#I had forgotten how hard it is to edit things on mobile

[fantasy-nerdddd]

Is Epic A Tragedy?

I've seen a couple people here question whether epic is a tragedy or a celebration of ruthlessness. I'll try to answer that by checking the criteria of definitions of ancient greek tragedies and tragic characters and the modern interpretation of tragedy.

Tragedy in ancient Greece was not defined as something bad or what we call tragic. It's actually, according to Aristotle:

"Εστίν ούν τραγωδίαν μίμησης πράξεως σπουδαίας καί τελείας, μέγεθος έχουσιν, ηδυσμένω λόγω, χωρίς εκάστω τών ειδών έν τοίς μιριοις, δρώντων καί ού δι' απαγγελίας, δι' ελέου καί φόβου περαίνουσα τήν τών τιούτων παθημάτων κάθαρσιν." (Yes, I did copy the ancient Greek definition. No, I don't know why)

We'll go over Aristotle's points one by one:

Imitation of actions (μίμησης πράξεως): The tragedy must imitate and show actual actions. Of course it is. Even if we don't count the animatics, Epic will become a play, or a circus play, or whatever it will become at some point. Still in progress Epic does have both animatics and imitations purely by the music.

Has a certain length (μέγεθος έχουσιν): The tragedy needs to have a length not too short in order to relay every message and meaning, but not too long in order to keep the audience focused and entertained. Epic fulfills both, at least to me. I don't think you could say Epic is boring.

Cleansing (κάθαρσιν): The tragedy should satisfy the audience. The hero can't be way too bad, because the audience won't sympathise with them and will think of their punishment as inevitable and deserved. However, they can't be too good, because the audience won't understand the Gods and their punishment will be met with anger. The main character should be ambiguous. Odysseus manages that well; look at all the people defending him and all the people defending Poseidon, Circe and Polyphemus. He's not the best morally, but he is not hated by everyone and a devil upon earth.

Serious and important (σπουδαίας): Ofc, the tragedy must be serious and important. I think Epic is both. I mean, the Odyssey is a very serious matter, and taking 10 years to return to your homeland is pretty important. It wouldn't have been the second most well known epic if it wasn't important.

Finished (τέλειας): The tragedy must have everything that happened, the reasoning, the consequences and the excuses presented in some way. I'm not an objective judge because I knew the Odyssey before Epic, but there are no plot holes like that from what I know.

Seasonings (ηδυσμένω λόγω): The tragedy must have something to make it more interesting and entertaining. Yes, Aristotle used a parallel to cooking, but he mainly meant rhythm and music. I think the title shows that, yes, there's both. Epic The Musical is a musical after all.

Correct me if I'm wrong or missing anything, but for now the answer is yes, according to Aristotle, Epic is a tragedy.

That's going to be short, but tragedy is generally interpreted as a misfortunate event in general. Yes. I'm pretty sure Epic is a tragedy in this kind.

Now, let's see whether or not Odysseus is a tragic character. According to my Helen by Euripides professor, a tragic character has to:

• Fight with Fates and Gods generally but also other humans, sometimes even themselves.

• Go from ignorance to knowledge through facing tragic dilemmas, contradicting situations and dead ends. It also has to include the consequences of these actions (guilt, loneliness, woe, defeat or redemption)

• Result in moral freedom, which shows the personality of the tragic character

Okay, so, point 1. Odysseus fights with all 4 in some ways. In No Longer You, he hears that he won't make it back, misinterprets it and decides to change his personality in order to fight fate, making No Longer You a self-fulfilling prophecy. Gods are numerous. Poseidon in Ruthlessness, Get In The Water and Six Hundred Strike. Zeus' will in The Horse And The Infant. Athena, if we stretch it, in Warrior Of The Mind, Remember Them and My Goodbye. Calypso in Love In Paradise. Humans is Luck Runs Out and especially Mutiny, as well as the upcoming song Odysseus. Himself and his morals is one of the additions from Jorge, and a constant theme of Epic. Just A Man and Monster are centered around that however there are hints everywhere.

Point number 2 might be controversial, but I'll take as knowledge the "Ruthlessness is mercy" mentality and Odysseus' belief that it works as the story goes on. Odysseus starts with the Open Arms mentality, and in later songs starts to accept, even welcome and hunt ruthlessness. He starts to believe that ruthlessness will make him achieve his goal, showcased in Different Beast, Scylla, Thunder Bringer and, most of all, Six Hundred Strike and Odysseus. Does it work? For him and his family, his main priorities, yes. I'll take that as growing knowledge it will. He even says so in Monster:

"Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves

And deep down I know this well"

Are his words to be trusted? No, not really. But it's just one more point. As for the tragic dilemmas, contradicting situations and dead ends, I think I've got at least one example for each. Dillema is obviously the infant, Astyanax. Do you kill an innocent soul because you were told it will kill your family? Or do you spare it and hope for the best? Contradicting situations could be the lyrics from Just A Man and Puppeteer:

"Deep down I would trade the world to see my son and wife"

"There's no length I wouldn't go if it was you I had to save"

Up until Thunder Bringer, that's possible. But not both can happen when Zeus makes Odysseus choose. He'll either see his son and wife, or he'll save his brother-in-law, Eurylochus. I know he didn't really want to save Eurylochus at this point (though I don't believe he wanted him dead), but those promises are contradicting. Love In Paradise is a dead end for Odysseus. If Athena didn't care for him, he would have been left in Ogygia for eternity as Calypso's plaything. Odysseus thought it was a dead end. He saw death as his only way out. Hell, he almost acted on his suicidal thoughts (that was a very, very stressful part of the musical for me). And is anyone going to argue Odysseus doesn't feel guilt, woe, loneliness, defeat or redeemed at some point in the story? I thought so.

EDIT: I forgot point 3 for Tragic Odysseus, let me add it. The story hasn't ended yet, so we can't tell for sure. But I believe he'll have the choice, after killing the suitors, to soften down and live in peace or continue the ruthless, cold path. From the snippets we've heard, it's going to be the former. Which also reveals a thing or two about his character: he didn't want to be ruthless or cause pain. He has always wanted peace with his family, and he'll get it.

Odysseus is a tragic character, at least in Epic.

So why isn't the Odyssey classified as a tragedy? Or Odysseus by Homer a tragic character? There are two reasons.

a) It has no music or rhythm. Which means it doesn't fulfill all the criteria for a tragedy (look to the seasonings section)

b) In Homer's time, the word tragedy didn't exist. The word was created centuries later to fit plays like Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus, Antigone by Sophocles and Medea by Euripides. I'm not going to analyse those, but they involve acting and music, not just a guy reciting a poem.

Anyways, I didn't expect this to get this long. Tell me if I've missed anything or made a mistake :)

[theinkchild]

alright fine, making a silly post here since im dissapointed in engagment lol.

text ahoy ahead, for those of you who have forgotten what GD rambling looks like, since my blog postings are more and more rare these days...

and no. i refuse to use a readmore. this post should be shortened automatically for those on the dash, mobile, whatever. if not, SCREW it. i only have a few mins. one shot to ramble and i refuse to edit. will just spill my guts. BLEGH.

🔥🔥🔥 final warning long emotional post entry start 🔥🔥🔥

well to start off, yea i've been "on a break" since May. by break, i wanna define it as, changing my routine, doing something good for me that will benefit me, reflecting back on the stuff i did when i wasn't on it.

"a break" doesn't really matter here. i've been disegnaged. it's really hard for me to interact on here when i've treated this place like a grey area. it's the same for many places that don't feel like they're benefitting my growth atm. this place STILL holds alot of meaning to me, for being the 2nd platform i took root in, and started friendships (or also rather continued them) on.

i slowed down once i realized how the familiar craziness sunk too deep with me, and I've regretted some attitudes i've had in the past where i'd scream maniacally at nothing to earn not much back. like, i wasn't really getting it. and at the same time, i refused to do what i should have to make it more possible.

this time really mattered.

the growth i experienced while i was disengaged from here was quite a bit. i feel like i regained a part of me i always had latent, and didn't when i was with the wrong crowd, doing the same meaningless things day in and out.

when i was engaged in conversations that had more meaning, something back to give rather than a shallow laugh, everything started to click.

when i hung out with a different crowd not formed primarily by the friends i made here, i felt like i couldn't break away, but in a sense i saw something that i missed having... i saw the same journey i was taking but from more experienced folks.

when it came to a breaking point recently when someone deeply rooted in that community fell off, i took charge. i wanted to END the torment he casually brought to everyone. i ended up doing just that, and leaving everyone in that community with the best outcome.

NOW, i say this on my silly little blog cuz i doubt anyone in either group is listening. the chances are non zero, but i'm honestly happy if at least one person is listening, even if it's a stranger, or quiet long time fan of mine. i've been so disengaged here that i'm really just writing this for myself, like i always have been.

this place, where i feel like i lost some folks and may have even outright refused to make or advance any friendships just cuz i rejected plain invites to do so.. i could've done anything...

instead, i ended up sticking up for someone who needed it the most. everything just lined up for the both of us. all the STUPID drama from stupid misunderstandings, the grievances, the small issues, that all added up to the moment we had to do the right thing. all because even if the world gave up on us, we somehow didn't give up, even if both of us had to be repeatidly brought back to reality when we almost both ended ours on separate instances.

we helped eachother with the little freedom we had left.

we ENDED something that had to be ended and gave everyone the full happiness they deserved for all those years they didn't have it.

that, as insignificant as it is to literally 99% of the population, and fuck it, who the fuck cares if you were my old friend who hardly cared. idk bro. kindly fuck off if you are. i'm still somehow following you ._.

but, it's very very significant to me and all the friends i still regularly interact with. they mean the world to me, and i'm happy THEY saw me grow.

i will continue. to keep doing what i do best.

and i refuse to die or back down or abandon my blog, despite all the grievances i had in the past with it.

i'm just making a deeper mark on this world the more i prove i exist and continue to be a survivor.

even if my self esteem is bad on some days. even if my will isn't even as strong as a worm left to fry on asphalt.

i refuse to go on quietly.

and i'm stronger now because i refuse to be as bad as the people who treated me far worse. i finally gained some sense and standards.

and if you don't think that's crazy, then idk man enjoy your life. i'm gonna keep continue living mine lol

[heckpup]

I uh, made a little something to cope with Ranboo’s acting yesterday. (Which was a m a z i n g, everyone go subscribe to Ranboo rn)

Anyway, Ranboo is now my comfort character, you can pry him from my cold, dead hands.

Also I wrote this at like 2 am, then rewrote it as I worked it into my phone, and am now about to post it before I chicken out.

(How do you make long stories lock off so you don’t have to read the whole thing unless you click on mobile? I tried, but I don’t know it I used the right thing. Help.)

