining your body.

“You aren’t gonna stay?” He calls from the bed. 

“No?” 

Why would I? you think while pulling on your underwear.

Soonyoung watches, splayed across the bed with his dick still wet in his lap. “Then, can I, like, call you sometime?” 

“No thanks.” 

“If you keep being mean to me I’m going to fall in love with you.”

 “Quoting New Girl isn’t giving me much incentive to be nicer,” you snort, untangling your bra. 

“It’s a great fucking show.” 

“Here’s a tip: if you want to fuck me again, stop being such a loser.” 

“You still let me hit so I think you like losers.” 

He’s smiling. You really need to find your underwear so you can get away from it.

“I like hot guys with big dicks,” you shrug. “You happen to be that.” 

“I know you want me,” he sings

“Dead, maybe.” 

“You’d miss my stroke game.” 

“I’d love to stroke you.” You coo. “With a bat. To the head.” 

“I love when you talk dirty to me, baby.” He groans with dramatic flair. “By the way, you have cum on your skirt.” 

You do, on the hem somehow. A mystery to be solved when you’re safely back in the crowded expanse of a party and not alone with the guy with a tiger fetish you might want to fuck again. “Not the first time.” 

“God…. Please give me your number.” 

You can’t swallow the smile blooming at his request. Instead, you turn to leer over him. He’s watching your mouth, licking his lips like he wants to drag you down for another tumble. “Keep begging.” 

He’s got enough humor to get on his knees and clutch his hands to his chest pathetically. You’re still close, watching him down the slope of your nose while hiding a smirk. 

“Queen of my dick, please bestow a crumb of kindness and allow me the pleasure of hitting you up at 3 AM.” 

“That time I almost caved.” You back away just in time for him to stumble over himself. “Too bad I don’t fuck guys into furry shit at 3 AM.” 

“One, not a furry. Two, who do you fuck then?” 

“One, you're not fooling anybody.” You take extra time straightening out your hair in the mirror just so he can stare at your ass. You feel him do it. “Two, myself.” 

“I will pay real money to see that.”

“I know you would. So you’re never gonna.”

He’s watching you like some lovesick fool, glowing in the light with ignorance of what comes next. Part of you doesn’t want to crush someone as earnest as he is but staying the night is out of the question when you can still hear the party rattling through the walls.

“If I give you my number,” you start. “You have to give me this.”

It’s one of the smaller plushies. Soft to the touch and attached to his keys hanging by the door. It’s cute and perfect enough to satisfy your friends’ demands. Also, an excuse to see him again if you really want.

 Maybe you do. 

“TamTam?” Soonyoung asks from your side. You didn’t even hear him approach but he’s got boxers on so it took him a minute.

“You name your stuffed animals?”

“TamTam is special.” 

“Oh, he is?” you ask. “Well, how bad do you want my number?”

“I don’t know…” Soonyoung starts. 

Your face stings at the rejection but you bury it before giving it a chance to fester into something that needs thinking about. Looking back in the mirror to correct the smudges in your make is the only cover you’ve got.

“Okay,” he nods. “But if you do anything to him I will actually cry.”

TamTam is thrust into your hands and you can’t help but smile. It’s cute. Soonyoung is cute. And it actually might make you explode. 

You hate it.

“I pinky promise I will throw myself in front of a bullet for TamTam.”

He locks his pinky around your extended one, “Good.”

And then he’s kissing you again. Every thought melts away under his lips, soft against your own with a new sweetness. The edge of the dresser digs into your spine as he crowds you against it for more leverage but it’s merely an afterthought.

Soonyoung (not a furry): btw i lied [12:15 AM] Soonyoung (not a furry): im not hitting you up at 3am [12:15 AM] Soonyoung (not a furry): what are you doing tomorrow night (pls say me) [12:16 AM] You: tamtam and i are busy [12:33 AM]

Maybe you smile at the string of intelligible letters you receive after sending the picture of you kissing TamTam’s cheek. It’s no one's business if you do anyway.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 7

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: traumatic past, trust issues, cursing, very likely typos

Words: 3262

The One I Want Masterlist

Jake Seresin is a puzzle whose pieces, as you have come to see, are already slotted together. You learned tonight that a few of those pieces are worn from being picked at, but they don’t impede his ability to be complete. Jake is beautiful and smart with a well-built confidence and a certain quality that, with enough time, makes you want to open yourself up to him. Everything about him goes together. It all works. Those pieces make Jake the man he is, in all of his perfection. So being in his presence, you want to be who he wants you to be. You want to be just as put together. But you’re not sure you’re strong enough for that. 

“You can trust me,” he says, your hands still clasped together. You glance down at those hands, wondering when exactly he wove his fingers with yours. “I’ll share first if that’ll make it any easier.”

Eyes flicking up, you take in the intensity of the pair staring back at you—the depth within them, the swelling pupils that are pushing the green into a thin ring and drawing you in. They’re too honest, and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

Has anyone else ever looked at you this way? You think the closest instance you can recall involves the man you’d naively fallen in love with who lived in the first town you’d moved to on your own. But his look was a hidden lie discovered far too late. 

You suppose there was a fraction of Jake’s honesty in Millie’s eyes when she expressed her thoughts and told her story so openly. She would probably be willing to attempt understanding you if you offered it. 

You know you’re reaching, though. Trying to grasp at something that isn’t all there to prove that the way Jake is looking at you now is nothing unique. That it’s not special. That he doesn’t make your heart pound or your stomach flutter or cause a tingle to creep up your spine.

But when you consider telling him the truth of your history, you already sense the shame you’ve been living with for years preparing to double in force. And how can you allow that? You don’t need anything else weighing you down. You can’t possibly handle more. Certainly not from him. 

You tear your eyes away from his and aren’t shocked to find that that’s exactly what it feels like—a tear. A tearing that holds so much resistance you can practically hear the slow rip that severs the connection. 

“It’s not that easy,” you whisper.

“It can be,” he says, fingers tightening around yours. “You know how much I want to know you.”

The closing of your throat doesn’t allow you to swallow. An invisible hand is wrapped around your neck, blocking your oxygen, fogging your vision with unwanted tears. Your lip quivers all on its own.

Jake reaches out, lightly pressing his thumb to that lip as if he could stop its trembling. 

Then you shake your head and his thumb disappears. 

Standing, you try to step away, but his hand, still tangled with yours, stops you. You think he’s doing it on purpose, refusing to let you leave until he gets what he wants, but when you look at his face, it’s blank. His eyes stare ahead, the corners of his mouth are turned downward, and he doesn’t seem to feel you prying open his fingers to free your hand. 

His arm drops and slides into his lap, and you take that as a sign to retreat to your bedroom. 

You’re not quite through the door when you hear, “I wish you felt like you could trust me.” His voice is as defeated as his facial expression had shown. Low, dark, raspy. “Whatever it is, it's not going to change how I see you.”

You want to believe him so badly. So much so that, without any effort, you could let it consume you. But you can’t bet on his words. So you close your door the rest of the way. 

—

You’ve thought about him for a week straight, and each of those thoughts has scribbled their way into the notebook you’d sort of kind of—would deny it if anyone asked—stolen from the shop. 

But your little notes on Jake you don’t allow to blend with the chaotic notes of your past. He gets his own pages with words written in neater script. There’s not a single smudge of ink from your hand rubbing the paper in a rush to get your memories down before you forget some of their details. Not a single splotch of liquid black from a pen pressed too harshly onto the paper. No holes from that pen tracing the same words over and over in a fit of dampened anger. Like Jake, your notes on him are neat, and beautiful, and perfect in appearance. 

What they contain, however, is something different: bunches of sentences warring with one another as you try to decide what you’re going to do next. You live with him. You see him every day. You’ll have to interact, which means you’ll have to get over this hump. The only problem is that it may not be a hump Jake wants to get over.

In the months you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him the way he was that night last week. So much was crammed into a couple of hours and it provided you with a fresh image of him—not an image that changed, exactly, but simply an image that developed a new layer. And you liked having that layer of his visible, until it became clear that the spotlight was turning to you so you may develop another layer as well. 

Stepping out of that light meant plenty to you—you knew the message you were sending, even though you felt resistance from every part of you screaming to stay put—but it did more to Jake than you imagined, and that realization came in the form of Jake not speaking to over the past weeks worth of mornings, not smiling, not waiting for you so you could share breakfast. He’s gone before your alarm goes off. 

It only took you ten hours to notice the void that formed in your chest from missing him around you. After ten hours—most of which you spent trying to sleep—you felt awful in more ways than one. Not only were you exhausted and absorbing your dislike of his absence that first morning, but Jake, despite his hurt state, continues to take care of you. 

Those breakfasts he doesn’t wait around to share with you are still available, already made up on a plate with saran wrap keeping them safe in the fridge. The post-its he sticks to the coffee pot to inform you of said breakfasts never fail to have a small smiley face drawn in the corner. And to be fair, he does speak to you a little, but unless it seems to be a matter of life or death, which you haven’t been able to manage, his answers are clipped. Even then, it could be that those short answers are the best he can do for himself rather than anything he is doing for your benefit. With how much Jake talks in general, and with how lively you are used to seeing him, maybe he can’t be one-hundred percent silent no matter how much he wants to. 

Regardless of what it really is, the tension has grown thicker by the day.

These days are not ones you want to morph into routine. You can’t watch them settle and solidify when you crave him and what he adds to your new life to this degree. Which means you have to figure yourself out. Not all of you—that will take some time—but enough of you that you can approach Jake and take the chance to be honest with him. His offer to exchange stories shows that it is not just you who needs it, but Jake as well. 

That is what has prompted you to bring your notebook to work over the last seven days. And the more time you spend writing your notes, the more you release from your damaged soul, and the more good things about Jake start piling up. His faults are underwhelming and overshadowed, and all it confirms is that you want him back. So you decide that when he picks you up from work, something you never expected him to continue doing considering your current relationship, you’re going to break the silence by asking for another chance. 

—

When Rooster’s truck pulls up to the store, Millie is leaning halfway out the passenger side window, one hand waving your way, the other arm bracing her precarious position. A moment later, her elbow slips on the sill and she lurches forward with a sharp yelp. Looking past her, you can see Rooster reach over the center console and wrap his arm around her waist to pull her back to safety. 

“Babe, please,” he groans. “You’re stressing me out.”

She glances at him over her shoulder. “Oh, you hush. I’ve never fallen.”

“Yet,” he emphasizes. “I’d like it if my girlfriend stayed alive. I've got plans that involve you.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Darlin’. You know my hips will save me from making it all the way out the window.” 

Rooster only rolls his eyes in response before unwrapping his arm and giving her ass a light smack. 

Millie looks back at you, her grin wide and displaying a row of straight, white teeth. “Hey, honey. Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?”

“You can only work so hard here,” you say with a weak chuckle. “Where’s Jake? Is he okay?”

You want that answer as much as you don’t. You pray he’s fine and safe, but then it means the tension that hasn’t dwindled the slightest has finally become too much for him. Though you’d rather he avoid you than be injured or ill, it hurts no less. Right as you devise a plan to bring the two of you back together, he pulls further away.

“Oh, he’s um…” Millie bites her lip.

“Staying on base tonight,” Rooster says, leaning back to meet your eyes over Millie’s shoulder. “He went in to get some extra work done and thought it would be easier.”

If the lie weren’t so terribly obvious, Rooster’s face would’ve betrayed him. The man is not a master of deception. He can’t pull it off. You suppose that bodes well for Millie, if he would ever dare tell her an untruth. Not that you can imagine a situation where he would. 

Millie’s nerves wipe from her face at her boyfriend’s explanation, and you almost snort from how cute they are. They operate as their own little team, supporting and backing their partner up to keep the other from falling. Whether they succeed in their mission, like trying to convince you Jake is busy, is another thing. 

Your little red-headed friend transforms back into her giddy self. “Right, so he asked us to come get ya,” she says with a wink.

Now that, you do believe. Jake may not want to see you, but he wouldn’t leave you stranded. And as disappointing as it is to see Rooster’s truck instead of the one you perfer, you know it’s not enough to convince you to give up on your end goal. With your plan thwarted, you only gain more time to figure out exactly how you’re going to bring up what you want to tell Jake.

—

You’ve decided Sundays are the best days. Sundays are easy days. They are days set aside for relaxing, where you can spend twenty-four hours in your home with only a robe wrapped around your body and not be judged. Many stores are closed on Sundays, the gift shop included, and most people don’t work, Jake included. And Jake Seresin, though not the type to sit around, does allow himself the mornings of Sundays to be what he would normally consider lazy. 

When you first moved in, you didn’t love this habit of his. Knowing no one but him and knowing no place but the apartment meant you didn’t do anything or see anyone else. He had you locked in with him for at least three hours before he met his team at the gym, and he took those three hours very seriously. Most of their minutes he dedicated to being around ta you,lking to you, asking you questions—anything you did, he was there to do it with you. And while it once bugged you a bit, it eventually grew on you. He grew on you. You stopped caring about how he spent his Sunday mornings because your routine and his melded into a comfortable place, and you've had no intentions of disrupting that—until now. 

After forgoing sleep to spend the entire night thinking about Jake, you’re sure you look like hell when you step out of your room and into the living room where he sits. You didn’t think to check yourself in the mirror, and Jake doesn’t acknowledge you in favor of reading his book to confirm or deny your likely-ragged state. 

You don’t care how you look, though. 

You care about pushing yourself forward. 

“Jake?” 

His hum is dismissive, but you don’t hold it against him. You understand his feelings too well, and you accept them. When he was so vulnerable and raw—when he told you something he’d not told even his closest friends—you denied him the same courtesy, and that decision hurt him. He aches. You still see it on his face and in his movements. The way his fingers gripped the book and his shoulders tensed the moment you entered the room. How he pulled his bottom lip inward and trapped it between his teeth and has yet to let it go. 