CW!: dehumanization, mentions of starving, isolation

Edit: I had to go back and reformat all of the story, cause apparently strike through a, italics, and bolds don’t carry over from notes.

Second Edit! I learned how to do the “Keep Reading” thing so that should make my unending scroll through my own stories much easier.

Ranboo is used to the cold.

Being part Ender makes him invulnerable to the freezing cold of the void that makes up the End. It’s always cold there, except for when you get close to the dragon. That’s why so many (of his kind) Endermen congregate on the dragon’s island.

They may be used to the cold, but that doesn’t mean it’s nice, or they like it.

Ranboo only knows this from feelings. Memories that aren’t tethered to anything, just vague thoughts floating around in his own cold void.

— — —

Memories of warmth, true warmth, begin in the Overworld.

There’s the sun, the moon, and stars (so many stars!) that make up the Overworld’s void.

They call it sky.

Sometimes, late at night, when everyone in L’Manburg is asleep, Ranboo likes to go out to his roof and look at the stars. They twinkle and shine, little lights in the overwhelming darkness. Some make pictures and stories, Phil tells him. Others just twinkle and shine, unconnected to any others, alone.

They’re like Ranboo’s memories, in a way. Lights in his dark void, sometimes they connect to each other, telling stories.

It’s hard to find the stories, sometimes.

— — —

Ranboo built himself a bunker. It’s a small, dark room, quiet (until he plays that disk) and as he sits, he can see purple particles from the crying obsidian. They remind him of something, but he just can’t remember.

(He does.)

(He doesn’t want to.)

(The stars spread the memories out.)

(Unfindable, untraceable, unable to be connected to each other anymore.)

(But they’re still there.)

(A friend.)

(Endermen surrounding him.)

(Purple particles everywhere he looked)

(Leaving him to survive)

(Sadness)

(Why did they leave me?)

(Why did they go?)

(Where am I?)

(Why am I here?)

— — —

He kept coming back, until it was too late.

It’s far enough away from the ruins (of his HOME) that he can’t see it, even if he tries. He’d be safe here, he’d always be safe here. He’d saved his pets, the three cats and the dog were here, with him.

So many animals had been left.

He hoped T̷̢̬͖̳̮̩̯̼̪͔̠̳̘̭̒̀̅̈́̽͒͐̒̂͂̔̎͠͝͝ͅụ̸̢̧̩̳̏̂̂̾̄̂͂b̷̨͙̮̰͇͖͎͔̳̮̆͐̆̈̐́́̂͊̈́̕b̸̞̭̫̘͕̏̎ò̸̡̖̍̑̔͆̽͒͘ found Ş̶̡̛͚͎̲̜̻͕̹͉̤͂̓̐́̓͘̕͘͝q̴͙͆u̴̝̥̻͉̯̯͑̿̏̇̾̏̋̐̒̓͜͝e̶̩̤̞͖̹̪͚͛̈̓̓͗̓̕̚a̷̡̭̱̫̭͈͚̙̗̜̬̅k̵̓̌̏̇��̨̧̱̭̥̬̓̾̏͋ṡ̸͔̱͙̌̀̑͒̐̎̊̑̽͌͝.

Who?

That was someone important.

Why couldn’t he remember?

His memory book (not his anymore) lay on the floor next to him, forgotten.

He didn’t want to go back, to look at the crater. He could just stay here.

Right?

Endermen didn’t need food, why should he?

— — —

He’s alone.

He’s all alone.

Ranboo is certain that if he wasn’t lucky enough to have brought a measly stack of potatoes with him (why did he bring them with him?) the pain would have been unbearable. He could survive, he found, but it hurt.

It hurt so bad.

The animals are gone.

Ranboo (was that his name?) had let them go long ago. Let them run away, sent them off to get food, find new homes, new people. (Why didn’t he do that?) He hoped they found people. (Why wouldn’t they? They were pets, still wanted by people.)

He couldn’t remember their names.

It was dark, and he was alone. (Again.)

— — —

He doesn’t speak. He thinks he’s forgotten the common language, how it feels to talk to people. He still makes noises, to pass that time. One vocalization, each day, just to pass time. (How many days has it been?)

A disk lays next to him, scattered and broken from overuse. He’s hungry, but at the same time, he’s not. Why?

It’s so cold.

Why is it so cold?

He doesn’t like the cold.

But he can’t remember anything else.

Ranboo is used to the cold.

— — —

He won’t die. (Why can’t he just die?)

Endermen don’t die. (Unless they are killed.)

He’s just an Enderman. Right?

A creature, not powerful enough.

Weak.

A thing.

Easily killable.

He hasn’t even looked at himself for so long, he doesn’t remember what he looks like.

He lets out a quiet gr-rk! and looks around the dark room again.

The rock looks grab-able.

He wants to grab it. How long has it been since he held something, anything?

(He ignores both the broken disk and the notebooks.)

(He doesn’t need not blocks)

(He’s forgotten his inventory. He hasn’t used it in so long, he didn’t need it.)

(Why would he need it? He’s not a Player.)

(He’s just an Enderman, after all.)

He (It?) blinks, and suddenly, there’s water flowing. It hurts like hell and the water needs to go away. The water needs to go away, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS!

Gr-rk!

It’s above? It doesn’t know where It is, but there’s light, and while it’s too bright for It, It blankly remembers that it could be brighter.

(Why does It remember that?)

Where is this?

Where is the box?

The obsidian is still limply held in It’s hands.

It begins to walk around, slowly.

It sees something, in the distance. A wall of fence posts, small. It walks over, and looks out at what It sees.

Absolute destruction, blood and carnage, and it can (still?) see a big black creature (a lone Wither, left alive) at the bottom. Vines are beginning to grow over the stone, and It lets out a quiet, confused gr-rk? at the sight.

A small star twinkles in It’s void, unconnected, but there.

It looks up for a moment and is shocked to find clouds covering a dark sky.

(Where are the stars?)

It feels like something is wrong, something should be there, not clouds.

It teleports away, letting out vwoop-inv noises as It finds Itself in snow. It’s cold, but the snow isn’t the wet kind, thank goodness.

(Where are It’s boots? It had boots to protect It from the snow, once.)

Gr-rk?

It hears a twig snap somewhere behind It, and It turns to look at someone suddenly. A person? A Player!

They look It in the eyes.

It should attack!

No.

What?

Don’t attack.

Why not? They looked at It, It should attack them!

No. Not P̴̧͖̗̪̹͚̳̰̭̗̞̙̺͛͗͋́͂̈͊́͂̃͌͜͠͝͠ͅḧ̵̡̭̖̪͙̀̇̈́͆̉i̴̛̭̽̈̎̄̾̔̇̒̀͝l̸̡̛̛͔̪͖̦̜̮̐̂̄̋̈̋͘͝͠͝͠z̸̨̛̲̤͔̖̓̓̔͊͑̾̿͘͝͝ą̵̨̞̝̰̖̖́̽̿̓̐̀̋͐̊̌̆̈́.

Who?

“Ranboo?”

It hears the voice, and that’s enough to shock it out of It’s stupor. It won’t attack. It won’t. They’re looking at It in the eyes, and It really wants to attack, to scream, to throw the block at them, but It won’t. Not if the voice asks.

“Ranboo?” They ask again. It doesn’t understand what they are asking. What is a Ranboo? It is only an Enderman.

So, in response, It only lets out a quiet gr-rk? and a tilt of the head.

Clang!

Something falls off It’s head. What is that? It looks like a hat made of metal. It has shinies in it.

It ignores the metal hat and instead stares at the Player again. The Player only looks at It quietly, with water in their eyes. How does that not hurt, water in your eyes?

(It always did, but you could ignore it.)

The Player is holding a block! It looks like the trees around It, but already take . Can It have the block? It’s ears swivel up in excitement, looking down at the dark block in the Player’s hand. It wants the wood. Please?

The Player looks down and puts the block away. It frowns, but keeps Its eyes on the Player. It’s ears go down.

The Player’s arms move a bit, and before It can realize, It has dropped Its own block in favor of putting Its arms around the Player. (Why did It do that?)

(It’s been so long since It had a hug.)

The Player is warm. It practically melts into the warmth, purring a little. The warmth is so nice.

They both stand like this for a while, before It begins to get pulled by the Player. The warmth goes with the Player, so It will follow.

The Player leads It to a big house. (Anything is bigger than the box.) and then they lead It inside. There’s another Enderman inside, and It’s ears go up.

Gr-rk? (Friend?)

Gr-rk. (Hello, child.)

Gr-r-rk? (Where is this place?)

Vwoop. (A home. Philza has brought you back.)

Gr-rk? (Philza?)

“Ranboo?” The Player- Philza, It knows now- begins tentatively. “Where have you been? It’s been a year!”

Is Philza addressing It? Philza must be, since Philza has called It Ranboo since they met.

Is Ranboo It’s name? It knew Philza before?

Ranboo did, it realizes. Ranboo knows Philza! Ranboo remembered something!

With a happy vwoop, Ranboo teleports back over to Philza for more warmth.

“You ok, mate?” Philza asks Ranboo. A shake of the head into a warm shoulder tell Philza all he needs.

“You always did have memory problems, eh? That’s ok. We can work with that. You won’t have to forget again, alright?”

Ranboo is used to the cold.

But warmth, Ranboo decides, is much better.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH55

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 55: Purgatory Reunion (VII)

Qi Leren woke up. When he woke up, he felt very tired. He didn't want to open his eyes. He just wanted to let the heavy sleepiness drag him and let him continue to sleep.

But he vaguely felt that something was wrong. He should have been sitting under the rock wall, but now the thing the back of his head was resting against was not as hard as stone, and why did he feel that he was lying down...

Qi Leren woke up with fright, suddenly opened his eyes, and immediately saw Ning Zhou sitting beside the rock wall.

He didn't know when they had changed their positions. Ning Zhou's leg had become his pillow, and the blanket was put over his own body, while Ning Zhou rested by sitting against the rock wall with his eyes closed. At the moment he woke up, Ning Zhou also opened his eyes that were without a trace of sleep.

"Why don't you take a rest?" Qi Leren quickly sat up and asked anxiously.

Ning Zhou shook his head: "I’ve slept enough."

When Qi Leren looked at the time, eight hours had passed.

Since they had both woken up, Qi Leren simply moved all the picnic items from Chen Baiqi out of the item bar, made a fire, and made some hot food for Ning Zhou. The method was quite simple and crude, directly throwing a small demon crystal into a vessel filled with water. The water was immediately heated to boiling by the energy in the demon crystal, and then the pot was put on it to start heating up, skillfully cooking noodles.