He’s trying to hide the discomfort your presence causes, and he is doing so well that, as someone with plenty of experience, you’re almost proud. But the act unravels completely when you say, “I trust you.”

His head slowly rises. Then, closing the book and setting it aside, Jake stands from his spot on the couch, brow pinched as if he had not heard you correctly. “What did you say?”

“I trust you,” you repeat. 

One hand settles on his hip as the other goes through his hair. He squeezes his eyes shut in a two-second long blink as if trying to snap himself awake. Lips part, perhaps to say something, anything, but then they seal again. 

Before you lose your nerve, you inhale, exhale, and with a single nod, mutter to yourself a final, “I trust him.” 

Then you spew out everything you’ve kept inside—everything you’ve kept away from him. 

“My parents left me,” you say aloud for the very first time. You try to hold them back, but tears accompany that statement, gathering in the corners of your eyes. “Dad first, when I was nine. Mom when I was fourteen. They left and I don’t know where they are, and I don’t really care, but they disappeared and it…it messed me up. It left me lost, and I learned to let people hurt me because no one showed me anything else. I let people treat me however they want, which most often means attacking the insecure parts of me. I let them call me names and look at me in ways that strip me of my dignity, and I can’t stop it. I don’t stop them.

“When I can’t take it anymore, I leave wherever I am,” you say before pausing to catch your breath. 

Jake doesn’t take the opportunity to speak. He stands there, staring, listening, waiting for you to offer him more. 

“You weren’t that far off at the diner when you said I was trying to live in every beach town for two months before moving on to the next. They haven’t all been beach towns, but there have been many of them and I never stay for long,” you admit. “The minute I have the means, I go. I graduated high school by myself and left my hometown, fell in love with an asshole in the second town and left, got a job at a bar whose drunks found me an easy target, so I left again, and it’s been the same everywhere I’ve landed, again and again and again. People break me down so I find someplace new. You are—” You cut yourself off to reconsider your words, “This is my eleventh new place.” One of those tears breaks free to slide down your cheek. “And I don’t know how long I’m going to last here, but I already hate the thought of leaving.”

Done with your speech, you release a heavy breath.

When Jake looks away from you, it’s a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. Your heart crushes with the realization that you were right. Jake was wrong. Seeing you differently is not as difficult as you had hoped and he had promised. In fact, he doesn’t see you at all anymore because he won’t even give you a glance. You presented the reality that you are unloved and unwanted and explained exactly why that is, and now he has in his hand all of the reasons why others mistreat you, the ability to evaluate those reasons, and decide for himself if those reasons are valid. 

And in that moment, you know you are fucked. You’re about to be lost again. On your own, in the dark, with nothing to hold on to. Not that you didn’t anticipate this coming along eventually, but you would have liked to stick around a little longer. 

Through the blur of tears, you see Jake nod. That’s all. No words, no shift in facial expression; he nods to the floor rather than give you the respect of nodding to your face. He nods again, and then he looks up to meet your gaze. 

Jake’s hands fall from his hips, and in four strides he closes the space keeping you apart, cups your jaw in the heat of his palms, and plants his lips on yours. 

His kiss lands somewhere between hard and soft, between eager and restrained, between needy and downright desperate. And after adjusting to the shock he plunged you into, your mouth begins to move against his. 

Jake is warm, and cozy; he tastes like the one Splenda packet he puts in the oatmeal he occasionally has for breakfast, and it all makes your brain hum in a comfortable delight. You take from him all that he takes from you, and give to him all that he gives you, and in the process, accept that you truly want this and he wants this and that’s all that matters. You’re not working harder to please him than he is working to please you. You’re not thinking about what he will think when your lips separate. You’re not afraid of being a disappointment because were that the case, surely he would have released you by now. But he hasn’t released you. He holds on and pulls closer and doesn’t let go, not even when the kiss breaks.

Thumbs stroke your cheeks as your eyes slowly drag from his swollen lips to his nose to that mossy-green shade you’ve become attached to. There’s a hint of concern in his stare. But then you smile, so he smiles, and the concern fades. 

“Your turn,” you whisper.

---

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath

[littlebluespoon]

Unstuck (Octo!König Part 3)

Happy Halloween! Have a little treat on me <3

This one is dedicated to the lovely anon who filled my ask box with octo!König ideas. I couldn't not use the nipple piercing one, its like it was made for octopus!König.

Part 1 - Stuck Part 2 - Stuck (Again) Part 4 - Stranded

<1K, 18+, nipple piercings, top half nudity, angst

Anyway, without further rambling, part 3! Have fun!

Your three weeks of leave were wonderful, spending time with family, catching up with friends and even treating yourself a little. Your friends had dared you to get piercings and after much debate and convincing yourself that no one would know you were breaking regulations as they’d be under your clothes at all times, you got yourself nipple piercings.

Returning to base and to work meant you were kept busy. Enough that you barely had time to worry about anyone finding out your little secret. In fact, you had nearly forgotten all about them the day it happened. There was nothing wrong with the day, it had been a standard day, nothing remarkable and no issues had cropped up. You had only dealt with some cuts and bruises so the paperwork you had to do was minimal, and as you mindlessly finished it up your mind drifted to dinner. The door slamming made you jump. There in the doorway stood Horangi, 

“Take him! Before I rip his arms off!” He shouted at you, throwing a ball towards your desk. Before you could respond, he was gone and the ball was moving towards you. 

Unable to process the last few seconds it took the feel of tentacle on your arm to move you into action,

“König? What’s wrong?” Seeing as your last few experiences with the hybrid involved him being injured, you made a beeline for your aquatic med kit and towards a patient bed.

“Come on, let me get a look at you,” you tried pulling him off but were as unsuccessful as ever. He just continued up your arm towards his favourite spot which is when you began to panic,

“No König! Just stay where you are, okay?” Attempting to use your free hand and block him from continuing up your body while making sure he wasn’t bleeding, wasn’t the easiest of tasks. Especially not while you scrambled for an excuse as to why he couldn’t be attached to your chest,

“I uhh… I took a hit in training. I’m bruised, yeah. Eh, I’m all bruised so you can’t sit there today.” Seeing that there didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him you walked back to your desk, closing the door as you went. König seemed to consider what you were saying, he stopped his climbing efforts and stared at you. You who had suddenly found so much more paperwork that needed doing. 

Settling back into a rhythm of paperwork with König on your arm was fairly easy and it lasted a while. Enough that you had distracted yourself in checkboxes and signatures and your heartrate had come back down to normal. Until König reached out a tentacle and brought it hammering down across your chest. With a yelp and a flinch, you dropped everything,

“König! What the hell was that for huh?!” You stared down at his beady eyes, in a stand off with him. He moved closer and you flinched, one of his arms were held aloft, swaying gently in the air and every so often it found its way closer to you. Distracted by the arm in the air, you never even noticed the other two, as quick as lighting, they darted forward and ripped your shirt open. 

Your unmarred chest stared back at him. And you could have sworn his expression was that of a raised eyebrow. You, too frozen to react to anything, standing there as he worked the rest of your clothes off until he found what you were hiding. No bruises. Two little metal bars. A rapid heartbeat.

“It’s not like anyone else knows. And besides, if you weren’t such a pervert, you wouldn’t know!” Your defence was shaky, even you knew it, “Can’t just respect someone’s boundaries can you? You’ve got to have whatever you want.” Lashing out in an attempt to keep from crying as you pulled your shirt across your chest but you found your efforts hampered by König as he began climbing up again, 

“No!” Brining an arm across your chest to protect your nipples, you shout at him, “They can’t be touched so just shimmy your way back down. And while you’re at it, why don’t you just get off?” He freezes at your words, you’ve been annoyed at him in the past but never angry. Never upset. 

As he pulls himself off to sit on your desk you bring a hand to your eyes, desperate to remove any evidence of tears before turning away from him to find a new shirt. Cleaning yourself up, removing the small spots of spilled ink on your arms and coving yourself in a spare shirt you made your way back to your desk. Expecting to find a grumpy octopus instead you’re met with a puddle of ink ruining your paperwork and not a bit of orange in sight.

___

As always my ask box is open for asks and requests <3

[soulfarer23]

Everything is equally easy to manifest

Barely active on Tumblr, but put this together in my head while in the shower and had the strong urge to post it because I think it's a good comparison.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One thing that I don't see many people point out is the fact that anything you can possibly think of is not only totally possible to manifest but also as easy to manifest as literally everything else.

All manifestations are equally easy to manifest, as long as you assume that they are.

Manifesting 1 billion dollars is just as easy as manifesting 1 dollar. The only thing that makes us think that it isn't, is the 3D, which we all know is irrelevant when it comes to manifesting.

Manifesting a A++ in that awful math test is just as easy as manifesting a B- even if you didn't write a single thing.

Manifesting to wake up is just as easy as manifesting to wake up in your desired reality. AS LONG AS YOU ASSUME IT IS.

We are literally all in creative mode but keep telling ourselves that we are in survival mode. It's like playing minecraft and not realizing that you can open the creative inventory whenever you want and just get whatever you want instantly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Let's say the 3D is just a regular minecraft realm and the 4D is the creative menu and commands.

When you look at the 3D, dirt blocks are literally everywhere, but it takes time and work to get a whole diamond block.

Now look at the 4D, the dirt block and the diamond block are both easy available, you just have to select them, with your thoughts (or whatever method) being the cursor and click.

Getting a single dirt block or a stack of diamond blocks is the exact same amount of effort.

The 3D makes it seem like some things are harder to get than other things, it makes us assume that one thing must take longer to manifest than the other, but that's just another way we let the 3D fool us.

The apparent value or rarity of something in the 3D has absolutely nothing to do with how 'easy' or 'hard' it is to manifest.

Stop assuming that 'better' or 'bigger' things take longer to manifest.

Circumstance does not matter, nor does 'value' or 'rarity' or logical probability.IT'S ALL JUST THE 3D. IT'S ALL IRRELEVANT.

In the 4D, everything is equal and the only thing that makes them harder to obtain is you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have to expose myself a little bit, too. I've been living in the end to wake up in the Void state for two months. Did it work? No. and why? Because I still had the assumption that it is something harder to manifest than other things. I've literally manifested a bunch of other stuff during that time, like food, free seats on the bus and changes to my school schedule.

Like, I manifested to get my dad to buy me snacks within an hour, because I assumed that its 'small' and 'easy'.

Now assume that everything is small and easy, and suddenly you can win a billion dollars every hour.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anyways, I am now affirming for myself that everything is equally easy to manifest and that I always manifest whatever I want within a day, and then I should definitely be set and fuck off into the Void-State lol

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Six

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: None.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~3.2k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The Red Force is closing in on the port of Ingles, a town known for its construction services and lumber milling. The island itself is forested and sports mountains that Benn has described as a wilderness. It’s no wonder that the logging and construction business booms in Ingles, and you look forward to seeing the looming mountains. Kuri Island has hills—the Bonn manor is perched on one—but it holds no mountains nor thick forests. Even your best efforts to act ladylike can’t hold back the excitement running through your veins.

Now you are just standing on the deck, hands clutching the railing as you lean out and feel the wind and salt on your face. The white sleeves of the tunic you wear flutter and flap, dancing to the turbulent wind propelling the large ship across cerulean water. The town means you can pawn off your necklace and earrings for Berry, and then get clothes that fit you better.

You are more than thankful to be wearing Shanks’ spare clothing rather than your wedding dress, but the fabric dwarfs your body and is ill-fitting. The sleeves tend to drag when you help Lucky in the kitchen, and you have to use one of Hongo’s bandages as a belt to keep the trousers around your waist. Add the cut sandals practically taped to your feet… To put it simply, you look ridiculous!

But even in the ridiculous clothes that your mother would faint over if she ever saw you wearing such, you can’t help but bask in the feeling of freedom. You’ve never had the luxury of being in charge of your own clothing, you’ve never even worn trousers before, and there isn’t even a corset in sight! You sigh in happiness once more and beam, wondering what type of clothes you’d want to get for your new life.

Dresses wouldn’t be particularly useful to you, not when you find trousers so freeing and easy to move in, but you wouldn’t mind having one simple nice dress to have on hand. It wouldn’t hurt to treat yourself to a nice dinner at one of the restaurants Lucky has been telling you about. Even you know that certain dress codes are expected in certain places. So one dress will do. But you’ll mostly invest some money in tunics, trousers, two pairs of shoes, and a nice hat to block out the sun.

Then there is the glaring fact that you need to ensure your safety. You are no fool. The Blues are dangerous and filled with both good and bad people. Pirates. You are going to acquire a blade and learn how to use it (yet another task of learning you have to accomplish). Dropping your elbow to the railing, you rest your chin in hand.

“So much to do, I haven’t a clue where to start,” you speak to yourself, eyes watching the whitecaps forming as waves curl and crash.

“Well, for starters, we’re getting you into clothes that actually fit,” Shanks' voice softly floats into your ears over the sound of waves and Yasopp’s off-key singing. Twisting your head, you look at the red-haired captain with a pragmatic smile.

“Oh believe me, the first thing I plan on doing is choosing my own clothing. I’ve never been allowed to pick what I wear,” you reply as he takes a spot next to you. Your eyes look at the cloak he has draped over his arm stump. A cloak, you should get one too; everyone seems to have some sort of overcoat or the like. Shanks’ eyebrow pops up at your word choice but says nothing. He isn’t surprised that you’ve never been allowed to pick your own clothes. You’ve been nothing but a porcelain doll for your mother to play with. Shanks rubs his jaw in contemplation.

“The stores in Ingles focus on practical clothing, the type of clothes that are good and sturdy for traveling. It’ll be nothing like what you’re used to,” Shanks slowly explains, wondering if you’ll be bothered by less-than-luxurious fabrics. He doesn’t think you will be, but he’s yet to see you interact outside of the controlled environment of his ship. A thoughtful look crosses your face before you reply.

“Oh, I look forward to that,” you sigh in pure happiness. “These trousers might not fit, but they are a dream.” You glance down at the threadbare and simplistic trousers. “I’ve never had the luxury of feeling the wind against my feet and ankles.” Shanks wants to tell you that normally pants don’t reveal ankles and your ill-fitting trousers are far from luxury… but the glow of happiness upon your face is something he never dreamed of diminishing, so he keeps his silence on the topic.

“Just wait until you learn all about shorts,” he chooses to say, a grin creeping onto his face at the idea of how you’ll react to your entire legs being unhindered by layers of fabric. Shanks is sure you might even flop into a faint of excitement the moment you realize you could choose to wear something so revealing! He eyes your face a little more closely, drinking in the faint laugh lines and natural curves. The pirate is honestly stunned that you can still smile and appear so full of life after living in such circumstances as you had fled from. Turning his gaze back to the calm sea waters, Shanks looks forward to seeing what other delights are in store for you.

You are greatly embarrassed to say that your first few steps off the Red Force nearly have you face-planting with a far-from-elegant squawk. Benn catches your falling body early, large hands clutching your waist so you comically dangle in his grasp with your arms cartwheeling. You are sure that your face would be beet red if it were anatomically possible when he steadies you and all eyes are on you. Clearing your throat, you sway a little and take a deep gulp of air, trying to steady yourself again.

“Is it always like that?” you question as if you hadn’t nearly just made a scene of yourself. Your eyes are going everywhere in an effort not to look at their faces, for you feel like you might cry in embarrassment. Before any hot tears welling up in your eyes can fall, Bonk Punch speaks.

“Shoulda’ seen Monster the first day he was on the ship, took to sea like a champ, but when we got back on dry land for supplies…?” The man rubs his bald head in squeamish contemplation.

“Monkey vomit, for days,” Hongo rumbles, moving past you. “Tell me if you feel sick before you vomit on me, okay?”

“I’m not going to vomit on anyone!” you huff out indignantly, still dangling in Benn’s hold while the rest of the crew lumbers off the ship with containers to be filled. “That would be rude and unsightly of me!” Monster lets out a screech and swings himself onto a barrel to glare at you accusatorily. You regard the primate with a frank look. “I am a lady, you are a monkey. You have no expectations to meet, Monster. I do.”

Your words seem to make sense in the monkey’s brain because he leaps back onto Bonk Punch’s shoulder as Benn carefully sets you back on your feet. You still feel like you are swaying, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it had been.

“No one expects anything from you, Aria,” Shanks’ voice comes from behind you as he jogs down the gangplank, adjusting his hat. “So if you vomit on Hongo, no one’s going to judge, or care.” The doctor in question begins grumbling while your face burns.

“I will absolutely not be vomiting on anyone, and that is final!” you clearly state, stamping your makeshift sandal on the dock. “Gods, you are all such… such men!” You erupt, flinging your fingers upwards. Shanks only grins at you and holds out his hand to you.

“I’m glad you noticed. Now, why don’t you stick close? We’re going to be splitting up. The men will get supplies while I get you clothes,” Shanks tells you, watching as your face morphs to give him a look. He takes your hand and pulls you along. “And no making passive-aggressive faces at me, Aria. I already said I was paying and that is final.”

As Shanks pulls you along and away from the rest of the men, Benn leans over to Hongo.

“How much you wanna bet she’s gonna argue with him when it comes time to pay?” Hongo snorts and shakes his head.

“I’ll double whatever you’re placing… there is no way that little lady isn’t going to dig her heels in till the last second. Stubborn as a mule, that one…” Yasopp drops his arms over the two men’s shoulders.

“How ‘bout we make bets on how much he’s gonna spend ‘cause we all know she ain’t going to be allowed to part with a single Berry.” Hongo and Benn nod in agreement, fully realizing that no matter what you say or do, Shanks will be paying at the end of the day. “Alright! Who’s betting what?” Berry numbers are called as the crew makes their way towards the market.

You’ve been led back to the alteration room by Annie, the seamstress of Ingles, and stripped down to your lace bridal underwear and bra set. The woman hasn’t said a word about the clearly too formal undergarments but has informed her assistant that you will also be requiring undergarments with your purchase this day. Annie is no-nonsense in whipping your undergarments off to be measured, and within a matter of only a few minutes, you are wearing a set much more comfortable and appropriate for your new daily life.

Shirts are the easiest to pick out for you. You’ve indicated that you want practical clothing, something that will survive the seas but look nice enough milling around a market. Annie packages up nearly ten shirts of varying designs and colors, all to match the simple trousers you’ve picked out. Two pairs you’ve picked: cream and black. Those colors go with everything. You have picked a pair of grey trousers that are too short for your legs, stopping mid-calf, to wear out of the shop. Annie has tried to convince you to try on a pair that fits the length of your legs, but you have stated that you want to feel the wind on your ankles, so Annie has acquiesced. Now you are picking out a shirt to wear out of the shop and having trouble deciding on a color.

“What about this one?” Annie’s assistant offers, holding up a green shirt that reminds you a lot of the tunic that Shanks often wears. You blink at it, squint in observation, and nod.

“I like that color and style. It’s not too tight but also made from sturdy material,” you speak in approval. “I plan on spending a lot of time traveling. Is it easy to clean?” The assistant nods as Annie walks over, carrying fabric draped over her arm.

“That material is resistant to stains and tearing, but don’t go looking for knife fights,” Annie agrees, also approving of the choice. “It’ll be a good one for spending time at sea. The dye used is resistant to sun bleaching, so the green will last longer.”

“I hadn’t thought about sun bleaching,” you softly comment, scolding yourself for not thinking of such a thing. Your clothes won’t be hanging in a closet meticulously cared for by an army of maids. Placing your hands on your bare hips, you nod firmly. “I would like to wear that shirt out, please set it aside with the trousers.”

“Now, dear, you mentioned wanting to have a nice dress to wear?” Annie speaks, tabbing through some fabrics on a shelf. “Something to impress your man out there?” Your eyes dart to the front of the shop where Shanks is presumably reading the town’s paper. Heat fills your cheeks.

“Not mine, not mine,” you utter out frantically, holding your arms against your chest as if they would keep your heart from beating out of your body. Shanks is a very handsome man. Kind and generous too. But he isn’t yours, and it certainly isn’t a good idea to entertain such a thought… never mind that you don’t really know him in the weeks you’ve spent on the Red Force, and for all you know, he is a terrible person having a nice streak!

It would be nice to have a man like him, though…

You clear your throat, quelling the heat within your cheeks.

“Shanks is not mine. He is just being incredibly kind in helping me out of a tough situation I found myself in. Nothing more,” you say that last part more to yourself than to Annie, and the seamstress raises her eyebrow.

“Oh?” she spouts, eyeing you closer. You may think that you hide your emotions well, but the seamstress is no spring chicken. “Well, dear, not just any man spends this much on a single woman unless he’s got a claim.” That makes you sputter.

“But I said I would pay!” you erupt, embarrassment quickly shifting to anger. “I specifically told him that I would be the one to purchase my clothing, and he had already done enough for me!” Annie snorts this time and rolls her eyes. Oh, to be your age again…

“Tell that to the stack of Berry he handed to me when you were changing…” she says dryly, enjoying the way you huff and puff in belligerence. “Face it, dear, he’s paying whether or not you want him to.” You are left stewing in place as the woman begins to build the dress you want from scratch.

Annie has pinned the dress to your body and made adjustments until you are happy with the result, then spent an extra hour fussing over each and every detail of the lavender fabric that matches your hair so well. You don’t understand why she wants to spend so much time on a dress meant to be something that would never see a ball or gala… but she has muttered something about liking details and the beauty of simplicity. So you let her fuss.

Now you are dressing yourself in the grey trousers, green shirt, shoes that actually fit your feet properly, and looking at the selection of hats available. You’ve braided your hair back so it will be out of the way and less of a hassle while sailing the sea. Most of the hats will fit your need just fine, but it is going to be your hat. You don’t want just any old hat. Unconsciously you find yourself leaning towards the straw hats, liking the way they are simple yet will do their job perfectly.

Plucking a straw hat with a wider brim than others, your finger traces the black ribbon wrapped around it until you stroke the neat bow at the back. It is perfect! It is simple, will do the job, and has just enough femininity to it to match your wardrobe. Turning the hat, you place it on your head and adjust it before walking over to the floor-length mirror you’ve spent the morning standing in front of.

Oh my.

You hardly recognize your reflection. Gone is the refined lady of the Bonn family, replaced by a lavender-haired woman who holds herself with regality but looks like she belongs on a ship at sea.

“It’s perfect,” you sigh happily, running your hands along the coarse material of your trousers. There is nothing delicate about your trousers, your tunic, or your boots. They are built for travel, for daily trekking, for use. Fiddling with the strings hanging from your new hat, you turn on your heel and look to Annie and her assistant. “I’ve never picked my own clothes before. Does this look okay?”

“You look like an average traveler,” Annie tells you, walking forwards and nitpicking nonexistent creases in your clothing. “Which I believe is the look you are going for? Of course, nothing you wear will take away from your natural beauty, dear. Can’t hide that.”

“I just don’t want to be found by my family. It was trouble enough leaving them,” you sigh, picking at the end of your short braid. “Maybe I should dye my hair.”

“That’d be a right shame if you did, miss,” the assistant speaks up. “You don’t want to erase yourself trying to find your freedom. You might lose yourself entirely if you do.” She has a point; you can admit that. So you’ll leave your hair alone and hope that your luck will continue.

“Alright then,” you say, turning to address them. “How much do I owe you?”

“A smile, girl, and if you offer me Berry one more time, I’m going to sic your gentleman on you.” Annie tells you with a strict look. Your shoulders slump, and you let out a soft groan, realizing that Shanks has indeed won this battle. Very well. So you give Annie and the assistant one of your best smiles and thank them before venturing to the front of the shop. You can see Shanks standing outside, across the road from the shop, leaning against the railing of the overlook to the port of Ingles. No doubt he has felt cooped up in the shop.

Knowing that Annie will have your dress and clothes delivered to the Red Force when everything is ready and packed up, you depart the shop and quietly walk up to the red-haired man.

“Finally done, eh?” Shanks asks, admiring the view of the ocean and the breeze he can feel on his face. It is a rather nice day, he has to admit, too bad you have spent most of it inside. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll have more of a chance to show you around.

“I am not happy you wouldn’t let me pay,” you announce, stopping beside him and enjoying the view. Shanks chuckles and rolls his eyes. He has practically spent the entire day arguing with you over who got to pay for your clothes. Shanks has ultimately put his foot down and talked with Annie about not letting you pay.

“Consider it a gift, Aria. You’re starting a new life.” Shanks chuckles before giving you a brief glance. Looking back at the horizon, his head snaps back to you in surprise. He knows that you will be leaving the shop wearing new clothes, but he hasn’t realized just how fitting and beautiful you’d look in just pants and a shirt. While he stares at you, drinking in the sight and realizing just how well you’d fit in with the crew now, you blink at him and wonder if you look odd to him. He sure is staring for a long time.

“Do I look weird in these clothes? Annie said I looked fine, but I feel odd wearing them since I’ve never picked my own clothes before.” Shanks reaches up and flicks his finger along the edge of your straw hat, reminded of a certain boy he’d left behind years ago. You have the same passion in your eyes. A frightfully attractive passion he is slowly coming to terms with. Better move on before you catch on to the fact that he is unabashedly checking you out.

“You look like you fit in with a crowd, Aria. The clothes are perfect,” he says before straightening up. “I got word that the men finished with the resupply and found a tavern. We’ll meet up with them there.”

Date Published: 1/11/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[alchemie-tarot]

Cold Moon Pick-A-Card: What is Coming To A Close In Your Life?

Here’s to the last full moon of 2022. She invites us to look back on everything that transpired this year, especially the events that had us face our shadows. Transformation can often take place in darkness. Know that it gets brighter from here. ✨🌕✨

Feel free to choose the pile/s that call out to you. Some details may not resonate with you since this is a general reading. As always, nothing is set in stone, so please don’t take it too seriously.

Extra: The Justice card was at the back of the deck before I started shuffling. When I was still warming up, shuffling without intention, Justice dropped from the deck. She is a general theme for the piles of this reading. She has our backs.

Extra (2): Featuring my photographic attempts to capture Miss Mama Moon.

Pile 1

Cards: King of Pentacles, 5 of Wands, 3 of Pentacles

Right away I see that this is about your work, or something you’re putting a lot of effort into. You’ve established yourself in this place, but lately it feels rigid, like there’s hardly any room to breathe. “No freedom” came to me quite strongly. This could be a lucrative pursuit you have lost your passion for. For others, it could also be something you pursued for the sake of financial stability and security, but now you feel that it’s time to move on to something you genuinely like and flourish in. 

There seem to be voices in your head pulling you in different directions, arguing with each other. For most, though, I feel that it’s more so from your surroundings that are affecting you than your thoughts. Has someone been disrupting your space lately? They seem to be driven by self-interest. Your environment could be tense and filled with clashing egos, or some of your peers are threatened by your power. Either way, they just mess up your vibe.