While cooking, Qi Leren talked about what had happened when they were separated. When he talked about Chen Baiqi giving him special training, he looked sad: "...When I was chased by the dog, I was particularly desperate. I didn’t know when those days would pass. I wanted to jump into the sea and never come up again."

After saying that, Qi Leren felt that this was inappropriate and added: "Of course, the effects of the training were still very good, otherwise I would have died in my last task."

Saying this, Qi Leren felt stupid again; shouldn't they talk about some easy topics when meeting again after a long separation? Why did his IQ plummet so far when he saw Ning Zhou?

Sure enough, Ning Zhou showed a worried look.

"Hey, it’s nothing, am I not fine?" Qi Leren quickly changed the subject. "Where's your big bird?"

Ning Zhou released the eagle from its pet bag. As soon as it came out, it began to shake its feathers. It was fed a [Pleasing Ration] by Qi Leren and swallowed in one gulp.

When the food was cooked, they ate hot noodles, and then they continued to talk.

They weren’t good at expressing their feelings, and even have a natural shyness towards love. The two men tacitly avoided the topic of love, as if they had forgotten why they were here after the night. Ning Zhou didn’t say that he was delighted when he learned that Qi Leren had come back from the dead, nor did Qi Leren speak of his love hidden in the bottom of his heart. Inexplicably, at this moment, the two people had an intuition.

They watched carefully, and even their hearts beat faster when their fingers accidentally touched. When Qi Leren spoke several times, he couldn't express his words, but Ning Zhou didn't notice it, and he nodded.

"Aren't you curious how I knew you were here?" Qi Leren asked. Ning Zhou hadn't even known about Qi Leren’s resurrection, because letters could only be sent to the transfer station in the Underground Ant City, but Ning Zhou had gone to Purgatory after writing his letter and didn't  receive the letter.

Ning Zhou nodded his head. He really was curious. How had Qi Leren recognized that it was him when he’d seen the huge magic dragon in the lake of fire?

"Actually, this is a bit hard to explain... When I was in reality... Well, when I lived in the world I’m from, I downloaded a game called ‘Nightmare Game’ with my laptop." Qi Leren considered the statement and prepared to start from the beginning, but he choked when he started. "This... what a laptop is may be a bit complicated to explain..."

It suddenly occurred to Qi Leren that Ning Zhou, as a person born in the Nightmare World, may not know what it was at all.

"I know." Ning Zhou said, with a smile in his eyes. "I’ve done the copy task of your time."

"Really? What was it like?" Qi Leren asked curiously, his spirits rising.

"At that time, I needed to make a phone call with my mobile phone. I had to look at the mobile phone for a long time," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren laughed with a "pft" sound, and Ning Zhou also laughed: "At that time, I really couldn't do anything. When I saw the gas stove, I thought for a long time about where the demon crystal was installed. As for the computer, I couldn't figure it out. I guessed that it was a product of alchemy."

Qi Leren was overjoyed and laughed for a long time before asking, "Did you learn it later?"

Ning Zhou nodded his head.

"Have you ever played computer games?" Qi Leren asked again.

"Well, I like minesweeper," Ning Zhou said, looking serious and sincere.

With this said, could Ning Zhou, who liked minesweeper and probably had only played these sorts of games with his own computer, understand the Nightmare Game he spoke of? Qi Leren was deeply worried. However worries are worries, so Qi Leren tried to describe things in understandable sentences: After playing the game, he had entered the Novice Village, then found the laptop again and got the Easter Egg in the castle. Finally, he talked about the previous task, and how he had learned the news of Ning Zhou's accident in advance through the game in the laptop—of course, he didn't say that he had lost his hand and almost died. He didn't want to worry Ning Zhou.

Qi Leren comforted: "In my eyes, no matter what power you use, I believe you’ll only use it to protect the world."

Ning Zhou looked at him deeply, and his complicated mood was indescribable.

What was at the end of power? While chasing the elusive mystery, people with power were destined to move closer to power, and the closer they got, the more they lost themselves. This feeling wasn’t very strong before achieving a half-field, but after reaching the level of a half-field, every step after that was closer to one’s origin.

But in the end he didn't say anything, just nodded his head gently.

Once a person had expectations, even if they were only a little bit weak, they were no longer willing to rush to close their eyes.

He would look at his light until the day when he had to be destroyed.

　　&&&

On the way back to the Underground Ant City, Qi Leren thought that the dense sentry posts would bring them trouble, but he didn't expect the demon guards to disappear without a trace, which made him feel confused.

"When I came here before, there were many guards. Have they withdrawn?" Qi Leren wondered.

Ning Zhou looked back at the sentry post they had already passed, thoughtful.

"When no one could enter or exit because of martial law, did that have to do with you?" Qi Leren asked.

"Maybe it was because of the Devil of Slaughter," Ning Zhou quietly changed the subject. "I heard that he started to have frequent appearances in the lake of fire a month ago and broke out once. According to the task background, the Devil of Slaughter’s consciousness has broken the seal."

"Well..." Qi Leren suddenly had a thought, but didn't say it, and went on according to Ning Zhou's words: "Speaking of this, the second part of the task requires us to ‘destroy the Devil of Slaughter and gain one third of the authority of the Devil of Destruction’, but now we have no clue."

Ning Zhou hummed, his expression stiff.

Ning Zhou really was a bad liar. Qi Leren could see that he was worried. When the demon information broker he had spoken to before had said "the Devil of Destruction’s former people appeared near the lake of fire", he inevitably had made some connections.

This group of demons was probably looking for Ning Zhou, who had inherited the force of destruction.

He wouldn’t mention it yet. Qi Leren didn't want to put more pressure on Ning Zhou. He just wanted to make Ning Zhou have a better life.

"Well... Let's go back to the Underground Ant City first. I left in a hurry. I didn't ask the Illusionist when he was going to go back to the Village of Dusk. Let's go back with him. What do you think?" Qi Leren asked.

"Alright," Ning Zhou said.

"Good, good, let’s walk." The eagle flew up from behind and stopped on Qi Leren's shoulder to peck his ears.

Qi Leren helplessly touched it, and was pecked in the nose as it asked for food. Ning Zhou glanced at it coldly, and the eagle muttered "how stingy" and fluttered away with its wings.

"Don't let it get used to it," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren bowed his head and smiled. On a sudden whim, his right hand quietly grasped Ning Zhou's left hand. Ning Zhou froze for a moment, then trembled a little as he took his hand.

One person looked at the fluorescent plants on the left side of the rock wall, and one looked at the fluorescent night moth on the right side of the rock wall, and the two moved forward without a word. Only their heartbeats with disordered rhythms and the sweetness flowing from the bottom of their hearts secretly announced their tacit understanding.

Qi Leren's thoughts were as messy as fallen leaves swept by the wind. For a moment, he wondered whether he should take the initiative. For a moment, he felt that with the environment Ning Zhou had grown up in, he wouldn’t be able to adapt to the modern ways of love. Finally, he desperately reviewed himself, and how he hadn't talked more about love and gathered experience in his student days, so he was now like a high school student experiencing his first love... The object of his affections was still a junior high school student who was more ignorant than him.

If you want to be "unsuitable for children", you have to get married first. Do you have to get married before kissing? When you get back to the Village of Dusk, you can buy an engagement ring... Ah, you’re penniless. It seems that you have to do a task first to earn some survival days. You can't bring Ning Zhou's blue gem ring from your grave to make up for it.

Before seeing Ning Zhou, he had thought about Ning Zhou all day. After seeing Ning Zhou, his head did not rest, but he thought more and more...

Along the way, the two people held hands like no one was watching, left Purgatory on the way back to the Underground Ant City, and got on the "train". This kind of car that was pulled by a strong domesticated demon at the front on a track was called a rail car in the Underground Ant City. Qi Leren and Ning Zhou put on their cloaks, sat side by side, and returned to the Underground Ant City.

However, an accident happened.

"What, the Illusionist is missing?" Qi Leren asked in shock.

The contact person from the Village of Dusk in the Underground Ant City was a young woman named Celia, who was dressed in the style of the Underground Ant City. She nodded solemnly: "Yes, the day after you left, the Illusionist took the Soothsayer's edict to meet the Dragon Ant Queen and never came back."

-----

Editor’s Notes: I’ve hesitantly decided to stop including a misgendering cw when it only applies to the Illusionist’s pronouns because I worry that it will get redundant, and I think it might be more apt to use it only in cases when heavier misgendering occurs (as well as I’ve often felt a bit odd doing so since this humble editor is a femme person who uses he/him pronouns). If you would like me to continue using the warning, please let me know and I will do so.

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[harrysgloves]

Fine Line (Chapter 9)

>>>Catch up with the Fine Line Masterlist!

word count: 

story summary: Since you were kids you and Harry had always walked that fine line of friends or something more. Now, pregnant by someone else, you find yourself staying with your long time best friend after things go sour with your boyfriend of 3 years.

Singlemom!Reader x Harry Styles

chapter summary: You and Harry revisit an old childhood game.

warnings: Language // cuddling // mutual pining but they're both dumb af // no editing

a/n: Apparently, I do still write... amazing right?? Anyway, posting this from mobile so it might be a bit weird formatting and I couldn't post the word count tonight. Sorry about that guys. Hope you enjoy anyways!

As always, likes and reblogs make my little heart sing and comments make me almost faint. So, gimme that love.

>>><<<

You settled into Harry's couch for yet another night alone. The light from Judd Nelson's match he had managed to ignite with the back of his teeth lit up the television. The 

luminescent bulbs dimly casted tints of blue and white lights across Harry's living room. Your eyes glued to the movie you'd seen a million times before as you curled in tighter into the soft blankets. 

Harry had been busy the last few days and while you tried your best to not bitch about it, you were lonely. Gemma and Abby had their own lives thousands of miles away from you. Jesse had still not answered you back. Your mother couldn't carry on a conversation with you for more than 10 minutes without forgetting who you were. Besides work, you really had no one to hangout with and even your coworkers didn't see you outside the office. 

The only glimmer of a social life you had was your unborn child that you talked to constantly and Mr. Stranger-who-hits-on-people-at-the-doctor's-office. Since your child couldn't talk back to you yet, Matt was quickly becoming your life line to a somewhat normal life. 

Your phone dinged for the millionth time that night. Matt's name flashing across the top of the screen had a smile curling on your lips. Your fingers quickly slid to open your message app.

>Can't wait for nights like these, right?

The message read, a picture of Roman passed out asleep on top of Matt's chest glared from your phone screen.

<<He looks comfortable.

You shot back, your lips rolling into your mouth as you waited for the response. There was nothing wrong with some innocent flirting, right?

>He says he highly recommends you trying it.

You could feel your cheeks heat when your eyes scanned his message. You bit the inside of your cheek as you typed back, quickly deleting your first response to write a different one. 

You were so out of practice when it came to flirting. You had no idea how to even do it. Even when you started dating Jesse he was the one who initiated everything. You didn't know he was hitting on you until your dorm mate at the time told you.

<<Sure he does.

>Swear. Cheeky little thing even said he'd share me being his pillow with you if you come to the park with us on Friday.

You let out a chuckle as you read his response, ready to shoot back a more feisty text when the door to Harry's house was thrown open. A very drunk Harry stumbled through the door. His eyes widened when he saw you sitting on the couch. That lopsided smile on his face as he used his dining room table to balance himself.

"Have a good night?" You asked, your phone and conversation with Matt long forgotten as Harry clammed up. His hand ran through his soft waves of brown curls as he let out a long breath.

"Weren’t supposed to drink but Mitch brought out the bottle and-" 

"Hazza, it's fine. I'm glad you had a good night. You've been busy lately. You probably needed it." You quickly cut him off, not wanting him to feel bad for having a life outside of you.

After all, you were his guest. He didn't need to run his itinerary through you everyday. He had his own things and you had yours.

"Missed yeh so much this week. Sorry 've been busy." He sighed as he tried to take a step down the stairs. His hand quickly pressed to the wall to balance himself.

"You need to go to bed." You mumbled as you stood up from your warm spot on the couch. Your arm instantly under his to help further balance him.

"But I miss yeh and wanna hang out." He whined. His head laid on your shoulder as he pouted.

"We can hangout all day tomorrow, promise." You said when you pushed him lightly back up the stairs. His body clung to yours. His arm around your shoulders.

"But, I wanna hang out now." He huffed like a petulant toddler. His arms stiffened at his side almost made you lose your balance.

"Fine, well hang out now as long as you help me get to your room." You rolled your eyes at him, letting out a huff when he stopped completely in his tracks.

"Promise?"

"Fuck, Haz, yes. Just get walking before I fall." You grumbled as you pulled at his waist. His feet reluctantly slid against the hardwood floors.

"Yeh can't fall right now yeh pregnant."

"I know." You sighed as you pulled him a bit more. Your doctor would have your ass if she knew you were putting this much strain on yourself. His weight was every bit of 5 times the amount you were supposed to lift or carry but it wasn't like he could make it to bed by himself. "Which is why I need you to help me here."

His feet left the ground in much better steps than he had taken before. The words you had spoken seemed to sober him up a bit as you finally pushed the door to his room open. His tall lanky body hit the bed in a second. You sighed as the pressure from your shoulders finally let up.

"Night Haz." You said with your hand on the doorknob, foot halfway out the door when he perked back up enough to turn on his bed to look at you.

"Yeh promised, so get back 'ere." He patted the bed a few times. A signal for you to join him.

"Uh, maybe tomorrow. We shouldn't-" your words were quickly cut off by his hand around your wrist as he brought you closer to the bed.

"Yeh promised, bunny." He smiled up to you that adorable dimple popped out as you nodded your head. 

Well, you did promise.

Your knees hit the plush pillow top. Your body sunk in slightly as you moved across the bed to the top. Your arms around the pillow that smelled of Harry's shampoo and cologne.

That adorable grin never left Harry's face as he watched you crawl into his bed. A shiver ran down his spine but he quickly shook that thought away. You were just his friend. Only his friend. 

He reminded himself of that many times as he mimicked your position on the bed. His head on the pillow, face towards you, both your knees touched each other.

"'Member when it'd storm durin' your sleep overs with Gem and yeh always end up curled up in my bed 'cause y'hate storms and Gem sleeps like a log?" He asked as his hands tightened around the pillow. Your head nodded as a smile crept up on your face. 

"Remember you stealing all the covers." You teased as he rolled his eyes at you.

"Won't steal 'em tonight. Promise." His pinky finger shot in the air, yours immediately wrapped around it, without even a second thought.

The street lights outside his window cast soft white lights into his room. Just enough that you could see the outline of his face, the tip of his nose, the long eyelashes against his cheek every time he blinked. You licked your lips as the silence swallowed you both. 

How much longer could you two keep up the act of being friends? You didn't know the answer to that question. Every time you were close like this to him you could feel your resolve washing away. Especially when his lips parted slightly, his steady breathing sounded like a soft lullaby. You swallowed, your eyes darted down to his chest. 

"Wanna do the thing?" He asked, his voice broke your intense stare on his lips and back to his eyes. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment at the sight of his smirk.

"Seems a bit stupid now." You mumbled as your eyes darted away from him.

How long had you been staring? How long did he notice you staring?

"Well too bad. I wanna do it."

"You're bloody drunk of course you wanna do it." You huffed as you tried to protest against this stupid game you two always played as children. 

"My bed, my rules." He said as the blanket encased both of you. The little amount of light that was being let in from the street lights was completely snuffed out from his duvet. The heavy duty quilt almost made it hard to breath. The air hot and sticky, smelling of whatever alcohol Harry had been drinking that night and his cashmere cologne. Suddenly, you were cursing your 12 year old self for ever coming up with this shit.

"This is dumb, Haz." You sighed.

"'S not dumb. 'S tradition!" His voice raised to a level you hadn't heard before. You could imagine the shocked look on his face, feel it forming on his features through the thick air.

His hand came to rest on the side of your face and yours reluctantly did the same. Your cool fingers touched against his warm skin. The stubble on his jaw tickled the inside of your palm. A sharp breath sucked through his teeth as your fingers traced the curves of his cheek bones. His own hand mimicking the movement, both of you studying each other's face with nothing but touch.

"Ready?" He asked, his voice playful and full of mischief. It almost made you smile, until you remembered how fucking stupid this was.His eyes closed when his hand ran over your lips. Your eyes trained on him for a second to make sure he wouldn’t cheat like he used to when you were kids. Once satisfied with the knowledge he wasn’t going to peek your own eyes slipped close, a long breath exited your lungs as you thought of all the times you did this with him.

It had merely started out as a way for you to touch him without him knowing you wanted to be close to him. Even though he quickly caught on to the fact of why you liked this so much when you were younger, he never protested when you suggested doing it. Of course, now you knew why he didn’t argue with you.

He wanted to be close to you too. 

Your lips formed into a smile as your mouth opened and closed a few times. His fingers lingering over them as they formed words silently. His eyes popped open as he glared at you. The darkness didn’t let you see his expression but your hands could feel his eyebrows pull together. Your lips rolled in your mouth to stop your obnoxious laugh.

“Yeh a brat, know that, love?” He asked a bit irritated but you could feel his facial features softening when you let out another giggle. 

“Couldn’t help it.” You said through your laughs, his cheeks pushed back against your hand that was still pressed there, a smile on his face so big you could feel the dimple there. 

“‘M not a tosser.” He pressed his finger booping the tip of your nose before it dragged down to your cupid’s bow. The tip of his finger lightly traced the outline of your lips. 

“Your turn.” You snapped him out of his silence when your digits went to his plush lips again. The softness of them never failed to surprise you. How did he manage to have such soft lips? 

You could feel your mind slowly slip from how they felt against your fingers to how they’d feel against your own. Imagining what it’d be like to have them on you again after all this time. Wondering if they’d still send that electric shock down your body. Wondering if he still tasted the same, like home. 

You were rudely pulled out of your daydreams when you felt his lips curl and twist. Your mind searched through your vocabulary of his top phrases he always said to you. Your lips pouted, eyebrows furrowed as he silently mouthed the phrase again. The skin of your fingers took in all the information down your arm directly to your mind. A smile you knew he could feel came across your lips. 

“Love you too, Haz.” Your eyes fluttered open right as his hand left your face and went around your waist. Clearly done with visiting your old time game when he threw the blanket from over the top of your heads. The sweet crisp air being sucked into your lungs in deep breaths. 

“Wasn’t so bad.” He said as you nodded your head in agreement, a shrug from your shoulders had him rolling his eyes as he pulled you into his chest. Your head against his pillow when his hand ran small circles over your lower back, the bottom of your shirt bunched up by his hands so he could touch your skin. A sigh of relief left you at the touch you didn’t know you needed, your face buried deep into him. Your own free hand wandered under his shirt. Your skin touching against the smooth planes of his stomach up to his chest. Contentment washed over you as your body relaxed into him. Eyes closing from how good it felt to be close again. 

The soft call of sleep beckoned you to its depth. Your breath slowed as your legs entangled with his. Gently slipping into a deep sleep. Arguably, the best sleep you’d had in years. 

>>>

Harry woke up the next morning with a pounding in his head. A groan left his lips as the sunlight that danced in through his windows blinded him momentarily. His sleep filled eyes blinked at the intrusion. Hand against his face, swearing to himself he’d never ever let Mitch talk him into another night of drinking. The echoes of his friend's voice rang through his head. Promises of a light night was total bullshit. His body ached as he tried to get into a different, more comfortable, position. His arm refused to move as something heavy laid on top of it. His eyes fully snapped open to see you laid out beside him. 

A smile creeping across his mouth as he looked at you. Your soft pouty lips pushed out as you took in deep calming breaths. The sunlight touched the peaks of your hips and breast. Glowing light radiating off your silky bare thighs. He chuckled lowly, knowing your sleep pants had been abandoned some time during the middle of the night. He guessed some things never change.

His fingers ran down your arm, up the shoulder of your sleeve. He just wanted to touch you, feel your skin under his own. He couldn’t help it. He felt like a man being possessed. His own body moving to its own accord. Inching its way in to hold you like he did almost 8 years ago. 

His arm was around you, face inches away from your own. He could see your eyes fluttering back and forth behind your eyelids. Small whimpers came from you as you dreamed. 

Were you dreaming about him?

He sighed, head pressed harder into the pillow. He could have laid here watching you all day. The way your breathing made your chest rise, the way you unknowingly wiggled closer to him when his arm rested over top of you, the way the golden sunlight made you look like a fucking angel in his arms. 

Golden, golden, golden

As I open my eyes

Words formed in his mind as he memorized every inch of your skin. Every valley of your body, every high rise of your curves. His sight eventually landed on your stomach. A small bump was there, not a huge one, definitely one he wouldn't have noticed if he didn't have every part of your body mastered like the back of his hand. He supposed it made sense you'd start showing by now. All the research he'd done late at night said 12 weeks was usually the normal time frame. 

His hand slowly moved above your bump. Hovering there for what felt like hours. He would never admit it to you but he was scared, petrified, this child would somehow drive a wedge between you two. 

Chase you farther away from him when it felt like he'd just gotten you back.

It wasn't that you two weren't close when you didn't live with him, you two definitely were, but with Jesse and others around he never had you to himself. That was all he wanted, your attention. He suddenly felt like a 7 year old begging you for a moment of your time while you mindlessly played barbies for hours with his sister. 