Take a deep breath, Pile 1. I see that whether you decide to stay or to choose another path, you’re in for a breath of fresh air. This crowd will close its chapter in your life, and new connections will come in. They will be nothing like your previous or current peers. Collaboration is valued at a spiritual level. They will see you as someone to invest in, and you will mirror this view towards them. 

They could be older or more experienced in the field that you choose. In fact, you’re likely to find a mentor in them. They will bring you to places you haven’t been, I feel. It’s really up to you where.

This is the speediest and most straightforward interpretation I’ve ever done for a pile so far. I feel like you will realize quickly when these people come around, or they will approach you right away.

===

Pile 2

Cards: 9 of Swords, King of Pentacles, The Fool

Are you having a hard time getting some good sleep lately? Something seems to be keeping you awake or has been giving you unpleasant dreams. I could sense an almost tangible anxiety around this trauma. I believe it’s related to money or something material that’s important to your security. 

Some of you may have been carrying a responsibility like this on your shoulders quite early on in your life, and it has taken its toll on you. For a few, I feel the energy of someone stern who may hold some power over you in your career or, again, in relation to money. It’s like they’ve been blocking you from getting any kind of breather.

Putting my arm around you, Pile 2. These things are not easy to navigate at all. I hope I can ease your worries somehow, since this reading is about things in your life that are coming to an end. 

The big break you’ve been waiting for is not so far from your horizon. It will feel like the brightest of new beginnings. Seriously, you’re moving from the bleak darkness of worry that never seemed to end, and into broad daylight where you can see the land across you for miles. Your burdens would be made light and, perhaps for the first time in a long time, you’ll be able to throw your cares in the air and think about yourself. 

I feel the need to add: when I shuffled for this pile, the first card deliberately slipped out of the deck without falling. It took me a few seconds to decide if I was going to get it. The same happened with the rest of the cards. I felt unsure even in the order I was going to lay them on. This new beginning may unfold slowly and you may find yourself going from hopeful to fearful, back and forth, worrying if things are on the right track.

Please take it easy on yourself and know that it’s normal to have moments of doubt especially after you’ve been through a heavy situation. Every little glimmer of hope contributes to the new foundation you’re making. You will get there. 

When you do, you will feel like a child. What felt like years of torment will gradually return to you in the form of healing. Instead of a mountain to climb, your next step will feel like the start of an adventure.

===

Pile 3

Cards: 2 of Cups, 3 of Pentacles, Knight of Swords

Okay, I feel like you have already got a lot of abundance in your hands. I see that you’re quite gratified within a relationship or a kind of partnership that’s close to your heart. You’re busy with projects you enjoy working on, with people who admire and trust your abilities in your team. You’re surrounded by energies who lift you up and encourage you to be productive.

Not gonna lie, this is not the kind of scenario I expected to see in a reading about something coming to a close in your life. These three cards came all together and I had a distinct sense to order them this way. I was dumbfounded at first glance. At the same time, I don’t feel like it necessarily means that your auspicious situation will come to an end. Fortunately, the third card explains what’s on its way to you.

The Knight of Swords is all about independence. There is an opportunity for you to experience going solo. It’s more of putting some distance between you and your tribe in order to be in your own space for a while, rather than cutting ties with them.

A swift change seems to be on the way that needs you to be quick on your feet. An emphasis for you to make your own decisions. Maybe you’ve been relying a bit too much on your circle? Yes, they make you feel safe, but there’s a sense of being oblivious to the consequences of certain actions when you’re only taking account of the blissful feelings.

Again, I don’t necessarily think that what brings you joy is about to be stripped from you. This may just be a way to test your tenacity and dedication about something. It involves a lot of your inner strength. You may come face to face with your priorities. Regardless, only you can say what is meant for you deep down. Hold on to that.

===

Pile 4

Cards: 6 of Wands, 6 of Pentacles, 10 of Wands Rx, 10 of Cups

An extra card jumped out. What are the odds that a pair of Sixes and then a pair of Tens came out? That’s pretty cool.

Being generous comes naturally to you. You share what you can to people in need and these people really look up to you. This admiration makes you feel good about yourself and you take pride in being able to help others. It’s like a part of your identity now and because of that, you may think you have peaked at this position. There’s a feeling of wanting to give and give on behalf of everybody. Because of the little attention you genuinely turn to yourself, you may be on the brink of burnout without knowing it. You could even be denying it.

You’re not solely a giver, Pile 4. There is no need for you to prove this about yourself over and over. We already know it. You need to refocus because I feel like you’re having a problem disengaging from this role. If you persist in this mindset, it will end up doing more harm than good. It’s safe for you to express how you truly feel. It’s okay to acknowledge that you need support, too.

All the noble deeds you have done will return to you tenfold. True, stable, and long-term harmony in all fields awaits you. You care so much for others, but now you need to be open to receive. The people you have lent a hand to would happily return the favour. Letting this go will help your innate abundance spread more evenly to everyone– and yes, that includes you, too. You deserve it most of all.

===

Thank you for taking the time to interact with this reading. Feel free to share and let me know how you found it, if it resonated or not, etc. Don’t be shy to send me feedback or details about it, if you’d like. I would really appreciate it!

Take care always! ✨🌕✨

[rangercorpstherapy]

To the latest fandom take:

I strongly disagree with the take "new posts are cringe and low effort". Brother (gender neutral), trust me, you shaming them is so embarrassing. Let people enjoy what they want to enjoy. You're not held down by chains with your eyes forcefully open to look at those posts. Just scroll past or block accounts you don't like. Instead of being joyful about new people joining in, you chose to be bitter about what they post. We were all at that age. Stop picking on younger teens. Hell, it isn't about age. Every post, as long as it is not harmful, is valid and as long as its author enjoys it and enjoys sharing, don't stomp on it. That way, we'll get less and less posts. So what that people keep posting headcanons or essays that are "obvious" or were here before? Those people weren't here before. Let them DISCOVER the wonderful RA world for themselves and share that excitement. And if those posts don't satisfy? WRITE YOUR OWN. Thank you, cheff.

However, what I want to draw attention to (now speaking to everyone), is the remark about fanartists. I know some that left or stopped actively creating for the reason that they felt not appreciated. It goes deeper than that. In the world built on capitalism and consumerism, amateur artists (who are also human beings who seek assurance and positive encouraging feedback) and who come to fandom to share their free artwork for fun and for interaction that gives them motivation to go on, are not some machines that come automatically giving content. Consuming their art and using it without even interacting, especially in this small fandom, can feel draining and this is not what the fanartists came here to do. If you look at it through their eyes, would you continue to do art if you felt it hasn't found its audience or if the audience felt passive about it? You do not have to like some art work. I get it, we all have our own taste. But if you do not support artists, especially beginning ones, it's really easy to lose the motivation. And you're robbing yourself. Imagine some artist who would have become great and eventually posted the art you like, is not sharing their art because they didn't feel motivated.

In conclusion. OP of the prev fandom take, I definitely do not agree with your opinion on ra tag and posts. I also don't like the tone in which you wrote your whole ask. But, everyone, I do believe there's a tiny thing that's worth giving a thought in the part about fanart.

All I see lately is people complaining there aren't good posts or that fandom is dying. Babes, if you're not gonna interact with things, either posts or art or fics or whatever, of course the activity is gonna die down. But also I do think that on the other hand, people who say stuff like "we don't have content anymore are the ones who purposefully ignore posts of the newer blogs just because it isn't entirely their taste and then say this fandom is desolated wasteland about to be hit by dinosaur killing meteorite. Valid, you don't have to reblog stuff that you don't want to. But then stop complaining about that fact there isn't stuff and either shut up and move on or contribute yourself.

Pessimism and toxicity isn't what this fandom needs and to be real I am tired of these fandom takes that what is actually bringing this fandom down. Complaints and call outs to toxic and harmful behaviour is valid and shouldn't be suppressed and please, everyone don't ever be afraid to do that. But these shaming takes and asks, is like chasing and biting your own tail and then complaining it hurts. I'd really appreciate it if some of you could refrain from shaming people who harmlessly enjoy stuff. Bye.

x

[dayurno]

recently reread ur de-aged kevin fic and in the end notes you said you were thinking of doing a sequel w neilandrew being de-aged and just wanted to throw my hat in the ring to say yes pls! you genuinely have such incredible writing and characterization and would LOVE to see your take on it!

wawawa i plan to write it!!!!! i did start a little bit after finishing de-aged kevin and had to scrap it off because i didn't like it, so it might take a little longer. nonetheless i feel like i have no reason not to share it so i'll attach under the cut the scrapped version of kevin with de-aged andreil for your enjoyment :=) if its a little wonky i ask that you bear with me theres a reason why i didnt keep this version

//

There is a little garden behind Fox Tower where you could fit a dead body without any real effort.

Not that Kevin would know, of course. But he is sure that he has never seen anyone besides himself tend to the ground there — perhaps once in the past there was another athlete who enjoyed gardening, but such a character has not been around for at least a few years. It took Kevin almost an entire week to entirely weed out the square of dirt between Fox Tower’s backdoors and the fence where Palmetto State University property ends and Fox Perimeter starts. 

Despite the loneliness of it, the ground is quite fertile; as patches of earth left alone by humankind often are. No one ever comes with Kevin when he gardens — Andrew finding it too soft a hobby and Neil, too pointless —, so there is no worry about someone else intervening with his flowers. Worlds apart from Evermore, Kevin quite enjoys the alone time tending to this garden provides, so he makes a habit out of it. 

He’s not sure how well he is doing. His first attempt had been to plant daylilies, because the name had amused him and they were considered beginner plants, offending as the thought is. Daylilies, Kevin’s come to find, are low-maintenance, highly resistant and pest-free — three things Kevin cannot relate to, despite them sharing a surname. Those turned out fine, but one cannot go wrong with daylilies; they’re too easy. The only way Kevin could’ve killed them is if he was an absolute moron.

His second attempt — and the one he is currently keeping a close watch on — were tulips. They’re harder to care for than their predecessors, and take up more of Kevin’s time than he had previously imagined, though he doesn’t fault them for it. He’d gotten seeds from a shop a few blocks down to where Andrew usually buys his cigarettes in Columbia, and hadn’t bothered to ask for more information; Kevin’s first mistake, he realizes.

His tulips have… multiplied. Perhaps too much — hopeless, Kevin sits amidst the rows and rows of golden ladies, dainty-looking but quite surely outnumbering him, and wonders how many more of them could cause a natural imbalance in the area. For how they spread over the garden, Kevin is not sure he wants the answer. Their yellow bulbs seem to mock him. 

Deciding this is now above him, Kevin wipes the dirt from his knees and springs up. He breaks the stem of a few tulips that have already bloomed, mindful that they must reserve their energy for a future reblooming, and checks for rotten bulbs before leaving. Surely, with time, his little garden will recover well enough so that it is not fully covered in tulips. Surely he’ll be able to plant something else, then.

If anything, Kevin is at least happy they don’t have thorns. Gathering the handful of flowers he’d cut off, he returns to his dorm, mindlessly wondering to himself if they have a vase wide enough to fit all of these tulips. When their whiny door pushes open under his weight, Kevin announces his arrival by calling out, “Do we still have that big vase from last year?”

No reply. Frowning, Kevin settles his flowers on the kitchen counter and glances over to where Andrew’s wallet and keys sit at their coffee table, even his half-finished pack of cigarettes left untouched. It is highly unlikely for Andrew to leave without at least one of those three items, creature of habit he is. How weird.

Grabbing for his phone, Kevin sees a flash of motion from the corner of his eye, and is just quick enough to sidestep a little body hiding behind the back of their sofa. The idea of something as small as this just hanging around their dorm is so baffling Kevin can hardly compute it, communication between his eyes and his brain coming to a screeching stop as he takes in the sight in front of him.

There’s a child. There’s a — there’s a child. 

He is quite small. His hair, a gentle wheat-like thing, curls softly over his forehead, leading down to big, round brown eyes and a thin mouth. The child’s face is very tender, his cheeks flushed from exertion, but he does not meet Kevin’s stare with any such feeling — instead, his eyes widen slightly, and he stumbles back like he’s been hit.

For a moment, Kevin even worries he hasn’t sidestepped as well as he thought and indeed had hit this child on accident. Taking a few steps back himself, Kevin asks, “Who are you?”

It seems like the kind of question the child should ask him, instead of the opposite. The little boy tilts his head back to look at Kevin — and he does have to tilt it very far —, before steeling himself to answer, “I’m—I think I live here now?”

“That…” Kevin hesitates, “can’t be right.” The child’s eyes water slightly. Growing more and more panicked by the minute, Kevin immediately retracts it. “But I’m sure it is, if you’re saying it.”

The tears don’t fall, but they don’t quite recede either; the little boy's face is so fair it starts to look splotchy soon enough, red dusting his nose and cheeks. “Are you my new brother?” He asks, with all the certainty of someone who’s had many new brothers before. A nagging chill runs up Kevin’s spine.

“I don’t believe I am, since I don’t have any siblings,” Kevin limits himself to replying. He crouches down to meet the child’s stare, eyeing his tulips from above his head. Kevin really needs to get that vase soon; it’s not good for them to be out in the open like this. “Can you tell me your name? Why are you here? Where are your parents?”

The little boy eyes him suspiciously. He answers none of Kevin’s questions, but he informs, “There was another little boy too.”

“Right. Well,” Kevin stumbles a bit, unsure of what to say — and what to believe in, even. Children often see things that aren’t there for adults; he does not want to see any manner of spirit today. Or any other day. “Can you go get him for me? Then I can help you figure out what you’re doing here.”

“What else… can I be doing here?” The child asks, frowning lightly. “This is a new home. They—at the last one, they didn’t want me. And I have to be somewhere.”