How fucking pathetic, he thought. Was he really going to be jealous of your child having your time? Or was he just jealous that it wasn't also his child?

He knew the answer as soon as his hand hit your stomach. He inhaled a sharp breath in through his teeth. His heart melted as he thought of that little baby that jumped around on the ultrasound machine. A sense of protectiveness he'd never felt before flooded his brain.

He slid gently down the bed. He held his breath as he lifted your shirt. His eyes darted up to make sure he didn't disturb you from your sleep. 

"Good mornin' baby." He mumbled to your stomach, his large hands completely encased the bump.

"Yeh don't know it yet but yeh momma is my best friend so I guess that makes us best friends too." He said lowly, his callused hands moving softly against your skin made you hum in your sleep. Your body shifted slightly to get more comfortable on your back. 

Harry raised to rest on his elbows. His hands still on your stomach muttering soft sweet words to your baby. 

"Gonna teach yeh all kinds 'f things." 

"Gonna 'ave to let yeh listen to my music 'cause yeh mom has some bad taste."

"Gonna 'ave to teach y'football too, 'cause yeh mom's got two left feet."

"Definitely gonna 'ave to teach yeh maths she's really bad at that one. Pretty sure I did all her work fo' her. Got no idea how she passed when I left."

"You know I can hear you, right?" You asked after being insulted for what seemed like an eternity. Your head popping off the pillow to glare at your friend trash talking you to your baby.

"Oi, this is a private conversation." He said with a smirk on his face as his head shot up to you. His eyes sparkling with a glint of humor as you shook your head at him. He let out a sigh as he fell back to the bed. His chin rested on the covers as your hand ran through his hair. 

He'd stay like this with you for as long as you let him. He'd be happily content to let your fingers run through his hair all day if you wanted to. The soft scratching of your nails on his scalp soothing him as his eyes slipped closed.

Yes, he could stay like this forever.

"Wanna get breakfast?" You asked a bit later, his eyes lazily flicked open only to shut again. His arm flung around your waist, pulling you close to him. His nose nuzzled into your side making you giggle that soft sweet sound he loved more than anything else in this world.

"Wanna cuddle." He mumbled into the exposed part of your skin. Your shirt still lifted over your stomach from him talking to the baby.

"Harry…" You said gently. Your hands in his hair paused their movements.

You cherished these types of mornings with him. Locked them in a special place in your heart but you knew deep down you shouldn't be in situations like this with him. It would only make things more confusing for the both of you. You could already feel yourself inching closer and closer to the edge of recklessness with your heart.

At the end of the day you were still you and he was still the great Harry Styles. 

How could you ever live up to the type of person he'd need in his life?

"Jus' a little while longer, yeah?" He said from below you. Not wanting to admit he knew being wrapped up in bed with you was wrong.

He liked Camille. Loved her, maybe, but she'd never compare to you. The love he had for you burned deep, like a forest fire wild out of control. He tried his best to tame it. Remind it that you had no interest in him anymore but it had a life of it's own at this point. Even through countless rejections and long years of yearning for you without reciprocation.

"Yeah, okay." You said, your hands going back to work running through his hair.

Both of you, unknowingly to the other, wondering the same thought as you laid in each other's embrace.

What would happen if you crossed that line?

[pemfrost]

Hmm for the ask game USM Mary Jane "unexpected leader" SpideyNova "I didn't expect this!" (Or W E it said I've already forgotten rip)

Beep boop. This'll teach me to throw prompt lists into my queue at random 🤣

"Never would have guessed you'd take the lead on this." Luke laughed when Mary Jane shrugged. It was the truth, though. And, while unexpected, her sudden involvement in their secret scheming turned out to be the boost they needed to succeed. 

"I still don't think we should-"

"Yeah, we know, Danny." Luke slapped his friend's back with another laugh. "What would you have us do? Nothing?"

"Actually, yes. Sometimes doing nothing is the correct action."

"This isn't one of those times. How about you-"

Ava snapped her fingers, "Focus."

Mary Jane looked at each of them, then settled her gaze on Danny. "I'm glad this isn't a class project. You guys would just bicker until the deadline then throw something together individually the night before."

"This isn't a class assignment! You don't even have a dog in this fight, why are-"

Her eyes flashed dangerously, "They're my friends too. And I'm not going to sit back and do nothing while they continue to-" She cut herself off and composed herself. "If this doesn't work, then-"

"If it doesn't work we'll be in a worse situation. I can't imagine what we shall do if this backfires. We could be misreading them… I don't think I could stand having their bickering if it worsens."

"So, it's settled, then? We will try?"

Luke leaned back in his seat. "It's the best plan we've got. I vote yes."

Ava and, reluctantly, Danny, gave their agreement as well. 

"Great!" Mary Jane clapped. "I'll start setting the groundwork," she stood to leave, already rapidly typing on her phone.

Two weeks later:

Sam dragged his feet into the restaurant, feeling absolutely ridiculous for agreeing to do Mary Jane a favor. But, how could he say no?

"Sam," Mary Jane hesitantly said his name as they packed up from class. 

"Hm?" He spared her a quick glance.

"I… I have an odd favor to ask." She bit her lip and looked away. 

"What is it?"

She shook her head, "No. Nevermind. It's too much to ask…."

He stopped what he was doing. "What is it?" He repeated.

"I… um. I have a friend who… well… has a hard time finding a date?" She sighed, "I said I'd try to find someone. Just to practice? Ya know, so the real thing isn't so scary?"

Sam blinked at her. "That's dumb."

Mary Jane sighed, her shoulders sagging. "Yea. It was a silly idea. Forget I asked."

"Wait," he said, hating seeing his friend look so defeated. She did so much for her friends- for him. A small date wouldn't hurt, right? It wasn't like he was beating down suitors himself. 

He was such an idiot. Why did he agree to this? It was so embarrassing he hadn't mentioned it to anyone else, he couldn't bear the taunts should Peter have found out. With one last tug at his shirt, he gave the hostess Mary Jane's name and let himself be led to his table. 

Sam wasn't the first to arrive. A million quips came to mind as he numbly sat across from Peter, but he couldn't get his mouth to cooperate. Judging by Peter's expression, he was in a similar state of disbelief. 

Finally, Sam managed to choke out, "I didn't expect this!"

Peter blinked. "You think I did?"

"Well, uh." Sam thought for a moment. "What lie did MJ give you?"

Peter visibility relaxed and told him his which sounded eerily familiar. "So, what now?"

As if on cue, their server appeared to take their order.

"I guess we just have dinner?"

"Together?" 

"Why not?" Sam shrugged. "It's just dinner, and clearly our friends think we can't get along."

The server turned on their heel, muttering a quick, "I'll come back."

"Gee, I wonder why they think that?" Peter raised an eyebrow. 

Sam narrowed his eyes. "That. Right there is why. Can't we just… just…"

"Just what?" Peter hissed, voice dangerously close to being too loud for a restaurant. 

Sam took a deep breath, remembering some of Danny's suggestions for controlling his temper. "Be civil? You don't have to like me."

"I like you." Peter blinked then sputtered, "I mean, we're friends. Right? We just, uh, disagree a lot."

He could take the out, not bring attention to Peter's hastily said words, just agree that they were, in fact, friends and have a pleasant meal together. "You like me?" Or, he could take the opening he'd been given. 

"I- not- uh-" His mouth snapped shut and he looked anywhere but Sam.

"Oh." Sam blinked, not sure what to do with that information. "Like… like-like?"

"Shut up. It doesn't matter." 

Sam took note of Peter's reddening face and took pity on him. With racing thoughts, he opened his menu, trying and failing to focus on the words. Why didn't the menus have pictures, dammit. After a few moments of quiet, Peter opened his menu as well. 

The thing was, it did matter. It wasn't like Sam had never thought of Peter… like that. He'd just never expected any sort of reciprocation. 

Only after their meals arrived did Sam softly say, "I didn't expect this."

//Have I complained recently about how utterly shit tumble is to edit format on mobile? Fck. Do one thing and it throws you all the way back to the bottom. Rubish hellsite.

[kikis-writing-world]

Weapons Training

Summary: Agent Whiskey has another encounter with the woman who took his watch.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Female OC (Future Agent Brandy)

Word Count: ~2000

Rating/Warnings: PG, but overall SFW - Whiskey has some dirty thoughts.

Author’s Note: Another installment of Agent Brandy - reuploaded because tumblr mobile thought an edit meant “oh, okay, I’ll delete this whole post!” Punk ass bitch... Anyway, as mentioned before, not all the drabbles in this universe will be strictly chronological.

First part here!

The memo went out a week or so after Whiskey’s encounter with (the pickpocket) the hopeful agent: The recruitment session was over and two new agents would soon be joining their ranks. The next several days for the recruits would be spent honing their expertise to find out where they were best suited. Whiskey knew the board was hoping for at least one new field agent, but there were also the behind the scenes crews, like R&D or Medical, that were eager for recruits as well. Whiskey didn’t even know the girl’s name to find out if she’d passed recruitment, let alone find out where she’d land. What was he supposed to say? “The girl who swiped my watch from under my nose? Yeah, keep her away from me.” He’d never do that for two major reasons:

1. He’d have to admit that she’d fooled him, and 2. He absolutely wanted to see her again - just maybe at a safe distance this time.

His wish was granted a few days later as he saw her. She was dressed like an agent this time - That answered his question on whether she’d passed recruitment or not. Her hair braided over her right shoulder, white button up shirt under a dark grey vest and matching dress pants. He caught sight of the way the pants hugged her ass and thighs before losing her around the corner.

Before he even realized it where his feet were taking him, he was following her around the corner and into the weapons testing department. Had he noticed, he might have come up with a plan of what he was going to say or do once they were face to face. Instead, he just stared at her as she turned to see who had joined her in the room.

“Agent Whiskey.” She greeted cordially, nothing like the bashful, flirty woman she’d been at the elevator. Where before she seemed nearly starstruck, now she couldn’t care less that he was near.

“Sunshine,” he greeted in turn. While the sight of the woman didn’t brighten his day nearly as much as she had the first time they met, he knew the nickname would serve as a reminder. It let her know that he hadn’t forgotten that first encounter. The nickname made her grin wickedly. “I s’pose a congratulations is in order.”

She nodded appreciatively, “and I thank you for your help in that matter.”

Whiskey tried to hold in his outburst, feeling his face tinting red at the strain. His infamous temper won out however as he strode towards her, pointing in her face. “You stole my watch!”

“Borrowed.” She seemed unfazed at Whiskey’s annoyance, turning away from the Agent to peruse the weapons along the walls of the armory. “I had every intention of giving it back once I was done with it.” She glanced at him, looking for the shine of the watch under his sleeve. “And I do see it’s been returned to its place.”

He glared at her as she returned to looking at the weapons, her fingers skimming over a shotgun before passing it over. “You think you’re mighty clever don’t you, darlin’?”

“Only compared to some.” She shrugged, taking a knife off the wall to examine.

“I hope you’re not meaning me,” his voice held a sharp tone of warning as his footsteps mirrored hers, not letting her get too far away from him.

“If the watch fits.” She teased, sparing him a glance over her shoulder with a dazzling grin. He felt his ire flare up again, but he didn’t want to show her that she was still getting under his skin.

“How about a little friendly competition then?” He suggested, looking pointedly at one of the doors that led out of the armory. Behind it held one of the training rooms: built to survive just about any thrashing an Agent could dole out with any Statesman issued weapon, and with enough technology to create practice simulations and measure intricate readings.

“What do you suggest, Agent Whiskey?” She asked, turning to face him. He definitely held her interest now.

Whiskey grinned triumphantly, crossing the room to pull a whip down from it’s display. It wasn’t his personal whip, the one he knew like an extension of his own arm, but it was similar enough. “A little target practice. Weapon of choice, of course.”

She watched as he clipped the whip to his belt before she looked over the room. If he was honest, her wide eyes made her look like a kid in a candy store. He wondered if she’d choose something she was familiar with, trying her best to beat him, or pick something exciting that she couldn’t help but want to get her hands on. New agents could be so fickle.

She picked up a revolver and tested its weight in her hands. She slipped the holster around her waist with practiced ease. He had to admit, it was a good choice. A weapon he’d used many times before.

“Let’s do this.” She goaded, passing him to saunter confidently into the room. Whiskey chuckled at her smugness, following her in and pressing a few buttons on the screen to set the scenario.

Twelve holographic targets popped up throughout the room, split symmetrically down the middle with six on each side.

“Weapons holstered. Computer will count us down on my mark. Fastest to get all targets wins.” He explained calmly.

“On your mark, then.” She nodded, turning to focus on the field ahead of her.

Whiskey watched her for a moment, taking in her profile. Her muscles were tense, poised and ready to strike. She rolled her neck and wiggled her fingers to loosen up as her eyes darted between targets.

He turned to his own field and signaled for the computer to count down. A robotic voice echoed through the room.

3… 2… 1…

The loud buzzing was drowned out quickly. Gunshots rang as the whip cracked. A few seconds and it was all over.

The back wall illuminated with the times for each side of the room, Whiskey’s time blinking to indicate a winner - by only a few tenths of a second. He grinned triumphantly as she huffed.

“How the fuck do you out-whip a damned revolver?” She cursed, making him chuckle.

“Well, if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll show you.” He couldn’t stop his voice from slipping into that flirtatious drawl from the first day they met, adrenaline still coursing through him from the rapid attack.

“Really? Even after I took your watch?” She questioned cautiously.

“I thought you only borrowed it.” He joked. “C’mere.” He nodded for her to stand with him. She holstered the gun that had just finished smoking, and crossed the room. He grabbed her upper arms, turning her so that her back was to her front. She stumbled slightly with the suddenness of the movement, falling backwards into his chest.

“Right-handed?” He asked, breath tickling her neck. He already knew the answer from watching her shoot. She nodded in affirmative and he gave her the whip to hold in her right hand, covering it in his own. He took her left wrist in his other hand to hold her in place, kicking her feet gently to move them into the proper position. “Good. Now swing it over your head a bit, get a feel for it.” He told her, swinging their connected hands. She tilted her head upwards as she watched the whip. “Get used to the feel of it, the ridges of the handle, the weight of the thong.”

“The what?!” She tried to step away from him, but his left arm circled her waist quickly, keeping her in place and holding her tightly against him.

“That’s what it’s called, Sunshine. Don’t shoot the messenger.” He chuckled, ignoring how soft she felt against him. He watched as she swallowed hard, her throat bobbing with the effort. Once he was sure she wasn’t going to run again, he returned his left hand to hers.

“That’s it.” He mumbled as he sensed her relax again. “You ready?”

She didn’t have time to answer before he snapped his wrist, the motion so familiar to him that he was sure he could do it in his sleep. Her hand dragged along with his, moving the whip as it sliced through the air. The telltale crack echoed through the room, making her jump.

“Holy shit!” She cursed loudly, jumping away from him. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the now immobile whip hanging from her hand. “That’s intense!”

He laughed at her reaction, the spark in her eye. “It’s an underestimated weapon,” he agreed, holding out his hand. “But you can feel how much power it has.”

She nodded in agreement as she handed the whip back. “That was amazing. Thank you.” She smiled gratefully at him, and it almost made him feel bad for the anger he’d held for her, for wanting some kind of revenge.

“What else you trainin’ with? Other than a six shooter?” He asked as he hung his own weapon back onto his belt.

“Other guns, I tried out some blades but they’re not really my style.” She shrugged. “I’m good with explosives, but sometimes you need finesse.”

“What about your watch?” His question made her glance at the watch on her wrist. It was very similar to Whiskey’s own watch, but they had styled it to look more feminine. His watch would have looked bulky on her tiny wrist, but this one fit well. “You go around borrowing things, you oughta know how to use ‘em.” He teased.

“I’m getting used to it.”

“Show me?” He moved to the touch screen to set up a new training scenario. Holograms filled the room, silhouettes of 3 people walking around. Two were blue, while one was outlined in red. They walked in random patterns so that she would have to watch, wait, and make sure her shot was clear. “Paralyze the red target.”

“I can do that.” She hummed to herself, getting into position and holding up her watch. She clicked the outer frame of the watch to the proper setting - level of force: paralysis. He watched her eyes darting between the figures, waiting for her opportunity. He tried to keep himself still, silent, not wanting to throw her off.

She tapped the button watch, eyes on the red hologram. The room made no noise - nothing to indicate she’d hit the target or accidentally got a bystander instead. Her eyebrows furrowed.

“What ha-” She started to ask before she blinked several times. Whiskey grinned as she looked down, seeing the paralytic dart sticking out of her own right shoulder. She slumped to the floor, no doubt already feeling the chemical take over her arms and legs. “What?”

“Ah, rookie mistake.” He cooed innocently, kneeling down next to her. “Bet you accidentally switched your watch. Probably thinks you’re left-handed.” He picked up her wrist to show her the watch, her arm limp in his grip. “If it thinks you’re wearing it on your right hand, any weapons adjust accordingly.” He pointed out the tiny, pin-sized hole the dart had come out of, pointing back at her instead of out past her fingertips.

“You…” She was having trouble lifting her head. He dropped her arm, helping to lay her prone in a more comfortable position.

“Don’t worry. It’ll wear off in an hour or so, you’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll even tip someone off that you’re in here.”

She grumbled unintelligibly, unable to talk as the paralysis took over her tongue. If looks could kill, well he might not be dead but he would certainly have a few new scars on his pretty face. He stood over her, making a show of polishing his watch with his opposite sleeve.

“You messed with my watch, I messed with yours. Now we’re even, Sunshine.”

He tilted his hat at her before strolling away, whistling a happy tune. On his way to his office, he hinted to a passing R&D agent that the new recruit had gone into weapons training and someone should probably peek in to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself.

He was going to get chewed out for sure, but it was oh so worth it.

tagging: @wickedfrsgrl​

[flameohotwife]

Happy FFWF! What's one aspect of your writing you feel you can improve on? Could be a genre (eg. fluff, angst, romance, etc.), could be specific scenes (eg. action scenes), whatever you think!

Hello and happy FFWF (on Monday! My power was out most of the weekend and I hate typing posts on mobile, so here we are).

I think I can improve on almost every aspect of my writing. I only recently got back into writing, although I did study it in college a million years ago and concentrated on Creative Writing within my English major, but I feel like I have forgotten almost everything important that I learned. I've actually been tempted to go back to my parents' house and find my old notebooks and read through my notes from my creative writing classes. But I tend to fall into a lot of common writing traps (telling instead of showing, failing to use foreshadowing or other writing tools, reusing the same words, etc.), especially because I tend to write my first drafts straight through and I have a hard time editing. On the pieces I've had beta-read, it's been better because my betas spot these things for me and I'm able to fix them, but I feel like there's a level of my brain I've been unable to access since having kids, and that absolutely affects how I write. Thanks for the ask!

[thewebcomicsreview]

Normally I open up the Homestuck 2 liveblog with a tongue-in-cheek comment about how reading HS2 is pain, but I just watched the debate and HS2 looks incredible by comparison, so let’s see if this good mood carries over. Looks like we’re on Candyland, too, Candy updates tend to be better (or at least bad in a funny way) than the oft-boring Meat updates, and personally, I think “The Omega Kids fuck around” is the best part of HS2 by yards.

Man, that lamp is almost perfectly positioned to draw a line through the image separating the two scenes (the dialogue for which is on two separate columns), but it’s just the tiniest bit off-center. I wonder if that was intentional and mobile-responsiveness is just a cruel mistress. It’s a cute touch, if so. I suppose the door (and the photos, which are the same height as the door) also serves the same purpose of having the two scenes be sectioned off. I don’t really know a lot about “scene composition” so maybe I should stay in my wheelhouse, but I think it’s divided very nicely

HARRY: and some of us aren't gods and shit. JOHN: i'm detecting a hint of judgement in your voice, there, harry anderson JOHN: don't you enjoy being a part of all this? finally getting to be in the thick of it all?

John, always dense, has not picked up on Harry Anderson’s demotion to Harry. He’s also inserting a lot of his own desires onto Harry, here, too. Vrissy is the one who wanted to be in the thick of it all (thematic idea to stick a pin into to see if it plays out: John should be mentoring Vrissy and Vriska should be mentoring Harry. Some evidence that HS2 is building this idea, but not a lot yet)

HARRY: now YOU look like you're hiding some extra commentary. JOHN: oh, i don't need to burden you with all the bureaucratic stuff, it's boring.

You gotta subscribe to John’s $20/mo Patreon tier for that, Harry.

JOHN: because here i am, sitting in the dugout, same as you. HARRY: in the dugout? JOHN: oh, or, uh... JOHN: what's a metaphor you might like better... HARRY: no, JOHN: i'm like the uhh...understudy. HARRY: dad. no, jesus, you don't have to do this. JOHN: or i got cast in as babysitter number 2 when i had auditioned for, i dunno, HARRY: yeah, please, i got the baseball metaphor. HARRY: i'm not a complete fucking nerd.

John doesn’t really “get” theater kids, I get. It makes me think a little of how John’s dad thought John was massively into clowns. Also, this is a cute.