Recognition shivers through Kevin. “I see,” he replies past the lump in his throat. “I think I might understand. The—the little boy that you mentioned, did he have blue eyes? And, and red hair?”

Andrew crinkles his little nose. “Was orange, not red.”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. “I understand it now.” Kevin’s thighs tremble too much for him to hold his crouch, so he sits back on his heels, kneeling at Andrew’s height. “How old are you? If you don’t mind.”

Andrew blinks at him for a moment too long before showing Kevin his spread palm — it is unbearably small, chubby, and quite pale, too. “I’m five,” he says.

And he is. He is five years old. He is very five years old by the looks of it, which is not the age Andrew Minyard should be, because before Kevin left for his garden, he was pretty sure the Andrew he left behind was twenty-one. 

“You’re five. Okay. That makes sense. Of course,” Kevin babbles, having gone half-stupid from shock. That this could be happening to him — that it could be happening to them again, after Kevin had spent a week of last month being six years old and with no recollection of it. What kind of rotten cosmic joke is this? “I see. Okay, well, let me just—” He rubs a hand across his face. “Hello, I’m Kevin. I am a collegiate athlete. That means I play Exy for a university. Have you heard of it?”

“Exy is on the TV all the time,” Andrew counters, but it seems to be all that he knows. He looks a little hesitant before he nods; tight and anxious. “Hi. I’m Andrew Doe.”

Without a surname makes one a John Doe. Kevin’s heart squeezes. “Hello, Andrew,” he greets, trying to work his face into something gentler. “I understand what you mean now. You called it a new home, correct? It’s not like that. I think what happened here is…”

“Do you work for my father?” A small voice cuts Kevin’s sentence short. He whips his head around to meet a boy a good few inches taller than Andrew leaning against the doorway of their bedroom, his hair a light ginger. When Kevin’s eyes meet his, Neil — Nathaniel? — hunches in on himself in self-reproach, placing little hands in front of his head. “Sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

Kevin blinks. “No,” he answers, softening his voice. This is—this is not the time to doubt whether gentleness is achievable or not; this is the time to force it until it breaks, or until it gives. “I don’t work for your father. I’ve never even met him before.”

 Neil pales. Perhaps the idea that someone does not know his father seems outlandish when Neil has been raised under his dominion — Kevin is sure it feels that way, for Neil to look so stricken.  Often when you are this small and your parents are the overlords of your world, it feels strange to learn that they are not the end-all-be-all of everyone else’s.  

Like a little tour guide, Andrew steps forward to explain, “I think you might be here because your mom and dad went away and children have to live somewhere.” 

…Of course, being five years old, his understanding of the situation is about as good as Kevin had expected. Andrew’s explanation of the foster system is fairly good, all things considered, but too realistic for a child his age. He should, at least, still believe that they mean to find him a family instead of sending him from home to home because there is nowhere else for him to be.

Neil pales even further. “Is that true?”

“Is true. Is what happened to me.”

“Alright, alright,” Kevin intervenes at last, and two pairs of eyes turn to him; both hesitant in their own way. He coughs into his fist, deciding that honesty is the easiest route. “To be frank with both of you, I’m not sure why you’re here, either. But… thank you, Andrew, for trying to explain it.”

The little Andrew’s face does something unguarded and surprised before he looks away, blushing lightly.

Kevin keeps his eyes trained to his tulips. “I don’t know what happened for you to get here, but you’re welcome to stay until we can figure this out.”

He is eyed with suspicion from both sides. “I,” Neil shakily starts, the beginning of a meltdown creeping into his voice, “I want my mama. Where is she?”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin replies, and finds that he means it, “I don’t know. If I knew, I’d take you to her.”

He would do no such thing, but it is important to say it, anyway.

Springing upwards before Neil can bring out the waterworks, Kevin takes a few steps next to where he’d put aside his tulips and returns with one in each hand. “Here,” he says, kneeling to their height again. “Want a flower? I just got them from the garden.”

Andrew’s hand reaches for it, but does not bridge the distance, hesitant. Neil doesn’t even try to get it. “Flowers are for girls,” he tells Kevin. 

“Hm. Do I look like a girl to you?”

“Yes.”

Kevin supposes that was a mistake on his part. It’s always the hair with children. “Well, I’m not,” he argues — argues! — with five-year-old Neil. “It’s very rude to not accept a gift.”

Neil eyes him, squinting quietly. He takes a few steps closer, looking more relaxed now that he’s figured Kevin is not working for his father. Coaxingly, Kevin offers one of the tulips in his direction — the bigger one, standing proud and yellow and delicate. It took a great effort for them to look this healthy. “These are called golden ladies. They’re perennials — that means they grow no matter the season. I plant them myself.”

A little hand curls around the stem of the smallest of Kevin’s tulips, catching it with all the clumsy delicacy of children who have yet to learn a finer touch. Letting Andrew take it, Kevin's mouth twitches. “Don’t worry about thorns, there’s none.”

He doesn’t mention the eco-system smasher Kevin had accidentally become in the process. Hopefully, no one notices the terrifying increase of tulips in Palmetto for the upcoming springs. 

Andrew doesn’t answer him, eyes trained to the tulip. The yellow of the inner petals matches the pale of his hair; makes him look more flower than child. Sweet, sweet boy.

Kevin turns back to Neil. “Won’t you take it even if you don’t like them? I don’t have a vase yet. I’m afraid they’ll just rot if you don’t take them.” This is a lie — but it’s a fair one. Children shouldn’t be so restrained.

The idea of imminent destruction seems to convince Neil to walk the distance between himself and Kevin to take the flower in his little hand. He says nothing. Kevin can’t tell if he likes it at all — he’s so put-upon.

A little hand flutters in the general direction of Kevin’s head. “Why is your hair…” Andrew asks. 

“What? Long?” The child nods. “What’s wrong about it?”

“It shouldn’t be like this.”

Well, that’s rude. Kevin huffs softly under his breath, absent-mindedly combing his fingers through his hair. “When I was a little over your age, I had a friend — a brother — who liked my hair like this. I think I just grew used to it.” 

It’s not the full story, of course. He can’t tell them about Riko, and how much of his preferences Kevin had taken as law out of admiration, at first, then fear, later on. He can’t explain, either, that his hair staying this way is his own way of mourning — a childhood left unfinished, a little boy abused into the insanity of Riko’s final years, brotherhood yet to be tainted by blood and jealousy. Children this young can’t tell Kevin carries all the marks of the grieving. 

“Oh,” Andrew replies. He looks like he wants to ask some more, but he doesn’t. 

“I can teach you how to braid it later, if you want,” Kevin offers. He has not even a sliver of a clue about what children should do in their free time. In his time, his mother took him all around the world during her trips, which didn’t usually leave Kevin much time for playing; then, after she died, Exy consumed most of his time between little league and Tetsuji’s endurance bootcamp. “It’s a useful skill. You can impress your future wife with it.”

He knows well enough that Andrew is never, ever going to get a wife; still, Kevin knows no other way to frame the importance — or, rather, mask the lack thereof — of this to him.  

Andrew nods politely. He, for one, is taking this much better than Neil seems to be — for good reason, Kevin imagines. Already registered in the foster system, Andrew must be used to adapting to new homes, new siblings, new adults with an eccentric knack for gardening and haircare. He’s indulging Kevin. A five-year-old!

“Well,” Kevin clears his throat, suddenly a little embarrassed. “Are you hungry? It should be almost lunchtime.”

No answer. It’s almost like dealing with the adults Andrew and Neil again.

Lunch is bland and unimaginative; Kevin follows the recipe obsessively, unwilling to make children choke down trash. It’s one thing for their adult selves to indulge Kevin in his lack of culinary talent, but children don’t yet have the taste buds for experimental food, nor the desire to put up with their caretakers’ inability to cook. More than once he resists the urge to add more spice — or even more salt. 

While he cooks, Kevin allows Andrew and Neil to get acquainted with each other. They talk quietly, eyeing the other with no less suspicion they eyed Kevin with, and seem happy to do their own thing. Skittish, for sure: but can they be blamed for it? Kevin doesn’t expect them to hit it off immediately, especially with Neil’s under-socialization. In the week or so Kevin should have them, it is likely they’ll progress on that front. 

Polite like a trained dog, Andrew waits by the kitchen doorway to help Kevin with setting the table. He’s far too small for such a task — he’ll drop any glassware Kevin gives him. Still, unwilling to let the child feel useless, Kevin asks him to set some napkins and cutlery out. Yes, that should be enough.

“Thank you, Andrew,” he says when he is done finishing up on their plates. Looking at the portions, Kevin is inclined to think they are far too much for someone of their size, but he doubts either have had access to an unrestricted meal in quite a while. At their age, Kevin knows he hadn’t. “It is very kind of you to help with the table.”

Andrew tilts his head towards his food without comment. He is almost unnervingly polite. It’s not the Andrew Kevin knows, and the contrast feels scathing.

Despite the children’s best efforts, their meal is not quiet. Kevin is not good with children, but he likes to think he is good with Andrew and Neil — as good as one can be, anyway. He prompts them into conversation by asking questions about their interests, their lives, their routines; half of it is trying to figure out how to care for these two, and the other half is emulating a chewed-out memory of how Kayleigh used to talk to him. 

She was never the kind of parent who baby-talked to Kevin. As soon as he was able to, she tried to engage him in conversation — however loose that concept can be for a five-year-old. Kayleigh, from what he remembers of her, had the ability to make anyone feel listened to; Kevin doesn’t remember ever doubting she cared for his childish babbling about toys and daycare, even if nostalgia had colored the memory a soft mouth-pink. He only wishes he would’ve gotten at least half of her social adeptness. From Kayleigh, all Kevin got was green eyes, a gaping hunger for success and an inescapable attraction to troubled men.

“I play Exy and I like books,” Kevin offers in trade for information. It’s — well, he doesn’t have many hobbies. The gardening and the cooking are a late product of much of Dr. Betsy Dobson’s insistence that Kevin must make something out of himself that isn’t Exy-related. “I like cooking but I’m not good at it. And I like gardening but it takes a lot of work so I don’t do it all the time.”

“It’s not that bad,” Andrew tells him, motioning to his food with small movements. He finished his plate in record time, inhaling Kevin’s poor attempt at a caesar salad like it’s a five stars meal. On the other hand, Neil is halfway through with his and looks done already. “Your food.”

“Not that bad?” Kevin tilts his head slightly, amused. He’ll take it, he supposes. “Thank you, Andrew.”

Hesitant, like perhaps he fears Kevin will be angry at him for it, Neil picks up the conversation where he left off to say, “I like… horses. But, um, like toys.”

 “Horses, I see,” Kevin repeats, a bit hopeless. Children’s interests are so loose. “And what else?”

Neil flicks him a suspicious glare. “What else?”

“I gave you four of my interests. A conversation has to be equal.”

Looking as if Kevin had sprouted a second head right in front of him, Neil does not do as he is asked so much as he stares at Kevin, mouth open in a little o. Has no one asked this child what he likes before? It feels out of character for the Butcher of Baltimore, sure, but Neil’s mother had seemed to care for him, at least from what little Kevin had heard about her. 

“No?” Kevin tries after a few moments of silence. “I’m just trying to be friends.” 

“Why would you be my friend?” Neil asks, putting down his fork with surprising care; as if to ensure it makes no noise. Even his voice is small and unobtrusive, despite the words. “Adults and children aren’t friends. Adults want children to be quiet.”

Kevin hides a wince. He hadn’t imagined the Butcher of Baltimore, in all his serial killer glory, would have indulged his child in conversation — and by the way Neil acts, he could’ve guessed for himself that most of Neil’s childhood had been trying to stay out of his father’s way. But no one ever wants to assume the worst out of a loved one’s suffering;  Kevin had held out hope there’d be at least a silver lining in Neil’s horror stories.

It is not unlike how Kevin and Riko were raised in the Nest, anyway. Their private tutors were stern, and despite much of their trying, there was no place for childhood in Evermore: they were told to keep quiet or else. The Master would often say that they were not to act like children — it hadn’t occurred to him up until now how cruel it is to forbid a child from being childish.

“Well, if I’m asking you, don’t you think I want to know?” Kevin argues. “Not all adults think the same thing. Do you think the same thing as every other child?”

A pause. Neil shakes his head, looking somewhat green, as if he had just realized what he said. From Kevin’s other side, Andrew stares anxiously. 

Rubbing a hand through his face, Kevin slowly puts out, trying to enunciate his words as gentle as he can make them, “I am not angry that you spoke your mind. It makes sense, what you said.” He shakes his head a little. Only a few minutes in, and he’s already ruining it — Kevin’s no good for anything that doesn’t involve a racquet. “But I would not have asked if I didn’t want to know. Do you understand?”

A small, careful nod. Kevin will take whatever he can get. 

“Good.” Kevin starts to gather the empty plates — his and Andrew’s —, and motions towards Neil’s half-finished one. “Do you not like it? I can make you something else, if you want.”

The sudden shift in conversation visibly vexes Neil, but, politely, he replies, “...Not hungry.”

From beside Kevin, Andrew flinches. Hurrying to dispel it, Kevin says, “It’ll be in the fridge in case you want it later.” Piling the plates into one of his hands, Kevin offers the other one to Andrew. “Come on, you didn’t get to tell me what you like during lunch.”

The child watches Kevin’s hand — the right one, smooth and unscarred if a little crooked from the years of gripping racquets — warily before accepting it, threading his little fingers through Kevin’s. His hand feels unimaginably small; so fragile it is a wonder it even exists. Kevin is reminded of the first time he saw a baby bird, back in Dublin: he’d told his mom he couldn’t tell if it was super ugly or super cute. She’d laughed for what felt like an eternity after.

Still sitting politely at the table, Neil watches their joined hands, frowning. Kevin can’t tell what he’s thinking — wouldn’t be able to even with an adult Neil —, but the face he makes claws at his heart. “N—” not his name,  “ah, do you want to come with?” 

Thus invited, Neil follows them into the kitchen. Kevin washes the dishes and listens as Andrew tells him, a little shyly, that he likes Sesame Street, street cats (“Really?” Kevin asks. “Aren’t their claws a little scary?” to which Andrew seems to lose some respect for him on the spot), chocolate and amusement parks, when he is allowed to go. It's a fairly common list — Kevin didn’t know what he expected a five-year-old version of Andrew to like. Something a little more unorthodox, perhaps.

But children are the same everywhere, at any point. Andrew soaks up the attention Kevin gives him, happy to answer all questions, if a little insecure on why Kevin would be asking them. Knowing where Andrew was at this age, he doesn’t doubt it’s been a while an adult has actually spoken to him with some level of care for what he has to say: when was the last time Andrew has actually felt companionship? Someone who hears what he says and asks questions about it? 

It feels sacrilegious to stop now. Already out of dishes to clean, Kevin scrubs and re-scrubs their plates until his hands ache as he asks Andrew questions, not unaware of Neil’s watching eyes.

“And how is it? California?” Kevin asks. The next thing he says is a bold-faced lie, because he’s visited Jean before, but he still says it. “I’ve never been. I heard it’s beautiful.” 

He’s heard no such thing. Jean seems to think California is where meaningful art goes to die, but he can’t tell Andrew that.

“Is okay,” Andrew tells him, propped up on a stool next to Kevin. His little legs swing mindlessly. “The traffic — there’s traffic. And Disneyland.”

“You’ve been?” He asks again.

“Oh, um, no.”

It’s expected. “I have not either,” Kevin relates, making it sound like a bigger woe than it really is. His hands are rubbed raw at this point, and the soap pricks at the skin of his palms — soon, he’ll have to stop. Just a little more. “I don’t think I’d like it, either way.”

Andrew watches him curiously. “Why?”

“I don’t like crowds.” It’s not as easy as that, but Kevin leaves it as it is. The prickling sensation of the soap starts to crawl up his wrist, and he decides it is time to stop. Drying his hands off on a nearby cloth, Kevin prompts, “How about some dessert?”

It is the first time he’s ever said those words, and they horrify him, but the quickly-hidden flash of interest in Andrew’s face is worth breaking his streak for. From the stool beside Andrew, Neil frowns lightly. This child is too serious — Kevin tries to remember if he was like this back in little league, but his memory is not the best after so many hits to the head.

He rummages through their freezer. Andrew’s adult self is fond of indulging — there are a few half-eaten ice cream cartons tucked beneath frozen peas and other such vegetables, though most of them are flavored a cherry liqueur Kevin will most certainly not feed to children. Scavenging further he is able to retain a sealed chocolate carton, the frost covering it making his fingertips tingle. 

This has to be too frozen to eat. Helpless, Kevin turns to look at the two five-year-olds as if they have a better idea. It’s weird, now, to be the person Andrew and Neil look to for answers — Kevin is used to it being the other way around. He is caught thinking that he’ll probably struggle in the coming days, without his two little shadows making life easier for him. 

“I think if I microwave it a little bit, nothing’s going to happen,” Kevin mumbles to himself, aware that he is not inspiring much respect as an authority figure. He’s no Andrew, after all: Kevin’s still himself, despite all his best efforts to be someone else. 

The ice cream loses some of its original texture in the microwave, but, if anything, Andrew seems to enjoy it as Kevin passes him a bowl. Neil does not accept one himself, politely saying he doesn't like sweets, and the lack of attitude from him is disturbing. Kevin is used to Neil being a force of nature — seeing him this quiet, this contained, is not easy. It makes him think of the iron-shaped scar on his adult self’s chest. All that dead skin. 

Unwilling to let him be left out, Kevin cuts some slices of apple for him, which Neil takes with some degree of gratefulness. The little boys settle in front of the TV while Kevin manages to find a children’s channel, looking small on their ratty dorm carpet. Kevin isn’t sure children should be this small in the first place — he’s not sure if they are little because of genetics, or neglect. How much can you hurt a child until they disappear?

Kevin sits himself with them, cross-legged. He is too old to see the appeal of children’s television, so most of it is watching them from the corner of his eye and finding out what to say to Aaron to get him to come and help. 

You 14:36

Hello. I think whatever happened to me last month just happened to Andrew and Neil. 

As in, they have turned into five-year-olds. If you’ve forgotten. 

When there is no immediate response, Kevin huffs to himself and snatches a picture of their two little heads pending towards each other, deep in conversation about the show they are watching. Kevin is, at least, relieved to see them interacting at all: Andrew might have been to kindergarten already, but Neil has always been undersocialized, all tutors and nannies. If Kevin can’t be his friend, then at least Andrew can. 

The picture gets him a quicker answer.

Aaron 14:45

what the fuck what the fuck what the ufck

why doe sthis keep fucking happening to you 

Like it’s his fault!

You 14:45

This is not the kind of thing I can control. 

They are good children. Polite. Easier to deal with than I was, I wager. But  I need you to come and help. 

Aaron 14:47

why should i

what makes you think i could help you

You 14:49

Because he is your brother. 

Before Kevin can read Aaron’s answer, something hooks on his hair. Looking down, he finds Andrew’s hand hanging a few inches away from it, alarmed and wide-eyed at being caught. Behind him, Neil looks just as queasy, as if this had been their joint effort. 

“Can I help you?” Kevin asks, raising his eyebrow a little. When he gets no response, he concedes, "You can touch. Don’t tug or pull. And keep it away from your mouth.”

No response. Kevin doubles down, “It’s really fine. Here.” He pulls his hair out of its low ponytail, letting it curtain down his shoulders and back. It’s not often he lets his hair down like this — it can be too much of a hassle. Kevin ought to cut it one day, but the thought still makes him a little sick to think of. “As long as you’re careful.”

An hesitant little hand inches closer and closer, still warily watching out for Kevin’s reaction. When Andrew finds no resistance, he combs little fingers down the length of Kevin’s hair, faint and amazed. He’s not very gentle — children are too clumsy for it, still, and there is some tugging. It doesn’t hurt, though. Kevin allows it.

Resigning himself to being played with, Kevin gives them his back, leaning his elbow against the couch. Another pair of little hands clutches at a chunk of hair, and he knows Andrew has convinced Neil to get in on their impromptu hairdresser salon. At least they’re playing, Kevin consoles himself as he feels a pull on his scalp. At least they’re getting along. 

“I have hair ribbons on my desk,” he offers, knowing what he is setting himself up to and still going through with it. “Colorful ones. Satin. Would you like to see them?”

A pause on the tugging. “Really?” That was Neil.

“Yes. But I’ll have to get up to get them.”

“I can do it,” Andrew tells him, the ever-helpful little waiter. He’s so polite — Kevin wonders if they taught him there is a higher chance of getting adopted if you treat the foster parents with subservience. Probably. “Where is it?”

“Andrew, it’s fine—”

“I’ll do it. He’s still playing, so I’ll do it.”

So kind, giving Neil time to play by himself. Kevin, helplessly charmed, would allow him anything. “Okay. Thank you.” Motioning vaguely in the direction of their desks, he says, “It’s the one with the shelves on top of it. Yes, that one, with the books. Be careful not to hit your head!” Watching Andrew narrowly duck under a shelf gives Kevin half an aneurysm, but the child seems no less interested in his quest. “First drawer. There. Did you find it?”

“Yes,” Andrew replies, shoving a chubby fist into the drawer and pulling out a handful of hair ribbons, all different colors and sizes. There was an organization system to it, and his careless pulling has clearly ruined it. A little disheartened, Kevin doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “This?”

“Yes. Please keep the drawer closed.” 

The drawer snaps shut, and Andrew makes his way back to them, freshly acquired ribbons falling over his fingers and wrist in colorful flops. Kevin doesn’t see him sit back down, but he feels Andrew’s hand on his hair again. “Why do you have shelves?” Neil asks after a few moments of silence, their hands working ribbons in his hair via extremely clumsy braiding. “Um, just you, I mean. The others are empty.”

That he’s asking anything seems like a blessing, when the child is so quiet. “My—” Kevin hesitates. How to even describe it? “My… friend built them for me. The shelves. He got annoyed at me for leaving my books everywhere.”

 It’s true. Just as Kevin loathes Andrew’s habit of leaving his cigarettes anywhere, so does Andrew loathe Kevin’s astray book piles across the living room, left half-read or unfinished in his haste to get to class or practice. The shelves had been less of a compromise and more of a surprise: one day, they were simply sitting above his desk like they’ve always been there. Kevin never asked Andrew if he built them, but he figured the wood splinters on his fingers were reason enough. It took a lot of arguing for Andrew to take them out the right way, instead of just letting the splinters break on their own.

“Oh,” Andrew says, entirely unaware of the story being about his older self and focused on tying a bow on Kevin’s hair. “Where is he?”

“There’s two of them, actually. They’re away for work.” Kevin leans his head closer when the tugging starts to get a little painful. “What are you doing back there, anyway?”

“It’s pretty,” Neil murmurs, defending his work. Kevin doubts it is, but he’s happy to even have the little Neil’s attention at all. 

“You know how to braid?” He asks, trying to steal a look and getting his head gently moved back by Andrew. “By the way, what’s your name? You haven’t said.”

Neil hesitates, hands freezing. Kevin keeps talking, “Whatever you want to be called.”

 “Um,” Neil thinks on it for a moment. He seems to be rolling Kevin’s hair nervously around his fingers now; a nervous fidget. “My—my dad calls me Junior, but my mom calls me Nat—Nathaniel.”

 He doesn’t say it like he enjoys being called either.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” Kevin tilts his head in acknowledgement, because he wasn’t raised in a barn. “I’m Kevin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Shy little thing he is, Nathaniel doesn’t answer. 

The children play with Kevin’s hair for a few more minutes before losing interest, leaving him a mess of ribbons and tangles he decides not to deal with for now. He imagines they should be put to sleep soon — children this small sleep in the afternoon, do they not? At their age, Kevin is sure he had to be made to nap one way or another, what with his mother’s hectic schedule. It’s a bit of a parenting cop-out, he is aware, but… Kevin could use a nap himself. Sure the children do, too.

He makes a show out of yawning behind his palm. Two pairs of eyes turn to him, neither particularly moved by his display. Tough crowd. 

“Maybe we can all take a nap,” Kevin suggests. Nothing.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

Their eyes are wild, round as saucers and glimmering with unshed tears. Strapped down to the floor by their wrists and ankles, a band of metal across their throat, and their clothes plastered wet to their shivering body, Quinn looks small.

A rough hand weighs heavy on their chest as if to keep them from floating away. A curtain of bleach-fried hair hangs around a mean face twisted in the shape of concern for once. “Calm the fuck down,” Major rumbles, pushing down on their sternum.

That pressure is the only thing keeping them sane. Quinn’s hyperventilating has them so dizzy that they can’t feel their fingers or toes. Their eyes rocket around the room but they find no escape, no guard to manipulate or trick. Just an empty room and a friend who can’t save them.

“Calm down,” Major snaps, and those teary brown eyes finally settle on him. His hand wanders up to grab them by the jaw. “It’s coming again. You know that?”

They nearly panic again at the reminder. The chains keeping them down rattle with the shudders of mortified anticipation.

“Hey, stay focused. On me. Say yes Major.”

It’s hard to keep hyperventilating against the hand pressing down on their ribcage. Exhausting. They gasp weakly. “Ye-. Yes, Major.”

“Cool.” He didn’t make them say it to get obedience out of them or anything, and uncharacteristically, he doesn’t smirk. “It’ll hurt. You need a stupid mission or something? Instructions, to think?”

A jerky nod. Their eyes flit to the clock on the wall that counts each second, ticking upward. When it hits the next minute, the shock will course through them again.

“Eyes on me, bitch,” Comes his reminder, and they look up at him again, a tear slipping free to carve its way down their cheek. “It’s just pain. Just lasts ten seconds. Make it to five without a sound. That’s the rule.”

“Five?” They bite out, teeth nearly chattering from adrenaline. “Why, why’s it matter if I… I can’t…” Their question dies out as the click of the clock warns that there’s only five seconds left.

“Because I said so. Just do it. No screaming, five seconds. You ready? Breathe.” Speaking in a machine-gun rapid fire now, Major grips onto their hair and forces them to look straight into his eyes, at nothing else. “Breathe.”

The restrained spy sucks in a tremulous breath, focus finding its way into their expression. And then they jolt, their body straining with all its might to fling Major away, to tear their hair out in his grip, to break their own body in the metal restraints. Major swings a leg over their stomach and straddles them, knees digging into their sides hard. And he shoves their head down so it won’t bounce off the floor like it did a minute ago.

Their mouth stretches wide, but Major growls, “Five seconds,” and watches them go red with the effort of keeping the scream in.

Ten whole seconds pass. The electricity stops, and they flop, panting.

“Didn’t scream at all,” Major comments as he disentangles his fingers from their hair. “Look at me.”

Jittery, drowning eyes find him again, lost with pain. They focus enough to see Major give a grim nod. “You did good,” He says, and their bottom lip wobbles. “Gonna happen again in a minute.”

“F-forty-five seconds,” They correct on a hoarse gasp.

“Whatever. Can you handle it?”

“Nnh nnh-… n-, I-I don’t…”

“Not do you wanna. Can you? Will you fucking survive it?”