JOHN: it's been really nice to get to spend so much time with you. HARRY: um. yeah, it's not so bad. HARRY: anyway, before you ruffle my hair or anything, it looks like things are getting a bit heated between the vriskas over there. HARRY: maybe we should offer them a snack to bring the mood back down? JOHN: me, mess up your hair when you’ve worked so hard on that look? i do know you at least that well, harry anderson HARRY: thank god.

This is also cute. Harry maybe the only person in the entire cast of Homestuck or Homestuck 2 to have a semi-normal relationship with his parents.

Speaking of semi-symmetry, the line where Harry says how happy he is to stay home almost lines up perfectly with Vriska being furious that she has to stay home. I wonder again if that’s a coincidence of if someone had a really clever idea that didn’t make it fully intact through editing (or was considered not worth the effort). 

VRISKA: How are you so calm right now? Your lusii were training you, right? And you’re a troll, you’re definitely five times stronger than a human! And if you’re my clone, you are way more 8adass than little miss Fussy Fangs.

Vriska is making several false assumptions here, but the most interesting one is that Vrissy is Vriska’s clone. She’s not. She’s descended from Vriska, and takes after Vriska very strongly, but it’s not a one-to-one thing.

VRISSY: 8ut I guess this Situation is Kind of Serious? VRISSY: There’s a whole Plan and Stuff Like that. VRISKA: Clearly not a good plan, 8ecause then I would 8e part of it!

Vriska.jpg

VRISKA: That’s just even more indication that they don’t know what they’re doing! Lalonde and Maryam have had however many sweeps to get older and stupider, 8ut from where I’m standing, it was literally only a few days ago that I was their commander! I am primed for the 8attlefield!

Okay, this line is across from John saying he’s in the dugout. There is absolutely an intentional, if not one-to-one strict, mirroring of these two conversations that’s actually really neat. I should go back to the other times HS2 has had conversations formatted like this to see if this mirroring has been happening all along. It’s a really good use of the format! I like this a lot! 

JOHN: so anyway, as you can see, this would have worked just fine! HARRY: no i think karkat’s right. this looks like shit, dad. JOHN: you know, me letting your earlier use of the word "fuck" slide wasn't a blanket approval for all cursing in front of me. HARRY: sorry. HARRY: try not to make such a shit plan, and i won't call it that. JOHN: haha wow.

The other thing I like is the John/Harry dynamic. 

HARRY: it's not like i think i'm any better! HARRY: i mean, i still can't believe i told vrissy and them to bring a dead celebrity to school. HARRY: what was i THINKING. JOHN: you were thinking it sounded hilarious! JOHN: but yeah, in hindsight, maybe not the best call. JOHN: maybe it’s genetic? HARRY: yeah. HARRY: i kinda can’t believe we’re all still alive, actually. HARRY: and how did YOU make it this far, being so bad at this? JOHN: i had my friends with me, i guess.

John your friends repeatedly tried to kill you and succeeded at least twice. 

He’d spent so long seeing mostly the best parts of Roxy in Harry Anderson. He forgot, he guesses, to look for himself in there, too. And if what they have in common right now is a lack of strategic foresight, hey, he’ll take it.

I’m slowly developing a theory that John is subconsciously the narrator of Candy, given how everything suddenly started going John’s way after Calliope left (and how the narrator seemed to really hate Gamzee last chapter). Remember, John has spoken in narration before in HS1, but never seemed to realize he was doing it. I probably need to essay this theory out at some point, but not now.

Oh, hey! Jane does have goons! And they’ve slightly change the way they draw Rose’s hair, so her head isn’t a perfect circle with lines on it. This looks much better. 

JANE: I haven't given a political speech in years, Ms. Lalonde. I don't know what you're referring to. I'm just a simple business woman. JADE: right with her own talk show JADE: and multi billion dollar merchant company and lobbying groups! JANE: That's what a business woman is, Jade, dear.

I know that this is supposed to be Capitalism Bad, but “You claim to be a businesswoman when you own a merchant company!”. Jade. Come on. This reads less as Jane going “Of course I’m evil, I’m a CEO” and more that Jade literally doesn’t know what a business woman is. 

JANE: You are on my territory, in the presence of my secret police, laying your hand on my investment.

Jane you don’t own “territory” do you not know what a businesswoman is either?

JANE: Your ship is in contested airspace. You will land, whereby it will be confiscated by the Royal Human Guard. After that you will be taken into custody. 

CONTESTED BY WHOM, JANE? WHO THE FUCK IS THE WAR BETWEEN?!

JADE: shut the fuck up for a minute and look up!

There’s a BIG-ASS spaceship like ten feet in front of you! Did you not notice until Jade pointed it out?

Also why does the Rebellion ship have the Crockercorp prongs on it?

JANE: Or have you forgotten who has been paying for her schooling and taking charge of her introduction into society? JADE: i never asked you to do that! JADE: you offered! JADE: so stop calling me ungrateful for not sucking your dick over things i never asked for!

Sorry again, Jade, are you implying that you wouldn’t have given your daughter an education had Jane not offered? “Rose and Jade entrusted their daughter to Jane, who they were at war with” is an enigma of a plot point.

The world is watching her be dressed down by a couple blood traitor rebels, one of which has very prominent dog ears. Jane wonders if either of them are even recognizable to the assembled as two of the old gods. One of her PR managers had recommended that she keep her look as static as possible, so that people can always recognize her as Jane Crocker, Captain of Industry, Creator of Earth C, Maintainer of Peace and Plenty.

Jade has always had dog ears what the fuck? I guess this is supposed to be Jane’s warped thinking.

So, anyway, Kanaya fake-holds Tavvy hostage, Jane buys the threat as real and they build up like Jane is going to sacrifice her own son for PR points but she ultimately stands down and lets everyone go. It’s left intentionally vague whether or not she was always going to do this, or if she didn’t want to do it in front of Jake, or if the presence of Jake stirred something in her that made her change her mind. I like the ambiguity. 

This was a very “Homestuck 2″ update. The plot of kind of nonsense, but it’s carried by the character interactions and a bit of cleverness.

[ryqoshay]

How to Handle a Nico - Dinner at the Nishikino’s

Primary Pairing: NicoMaki Words: ~4.1k Rating: K Time Frame: Late in Maki’s 1st year and Nico’s 3rd year in college. Story Arc: Stand Alone

Author’s Note: This chapter was assembled from a patchwork of about a dozen instances I wanted to include and thus wrote each separately. And somewhere along the lines, MS Word decided not to sync between my PC and mobile devices, so I ended up with two, slightly differently edited versions. Thus, here’s hoping my self-purported prowess with prose was successful in stitching this scene into a sensible structure. Please forgive any unsightly seams.

Nico couldn’t remember the last time she had been this nervous. No, wait, just a few days ago, her first date with Maki. Well, first official date, not counting all of the not-actually-date-but-technically-were-dates from years prior. Unfortunately, that was quickly falling into second place as she approached the gate to the Nishikino home.

Perhaps the date had been easier because she knew Maki, knew Maki liked her, knew Maki liked spending time with her, knew Maki wanted to date her, and was fairly confident Maki was attracted to her. She had known all of these things even before they started dating officially. As such, looking back, she wasn’t sure why she had been so nervous for their first date, because with the exception of one little hiccup named Etsuko, it had all gone splendidly.

But the parental Nishikinos were more of an unknown. Nico had met both of Maki’s parents a handful of times throughout the years, but had never really gotten to know either. She was all but certain she would have little problems with Maki’s mother as she had apparently been talking behind the scenes with her mother about her and Maki’s developing relationship. And she had been quite supportive of Maki’s time as a school idol, so Nico didn’t think she would object to her intended career choice.

Maki’s father on the other hand… Nico remembered quite vividly when he almost made Maki quit being a school idol after her grades slipped the tiniest of bits; not even enough for her to drop from her position as top of her class. Umi had been the one to stand up to him, which made sense insofar as she understood having parents with high expectations. Still, looking back, Nico couldn’t help feeling a bit of regret that she hadn’t been the one to protect Maki. Sure, she had offered her support, but…

“Good evening, Yazawa-san.” A voice came over the speaker.

Nico jumped. Had she even pushed the button to announce her presence?

“Yes, good evening.” She replied as she recognized the voice of the Nishikino estate manager.

“Ojou-sama has informed me of pending arrival, though as always, you are most welcome here.”

“Thanks.” Nico replied as the buzzer sounded to indicate the gate was unlocked.

One gate down, literally. Nico thought as she made her way toward the front door. Though part of her wished Maki had been the one to answer the intercom, she was nonetheless thankful that it had been a member of the house staff with whom she got along well. At least it hadn’t been…

“D-Dr. Nishikino?” Nico sputtered as the door suddenly swung open to reveal a towering, bespectacled man who immediately fixed her with a cool and calculating gaze.

Damn. Why had she stuttered? This wasn’t the first time she had met Maki’s father, and if all went well tonight, it wouldn’t be the last. You can do this Nico! Sure it wasn’t the man she expected and she was caught a bit unaware, but… Gah! Stop being intimidated. You’re here for a reason! And that reason is Maki-chan!

“Yazawa-san.” Maki’s father stated flatly.

“Hi…” Nico cutoff by clearing her throat. “Good evening.” She corrected, offering a polite bow. “I’m…”

“I’m afraid my daughter will be unable to entertain your visit tonight.” Dr. Nishikino interrupted. “We are expecting an important guest who should be arriving presently.”

I’m an important guest? No, wait, of course I am! I’m Maki’s girlfriend now. So, buck up and tell him that.

“Yes, sir, that guest is me.” For emphasis, Nico indicated the stylish dress she had picked out specifically for the occasion. “I’m Maki’s date.”

“…” Dr. Nishikino raised an eyebrow but remained steadfast in his position.

“Nico-chan!” the voice of an angelic savior came from behind the barrier of the paternal Nishikino. “Papa, let her in.”

Dr. Nishikino stepped aside and…

Holy… Nico had to make a conscious effort to avoid letting her jaw hit the floor. Not that Nico, at any point, had forgotten that Maki was beautiful, but when the redhead went all out, it was all she could do not to stare. Though elegantly modest, the deep purple dress still managed to highlight Maki’s best features.

“You’re early.” Maki said, bringing Nico back to reality.

“I’m sorry, did I take you away from your precious piano?” Nico couldn’t help teasing a bit, figuring the younger girl had wanted to arrive at her parents’ home earlier for a few moments of nostalgia with the instrument she grew up playing.

“Yeah, actually.” Maki admitted as she glanced away sheepishly.

“Well maybe after dinner, you can continue your concert, but with an audience?” Nico pointed herself as if it wasn’t already obvious who she meant.

“I’d like that.”

“You look lovely, by the way. Purple always looks good on you, Maki-chan.”