They swallow a whimper and nod slightly. “Doesn’t f-feel like it. But… yes?”

“Yeah. You will. Don’t piss me off, now. You didn’t scream. This time don’t even open your mouth.”

Their eyes flash with doubt. “But I… I, I don’t…”

“You’re a tough bitch,” Major snaps, lowering to be all but nose-to-nose with them. “You won’t die. This is fucking easy. Say you’ve got this.”

There isn’t time. They have no time. They try to look at the clock again, but he leans to block it from their sight. “Say it,” He orders again.

Quinn takes a ragged breath and grunts with the effort of speaking on command. “I’ve got this?”

“Again.” He’s petting their cheek. They don’t even recognize it directly, they just lean into it and swallow a sob.

“I’ve got this.”

Stormy eyes harden. He doesn’t say anything else, just watches. The clock ticks, and the shock comes.

After ten seconds, Quinn sucks in air, and when it escapes them it comes out as a squeaky sob. They screamed, they think. Hard to be sure. Major moves and they flinch, eyes squeezed shut, breaths tiny and rapid.

“Okay,” Major says, and he sounds softer than before. “It’s whatever. ‘s actually fine if you gotta be noisy. Uh. Keep your eyes closed.”

They flinch again when he touches their face, but it doesn’t hurt. His hand brushes back and forth, stiff with scars and clumsy. The side of his thumb scratches over their nose, his cracked palm slides over their forehead. There is no pattern to it, no tender cupping of their cheek. No kiss to the forehead or finger under their chin to lift it. It’s like being a kitten curled up at the foot of a trucker who is reaching down to pet it with the same nonchalance of scraping mud off his boot.

As rough as it may be, it drags a broken sob out of them, and he doesn’t stop. Maybe he can see how badly it hurt that time. Maybe his arbitrary rule about keeping quiet was only for their benefit, and if it didn’t help then he won’t make them try again.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn keens, tipping their head cooperatively as he swipes his palm to rub the tears off each cheek for them.

“What for?” Comes the gruff answer.

“For. For… I don’t know. I just am.” Their voice is high and painful in their throat.

“…’s okay.” The click comes. Quinn nearly screams from pure terror and surprise at how quickly a minute passed. “You’re fine. Hey, breathe.”

They do. The pain comes again. His hands, his weight, all of it disappears.

Some time later, and it might be minutes or hours later, they hear him picking a fight. Growling, yelling. Quinn tips their head slowly to see that Major is pinned by a boot on his chest, screaming in rage about… Quinn. About how the shocks haven’t stopped, and it’s too much. How this is pointless and stupid and it won’t work because they never talk, they never break.

The click of the clock comes, but Quinn is too busy to turn their head and watch the seconds tick by in terror. They are watching Major with awe, teary eyes lit up with curiosity and pride. They must be doing a very good job holding up, if Major is so mad for them. They can handle the next shock. Major might not think so, if he’s arguing for them, but they finally believe they can. They must be very very strong to have lasted this long, to make Major actually care.

[kozykricket]

so recently i tried calamity mod out, and... ive gotta say, i respect it for existing, but it definitely hones in on mostly the bosses and. well, i appreciate terraria for more than just the bosses. if you asked me when i first played terraria, i'd have said yeah the boss fights are the best part definitely, and i want more of that but... as ive grown, and as the game has grown -- and as i have thought more about what makes me like games, and as terraria has felt more complete than ever with 1.4 and such ...well, ill just say i know that what makes me love terraria is Everything that it is, and... i think calamity doesn't really go into expanding on everything. it feels like it kinda wants me to rush past a lot of vanilla things, but... taking my time earlygame is something i kinda appreciate. i know a lot of people shit on terraria for it being Grindy and RNG as hell for certain things, but am i crazy for believing that thats part of the charm? the exploration feels like... the same sense of doing a run in a roguelike. you arent always gonna find what you want, but its still... exciting! to find things! i know i have a few posts worth of "what i disagree with in terms of how calamity mod designs itself" but im just going to focus on how it ... tiktokifies terraria? in this post like, okay. from least egregious to most egregious, calamity:

Reduces the respawn time

Increases base mining speed

Increases base movement speed and capabilities

Gives a starter bag with tons of really nice early game goodies (why? thats just skipping like. 10 minutes of fun for no reason?)

Puts a giant structure above spawn with free planter boxes and all the herb seeds in a chest (also, you can just farm blood moons for making any potion. with blood orbs. oh no its post skeletron that certainly makes a huge difference) (I really don't get why people use alchemistnpc when calamity makes it insanely easy to get potions on its own)

Lets you craft a lot of accessories, from radars to blizzards in bottles.

Makes boss summons repeatably useable* (and notably, their FIRST boss has a bag within a bag, that gives you tons of fishing related items, without having to engage with the angler, so i guess forget the fishing gameplay loop. idc if you think its boring, because i do too. its still just completely moving the gameplay over to fighting a boss which is weird)

so overall i can tell calamity like, wants you to get moving to the later stuff. i get that; it has a LONG progression, and ... they rightfully want to get you moved towards the stuff that they've put the most effort into: the bosses. which i will admit are really fun and really cool, and *i actually do understand why they make boss summons re-usable in calamity, because of the increased difficulty of bosses.* plus theres still the fact you're gonna end up having to make new potions for every new attempt... at least, every retry when you're at the stage where you cant just sweep the floor with the boss. but uhm, that goes to my point on potions being pisseasy. its fine that theres free herb seeds, im fine with that really, because its not like they're that hard to get. you can get all the herb seeds in herb bags in the first 10 minutes. or just by exploring. it just really feels like ... it ADDS to the list of small but subtle little things where calamity hands me things that id normally go adventuring for. like what even is there left for me to adventure for wtf... i was thinking oh i'd really like a blizzard in a bottle and ice boomerang, but instead of needing to explore and spelunk for chests (which is EASY anyways in calamity with the increased mining speed and free spelunker potions) they just ... let me craft both of those?? using just some BLOCKS from the snow biome?? why. do you want me to engage with *anything* that isnt killing stuff, game?? and yknow the increased mining speed is cool, hell even FTW in vanilla does that, but it feels like even less reason to use mining potions and ... less incentive to go on a fun journey for the ancient chisel through the unique challenge of the underground desert. again, yes, its something that can be quite fast in vanilla. you can get hermes boots really easily if you're lucky, and so i understand..?? why people would want to just be able to craft hermes boots; to be able to have a consistent way to get them, instead of going on that gold-chest-gamble. but like... i like that part of the game! i like the early game finding of stuff. and hell sometimes later in the game ill decide hm i wanna go get this early game thing i never got because its for a crafting tree for this big accessory im making. but in calamity its just "ah dw you have all the materials for it now anyways" heck even FISHING is like. yknow, as i said, easier in calamity due to the desert scourge dropping potions for it and such, and its an alternative way to get stuff like a cloud in a bottle or an aglet, or even something like feral claws. so its something easier by calamity, but its also meaningless because you can craft so many things you'd normally either adventure or fish for so all in all, i understand that some people just wanna play terraria for the boss fights, and they dont really care too much for the interludes of roguelike-vibes-exploration between the bosses where you go on RNG hunts and take some time preparing via fishing, but. well i appreciate them darnit oh also its really funny calamity just, makes the magic mirror faster. like. is that even necessary. the base movement speed increase i think is weird when food buffs and stuff like magiluminesence exists. or yknow, boots. especially considering you can just craft the boots. if they want to make sure the player just inherently has more to work off of, then. i dunno, buff the swiftness potion? make a new potion? or make a new accessory? and ive heard they nerf a lot of vanilla things despite the fact that they dont even compete that hard with the calamity stuff. so... yeah, calamity makes some weird decisions. but also, i don't hate the mod for existing; in fact, im glad it exists. its an entirely different experience and yknow what? its valid for it to exist, and it... helps keep the people who want a game like calamity ... content, yknow? keeps them happy.

[cursedfortune]

What kind of people would Mortem refuse to help and for what reason?

@swordduels

I've spoken on similar inquiries when it comes to people Mortem dislikes in some manner.

It often takes more effort to garner her displeasure than it does to get her to like an individual. Even traits or behaviors she finds annoying or distasteful aren't usually enough to warrant sincere negativity. She won't fault a soul for acting in its nature, usually. Unless wisdom doesn't prevail and teach them anything.

Which leads me to the obvious answer: She won't help anyone lacking potential.

Her core abilities and attributes surround the fact she can see and predict a soul's potential. She doesn't really know the actual details nor does she seek them out unless it's necessary, but by default she can tune in to see potential in the form of energy. The core abilities she developed via will and magic (two separate things in her lore, mind you) are based on this. Her enhancing her body into being a powerful vessel for her purpose (solely will-based) was her carrying out her own physical potential. Her becoming an open gate with magic/energy in general was her carrying out her own magic potential (and some will still). Which allows her to utilize her main abilities of energy manipulation and soul manipulation, for lack of a better term at the moment.

So in explaining that, people lacking potential she doesn't help. In fact, if she spots someone without potential or lacking severely she typically killing them either on sight or by that day's end. In her line of work and belief, they are just a soul trapped in a husk without potential - so freeing the soul means it has that potential returned either in the after-life or if it ever decides to reincarnate.

I guess it could still be considered helpful in a fucked up sort of way, though.

Beyond that it just varies. I suppose people who have the means to accomplish their goals but seek the easy way (often, her) typically warrant her just quirking an eyebrow. She doesn't like individuals who lack effort. It doesn't matter how smart or stupid you are, if you aren't making an effort and adapting to some degree then you aren't worth shit to her. If someone tries to get her to do basic things, like kill an enemy they have, she will be like, "No, you."

Provided a deal of some kind isn't struck.

People always have a means but if they aren't utilizing that means, she's going to get bored of someone real fast. And if they as disappointing her time and time again, they will be on the chopping block. She doesn't care to waste her time on such people - unless her purpose dictates it as a necessity.

[theworldibuilt4you]

It's… Kinda weird, yeah.

[Addie laughed lightly, envisioning an exaggerated scene of rows upon rows of these freakishly huge snakes in fancy display cages, and humans lining up around the block just for the chance to get one.]

But, also endearing… Your people sound very kind, to care so deeply about other creatures…

[They were losing themselves to thought, when Casey's comment pulled them out.]

Huh-?

[They tried to pinpoint what Casey was talking about, but they didn't see anything out of the ordinary. If they had to guess, it kind of looked like Sonny was looking right at them, but maybe he had a terminal up?]

[A terminal… Centered right on them… That he was smiling at…]

[Slowly, experimentally, they began to gesture toward themselves. As far as they knew, what they were thinking of wasn't exactly possible before, but he was admin now…]

Ahah… Um... Are… You looking at me, sunshine…?

[It felt a bit presumptuous to assume like that, but they couldn't help the hopeful look in their eyes, their free hand shyly teasing the hem of their shirt.]

-Addie

"Oh yes... It's a common saying that humans will try to pet anything! Lots of humans take in some... more dangerous pets just because they cant help their love... gets them hurt. But many snakes are non venemous, and trust their humans back, so theres no issues with keeping docile ones... some are more suited to be left alone however."

[His eyes definitely seemed to move when Addie made the gesture, the pupils following their hand for a moment. It was only then did he realize how intently he was staring, and his cheeks seemed to flair up with heat.]

"I-I...- Uhm..-"

[He averts his gaze. Was it too much? Was it too much eyecontact? Too little? He hasn't talked to another person face to face in such a long time. Was he being off putting in any way?]

"I...I was.. y-yes. I... couldn't make you out before this.. It was... it took a lot of effort to see beyond the- through the..-"

[He averts his gaze, picking at his cuticles]

"But now its... so easy... I couldn't help just..-"

[He shakes his head]

"Never mind, never- I.. I can stop. I apologize, I.. I should have said something, should have told you that I could..-"

"...Heh. you guys are so gushy. It almost makes me sick."

[idontunderstandchemistry]

Indecent Proposal (An academic rivals to lovers fanfic) - Tim Drake x Latina!Fem!Reader.

Sinopsis: Being a scholarship student at Gotham's most expensive school is not easy, especially when your academic rival, your nemesis, who coincidentally is the owner's son, decides to make you a rather usual proposition.

Tropes: Academic rivals-to-lovers, contract/bet, he loved her all this time, everyone else sees it except them, opposites attract, etc.

Author's Note: Omg guys, this chapter is so out of schedule ksksksksksk I got trapped in my most recent hyperfixation (AKA my new babygirl Simon Ghost Riley) and forgot to post, i'm so sorry. This one is actually kinda short, but tomorrow I'l post another one to compensate. For those of you that want to read some chapters ahead, feel free to acess my AO3 account here. Anyways, thanks for reading xoxo

Warnings: none.

Wordcount: 1366.

Chapter Five

Chapter Six: Two little birds

After some time pretending, sleep finally made its way into you. Not soon enough to sake Tim Drake from being blocked, though. It was better this way, you really needed to focus on yourself and your future. His was already sorted, you were the only one with something to lose with this agreement. 

Something in the wind that got inside your room made you wake up distressed. His scent. His fucking scent came to bother you even when you were asleep. Utterly annoyed, you got up and walked straight to your window, closing it violently. When you were walking back to your bed, a laugh echoed inside your room.

— Once again you’ve trapped the bird inside a cage — He said and you saw him lean against your desk. Oh shit. 

— You know… when Edward sneaked into Bella’s room to watch her sleep in Twilight, it wasn’t romantic. It was creepy — You said, trying to appear calm. You sat on your bed — Are you a creep, Red Robin?

— Maybe more than I should — He admitted. He turned to the glass with the cut stems Tim sent you and laughed in low tone — It seems you’re not in a position to judge me, actually. It’s not the most normal thing to do this to flowers.

— Well, the flowers are mine anyway, I can do with them whatever pleases me — You answered, crossing your arms over your chest — You, on the other hand, broke into a girl’s room in the middle of the night and haven’t even bothered to give her an explanation yet. 

— I was nearby and wanted to check on you — He said, coming closer to you. 

— Liar — You said with a smile — If you'd done it a year ago I would have believed you, but it’s been a long time. I was sure you had forgotten me. 

— Never — He said and it made your heart skip a beat — I know Nightwing and Batman give us bad reputation, but not all vigilantes are mansluts. I don’t go out kissing random people during patrol. And I remember very well the people I've kissed.

— Oh, so you regularly check on everyone you’ve kissed?

— You’re upset. I got it — He said, sitting beside you. Damn — I guess it’s good that the target of your anger were the flowers, then. I’d hate to arrest you.

— What do you really want here? Any bullet holes you need me to suture?

He sighed.

— It has been a rough night. I was around and wanted to see if you were awake. I enjoyed talking to you back then — He said and his legs accidentally touched yours. You sighed as well.

— What do you want to talk about?

— Anything — He said, turning his head to look at you. You wanted to look at him so badly — Why are you upset?

— There’s this boy in my class…

— The one that looks at you like you’re an exótic bird? — He asked and your eyes widened with surprise.

— Wow.

— I told you, I remember.

— Yes, him — You continued — We started to get along in a certain way…

— What do you mean?

— Hm… we decided that in order to end the tension between us, we should hook up — You said after a sigh of embarrassment — And I’ve spent the afternoon getting ready, putting on the effort it takes to look effortless. And then, he didn’t show up, just sent me a bouquet of hyacinths. 

You let your back lean against your sheets, laying on the bed, after laughing. 

— Ridiculous, I know.

— It’s not — He said — You really have to stop invalidating your feelings. 

— I’m talking about him — You corrected and he laughed. His laughter and his smile were still your favourite things to hear and to see. 

— Yeah, he is ridiculous — He said, laying beside you.

— And still, I’ve mutilated innocent hyacinths because of him — You said — He awakens the worst in me.

— I’m sorry for the poor flowers — He laughed — But it’s okay. Although it really is a blow to my ego.

— What do you mean?

— Well, I've got to admit, I don’t know if I’m jealous because no one ever cared enough because of my disappearance to mutilate flowers — He started and you could not hold a small laugher — Or if it is because he kissed you — He said and you felt your cheeks get warmer. 

— How do you know he kissed me? — You asked, sitting to try to hide your blushing.

— You wouldn’t be so upset if he didn’t — He answered, sitting. 

You sighed.

— You wouldn’t do this to me — You said, resting your head on his shoulder. He leaned his head on yours — You’re a good man.

— Maybe I am, but I don't think I would be better than him in this context — He said — None of my relationships last, not even with other vigilantes. And I can be called by Batman at any time.

— So you stopped trying?

— No.

— Seems masochist to me.

— I guess we all are a bit masochist when it comes to love. Humans want things to work right. — He said, intertwining his fingers with yours. — Maybe in other conditions, we could’ve dated. It would have been nice.

— Did you know that wild robins don’t maintain the same partner for long? It’s because they’re migratory birds. They exchange partners almost every mating season.  — You said and he laughed.

— How do you know that?

— One of my little cousins love birds — You said, caressing his glove-covered hand with your thumb — I babysat him once and he told me that even though it was weird to him that robins exchange partners a lot it made sense because they don’t have clocks, calendars or jobs, so each spring must feel like a lifetime. I wish we were robins, even if we could spend only one spring together.

— Well, time showed already that I would come back to you eventually, so I don't think it would be only one spring — He said smiling against your hair — I hope you can work things right with this boy, I really do.

— They won’t. I don’t plan on talking to him anytime soon — You said, closing your eyes, feeling sleepy

— Don’t be bitter. What if he got trapped in an emergency? — He said — I’m sure he wouldn’t deliberately leave you waiting. Not when you look like this.

— And what about my amazing personality?

— I don't know what he thinks of your personality — He said, smiling — But I can talk about what I know he can’t deny. You’re smoking hot. One of the prettiest girls i’ve ever seen. You’ve got it all: amazing eyes, a smile that could lighten the whole room and a body to die for. If he left you waiting on purpose, he is an idiot. I wouldn’t leave you waiting, not on purpose.

— If i didn’t know better — You started, smiling as you brought back the phrase you said to him months ago, looking up to him — I’d think you’re hitting on me.

— Gotta shoot my best shot — He said, smiling as your noses got close.

As your lips were about to touch, you heard Nightwing’s voice coming from his communicator.

“Red Robin, where are you?”

— I went for a walk, Wing.

“I think I might need your help, if you finished your walk.” Red Robin looked at your lips almost like he needed to kiss them as much as a fish needs water “Forget the ‘i think’ part. We need your help. Immediately”.

— Send your location. I’m on my way — He said after biting his lower lip in frustration. — See? I told you sometimes I would leave you waiting.

— Duty calls — You said, opening your window for him. He sat on the sill to make it easier to get out and you held his cape — Wait.

He turned to your direction and you pulled him by the neckline of his armour, leaving a quick peck on his lips.

— Go and save the dawn for me.

He gave you the prettiest smile you ever saw and quickly kissed you again, then Nightwing’s voice called again and he left. You leaned on the still for a while, watching him leave, and then you returned to bed.

[dayseternal-blog]

Fic Author Self Rec! When you get this reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, or some snippets from upcoming WIPS. Let’s spread the self-love! Love ya and thank you for all you do!! 💖

:D my 5 favorite fics that I've written?? okay.

"It's No Secret" - Hinata returns to Konoha after 5 years studying abroad in the Moon Kingdom. She just wants to enjoy her last year of high school as a normal girl, but blossoming love forces her to confront her future. (Rated M). - My baby fish. A high school AU for which I was really trying all different kinds of things and making all kinds of mistakes, finding my writing style. As a fanfic writer newbie, I felt so free to do whatever I wanted! Every scene for me was gripping, and I was so immersed in the world I was trying to create. It has an original, lengthy plot that I still hope to finish one day!!! I love this fic just because it was so instrumental to helping me improve. It's definitely NOT my best work, but from the first chapter to the most recently published chapter, my growth in writing is so apparent. All of the comments I got on it, even the ones that criticized, were encouraging for me and I cherish those readers who've followed my fics since then 💞

"Nightdreams" - Naruto and Hinata find comfort in each other after the war. (Rated E). - The easiest multi-chapter fic to write. Ever. Since then, I've never had quite as much fun writing a fic (I think Catskin came close). Certainly never as easy a time. "Nightdreams" had its moments of growth for me for sure, though, like the mission chapter, the argument chapter, all of the smut! It had its challenges, but the story flowed so easily, from beginning to end. I think there were only a couple of small writer's blocks. Overall, "Nightdreams" easily takes fave #2 just because it was so fun, and I think readers can tell that I really enjoyed writing it.

"Awkward Jocks" - She knows that if he were to ever ask her out, she would accept in a heartbeat. After all, he's the star quarterback and basketball player. Plus, she's liked him since...forever. But when her home phone rings, and he's on the other line, she hangs up. (Rated G). - The sweet and funny love story based off of my ex-coworker's life...bittersweet now, don't remember if I shared on Tumblr why. But I wrote this fic full of my love for her, so it takes the spot for fave #3.

"About You" - A summer job at the Dole pineapple cannery, graveyard shift 10 PM to 6 AM. A long bus ride into and out of town. Two teens, shy beside each other. (Rated G). - One of my most personal fanfics, though many of them are super personal. This is possibly the MOST personal because it's slightly based off of my parents' stories, I set it on my home island, and I experimented with writing the dialogue in pidgin. The only reason it's not higher on my list is because I somehow feel like I didn't do as good a job on it as I would have liked. It's like, the cultural/historical details are not accurate enough for me. But this is definitely a fic I wrote for myself, and it's been a joy to see other people love it, too.

"Matcha" from "Shared Vows" - Naruto calls Hiashi "father" for the first time. (Rated T). - ooooh it was a toss-up between this one or "Finally Home" from "Shared Vows," but I decided on "Matcha" as my fave #5. I love how I framed this fic, its ending reversing the beginning, and I somehow managed to communicate exactly what I wanted to say about Naruto's new family. This fic gives me such feel-good vibes, and I'm so glad it captured the feelings I felt.

I know that my personal faves do not align with readers' personal faves. Except for maybe "Nightdreams" haha. That one is easy to love. I know people loved "White Lilies," "Friend of Mine," "Tell Me of Forevers," and "Undercover," ...those exhibit some of my best technical writing, so I'm glad readers recognized that effort! My personal faves have more sentimental value, I guess, so that's what makes them special to me.

[pastafossa]

Hey, Pasta! I have a sorta-dumb question, so feel free to ignore it. Soooo, I write fanfic-OC inserts a lot (Daredevil, TFAWS, Shadow and Bone, Daughter of Smoke and Bone), and I used to write the chapters - really more like oneshots - in a Gdoc and webshare it on Twitter because I hate plot and there was no need for any of that fancy fanfic page stuff. However, now that I'm on Tumblr, I have been told that the Gdoc method is insecure and troublesome (true) and that I should, if I may quote my sister, "Just post it in AO3 if you're gonna write so much."

I have the common writer's anxiety, so I've never been comfortable with sharing my work in such a public manner, but I decided that I may just make an AO3 account. But! I wanted the opinion of 1) a seasoned AO3er and 2) a writer I like and admire, so my question for you is: Is AO3 a site that you'd recommend/do you feel like there's a good community over there? Tysm!

This isn't a dumb question at all, and I totally get the anxiety to post in a more public way (and also thank you so much!)! So I've been on AO3 for about seven years now between my Pasta account and my old account. Before that I was a kid posting my first fics on ffn, I tried LiveJournal at one point, and I've obviously posted on tumblr, so I've tried a faaaairly wide variety of fic sites save for something like wattpad. And I have to say, even with its hiccups, AO3 is hands down my favorite fic site to write on, my favorite site to read on, and - imo - the best fic site out there for posting.

The tagging system is unmatched once you get the hang of it, and it makes it so, so gd easy for readers to find your fic based on whatever niche tropes or tags they might be looking for.

The way you can group fics together in a series is incredibly convenient.

They work hard to protect your fics and fic culture, defending it both from larger corporate entities and from puritans who believe fic shouldn’t exist - your content won’t every be swept away overnight like in the ffn purges of 2007 and 2012.

If your fic is plagiarized, they work fast. It took me less than 2 days to get a response from their team when dealing with the plagiarist last week.

No advertising, so not only are they not bound to rules by said advertisers, but your readers are free to read fic uninterrupted by ads (as always, consider donating if you can since they run on donations and are composed largely of volunteers!).

As the number 1 fic site, people will usually search for fics here first, so if you’re looking for readers or a community, this is the place to go.

As a writer, if you’re worried about troll comments, you can set each fic’s comment section to only registered users (so no guest comments). This weeds out the vast majority of trolls since most don’t want to go to the effort of making an account and waiting to get in. You will still sometimes get people willing to do that, or who’ll still go at you with their actual accounts, but I’ve found far less of an issue on AO3 than elsewhere - you can even set it, in that case, to ‘no comments’ or report the comments to AO3.

In my personal experience, the community is far friendlier on AO3 than on other fic posting sites. Probably 95% of my interactions and the reactions I see in other comment sections are positive, and the 5% is broken down 50/50 between either unintentional rudeness or actual trolls, which is manageable.

A few cons, in the interest of full disclosure, although ultimately I feel these are worth it for such a good site:

The site is mostly staffed by volunteers, and while they do their best, functionality updates can take considerable time. We only recently got a block button (preventing certain users from interacting on your fic), for example, and a mute button (so you no longer see fics from certain users) is still a ways off.

Comments are rare. I know there’s a ton of comments on TRT, and I am incredibly grateful for it and for the way it slides into comments on my other fics, but outside of big fics like that, interaction is a lot lower and it’s just something to know going in (although if you’re going from twitter into a fairly popular ship and/or large fandom, you might get way more interactions than from posting on twitter, so it’s all relative!). This is something I’ve found on most sites, and it’s the exact same way on AO3. Your hits will be highest, followed by kudos, and then comments. Generally speaking on oneshots, a 10% kudos to hits ratio early on (before repeat readers begin to push hits higher, since you can only kudos once but add a hit multiple times) is considered quite good. Lower that further for comments. After a bit, stop tracking the ratio because ultimately it’ll become meaningless, especially for chaptered fics where folks come back to read new chapters.

If you’re writing in google docs and try to copy+paste that into AO3′s form as is, you will learn very quickly that ao3 hates google doc formatting. You’ll get weird spaces where they don’t belong (especially if you use italics), the spacing will get fucked, all sorts of hiccups. I use the method from this tumblr post as a workaround. It’s a few extra steps but it’ll help you loads.

Speaking of: using their form to submit a fic definitely takes some getting used to. It’s a bit clunky I’m told, compared to other sites, but stick with it. My biggest advice here is, after pasting your fic in, do not post it yet. Use the preview function to see just how all the formatting is going to turn out. I’ve often found that it looks fine until I preview, and only then do formatting issues show up, which I can then fix. Again, extra work, but worth it for the pros listed above.

Honestly those are the only cons I can think of, and all of them are generally things you can either work around or adjust to as a writer posting there. They’re also absolutely worth it for such a good site, imo, and it’s the best I’ve found out of all of them. I have zero regrets posting on AO3 instead of another site. And I think you’ll come to love it, too, if you decide to join up!