“Thanks.” Maki replied as pink dusted her cheeks. “You look good too. I like when you leave your hair down. It makes you look more…” She trailed off.

“More?”

“Sorry, I meant…”

“More mature?” Nico completed what she believed to be her girlfriend’s thought.

“Uhm… yeah…”

“I’ll have you know Nico is always mature.” She squared her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips pridefully.

Maki raised an eyebrow in a way that left no question as to her linage.

“Anyway, I haven’t seen that dress before, is it new?”

Maki nodded. “Mama and I just got back a little while ago from picking it out.”

Huh… Mama and I were also just out shopping for my dress. Nico thought to herself. And, wait a minute… “We match.” Or at least they matched in the way their old idol costumes matched in overall theme and enough details to be an obvious set while maintaining enough individuality to be unique as well.

“We do?” Maki glanced down at herself before back at Nico. After half a second, she smiled. “Yeah, we do. What a nice coincidence.”

Nico found herself wondering if the coincidence was perchance planned by a pair of meddling mothers who meant well. She made a mental note to ask her mother about the issue later, if for no other reason than to thank her for the cute gesture.

“So, dinner isn’t for a little while yet” Maki continued “but they might have appetizers ready already so why don’t we head to the dining room and I’ll quick check?”

“Lead the way.” Nico decided not to bring up how she still got lost in the huge house, even after visiting frequently over the last few years.

“You coming, Papa?”

Nico realized she had all but forgotten the paternal Nishikino was still there. Stealing a quick side glance, she found him quietly observing the couple. If she was reading things correctly, his aura had warmed somewhat, though was no less calculating than before; gears were obviously grinding behind his stoic expression.

“Your mother and I will meet you at the table.” Dr. Nishikino stated. “I’ll go find her.”

As Maki took her hand to lead her through the house, Nico noticed her grip was tighter than normal. A lot tighter. Maki was more nervous than she was letting on. Just how worried was she about her father’s approval of their relationship? Nico already knew Maki’s mother was wholly supportive, as was her own, but the only things she really knew about Maki’s father were that he had high expectations for his daughter and was not particularly fond of idols.

“Wait, Maki-chan,” Nico said, stopping in the hallway before they reached their destination “hold up a moment.”

“Eh?” Maki uttered, not seeming to notice the change and almost yanking Nico’s arm out of the socket before being held to a halt. “Nico-chan?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Maki.” Nico fixed her girlfriend with a steady stare. The redhead returned the gaze, though was far more furtive, and when she began to fidget with her hair, Nico reached out and gently touched her hand. “What’s wrong?” She repeated.

Maki released a puff of air. “I’m nervous, alright? I… I just really want Papa to like you.”

“I’m nervous too.” Nico admitted, her thoughts racing through things she could say to calm them both down. “But you know, he didn’t turn me away at the door, so that’s gotta count for something, right?” She paused for a moment. “Well, technically, he did, but that was before he realized why I was here, but he still let me in, so that has to mean he’s willing to give me a chance, right?”

“I just… I know he’ll bring up idols, and…”

“Maki-chan.” Nico took a step in to close some of the distance between them. “Nico didn’t become the No. 1 Idol in the Universe without learning a thing or two about reading her audience.”

“…” Maki’s expression wasn’t one of disbelief but of continued concern.

“Look, I’m not going to lie to your father about my career of choice, but I’m also not going to try to convert him into a fan or convince him that idols are the most amazing thing ever, even if I believe that myself.”

“I know…”

“And I am attending college and aim to get a degree.” Nico continued. “Sure it won’t be a fancy medical degree like yours, but I’m getting it while still being an idol. So that’s also gotta count for something, right?”

“Papa does respect hard work.”

“And Nico is a hard worker.”

“I know.” Maki affirmed, dropping her hand before leaning her head into Nico’s hand. “Nico-chan is one of the hardest workers I know when it comes to working toward her goals. It’s always admired, and envied, about you.”

Nico scoffed. “You say that as if you don’t work hard as well, Maki-chan.”

“Mmm…” Maki hummed in a tone that implied she was paying attention to something other than the conversation at hand.

Hand… Maki closed her eyes and nuzzled her cheek against Nico’s hand, causing her to open her fingers to increase contact. It should be fine here, right? Nico moved in the rest of the way and tilted her chin up. Maki followed her hand as Nico guided her down. Their lips touched and…

“Oh dear…” A startled voice uttered, causing the couple to jolt away from each other. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, Ojou-sama.”

“I-It’s f-fine…” A blushing Maki stumbled through.

Nico recognized the woman one of the newer members of the Nishikino house staff. She was responsible for general assistance wherever needed.

“Welcome, Yazawa-san.” The woman said with a polite bow, but when she righted herself, her expression was thoughtful. “Although, now that you’re dating Ojou-sama, perhaps Yazawa-sama is more appropriate?”

“Just Nico is fine.” Nico assured.

“Right, anyway, I’m on my away to retrieve some bottles of Cloudy Bay at the behest of the master.”

“White?” Maki inquired.

The woman nodded. “We’ve prepared a delightful shrimp pasta for the main course.” She turned to Nico. “Ojou-sama has informed us of your talent in the kitchen, so we hope to meet your standards, Yazawa-sama.”

Guess the new title is going to stick. Nico thought to herself. “I’m sure it will be great.”

“The caprese salads should be ready if you wish to head to the dining room now.”

“Tomatoes, of course.” Nico couldn’t help commenting.

“Yes.” The staff member confirmed. “We have also been informed of one of your preferences, so for dessert, we will be serving traditional crepes with lemon and sugar.”

“Sounds delicious.”

The woman smiled before bowing again to excuse herself and hurrying down the hall.

“Is there anything wrong with your father requesting white wine?” Nico asked, trying to gauge her girlfriend’s reaction.

“I don’t believe so.” Maki shook her head. “White is better paired with seafood, after all.”

“Yes, but…?”

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Maki shook her head again. “Cloudy Bay is actually one of Papa’s favorites. He’s quite fond of the New Zealand area in general.”

“One of his favorites? That’s gotta be a good sign, right?”

“I hope so.”

Nico took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it slowly. “Well, the salad is apparently ready, so we may as well get to it.”

Maki nodded before taking Nico’s hand once more to complete their journey to the dining room. Nico noted, thankfully, that her girlfriend’s grip was far more relaxed this time around.

Upon arrival, the couple was greeted by the Nishikino estate manager who showed them to their seats. Shortly thereafter, Maki’s parents arrived and took their own seats. Next the chef and her assistant from before arrived with the first course. Finally, the first bottle of wine was uncorked and the meal was underway.

“So, Yazawa-san,” Dr. Nishikino stated, drawing Nico’s attention “you’ve known Maki since high school, am I correct?”

“Yes.” Nico affirmed. “It was Maki-chan’s first year and my third.”

“I see. And were you one of the girls who helped convince her to become an idol?”

Well, that didn’t take long for the subject to come up. Nico thought to herself. Straight to the point, I guess, unlike a certain dishonest daughter of his…

“Actually, it was the other way around.” Nico replied.

“Oh?”

“I was in a disillusioned and jaded state back then, after my first attempt at forming a group fell through.” Nico admitted. “And it was Honoka and Maki-chan and the others that pulled me out of my funk and helped me remember why I adored idols so much and wanted so desperately to be one.” She couldn’t help smiling as fond memories flooded her mind. “I really do owe them all a debt of gratitude for that.”

“I see. And you are still an idol now?”

“Part time.” Nico nodded. “I was able to find a small production company that was willing to work around my classes. It fills up my schedule and keeps me busy, but also lets me keep my foot in the door.”

“Because you intend to go full time even once you’ve earned a degree?”

Nico wasn’t particularly fond of the wording of the question and had to resist the urge to call it out; had it been Maki and they were in a more casual setting, she likely would have done so.

“I do.” She said aloud instead. “And once I retire from being an idol, the degree will help me find other employment.”

“And what type of employment might that be?”

“Something still in the industry, if possible.” Out of the corner of her eye, Nico caught a suppressed expression of surprise on her girlfriend’s face. Understandable, as it was news to Maki as well. “Choreographer, trainer, costume design, heck maybe even a producer, someday. Basically, I’d like to pay forward my debt by helping the next generations of idols.”

“And one is able to earn a living in such an industry?”

“Others have before me; I believe I can as well.” Nico gave another glance to the redhead beside her. “I may not have the skills to become a life-saving doctor like Maki, but I can still do my part to make the world a better place; one smile at a time.”

“Medicine, law, business, engineering,” Maki’s mother suddenly spoke up “these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.” She smiled at Nico. “I believe Mr. Keating’s words hold true for many things. Music, painting, writing, really the arts as a whole are what make life worth living.”

“Mr. Keating?” Nico inquired.

“The lead character of Dead Poets Society.” Maki responded. “We should watch it sometime, Nico-chan; it’s really good.”

“And it is because the arts are so important” Dr. Nishikino continued “that my husband and I strive to support them as much as possible. In fact, we will be attending a performance of The Barber of Seville late next month and have not even started sending out invites to fill our box. You two are more than welcome to join us.”

At this, Maki’s eyes lit up. “Next month? When?”

“I’ll message you the dates later, but it’s a weekend so you should be able to work it into your study schedule.”

Maki turned to Nico with an expression rivaling the one she wore when December started. “Do you want to come with me?”

Nico smiled at her girlfriend’s excitement and word choice. “I’d love to. But where have I heard that title before?”

“From my playlist.”

“Tchaikovsky?” Nico made sure to pronounce the name as correctly as she could.

Maki shook her head. “Rossini.”

Nico racked her memory. “Cinderella?”

“Yes, different opera, same composer.”

“One smile at a time, you said?” Maki’s father suddenly stated.

“Oh, yeah.” Nico recalled her words from a few minutes ago.

The barest hint of something tugged at the edges of Dr. Nishikino’s lips. “Well, if nothing else, you have succeeded in making my daughter smile.” He nodded toward Maki, directing Nico’s attention back to the mentioned reaction. “And as my wife and I can attest, that is not always the easiest of tasks.”

“… P-Papa…” Maki offered a mild protest as pink dusted her cheeks and her mother chuckled.

Nico couldn’t help a smile of her own as she turned back to Maki’s father. “I think I’m up to the challenge.”

“Indeed.”

Wait… wasn’t this a bit hypocritical? Nico suddenly thought. Why claim to be a patron of the arts while simultaneously disallowing one’s daughter from being an artist?

On occasion, Maki had bemoaned being railroaded into the medical career while her dreams of being a professional pianist were dismissed as a passing fancy. Yet she hadn’t acknowledged the contradiction. Was she even aware of it? With the level of reverence Maki held for her parents, Nico could easily imagine her remaining oblivious; well, that and Maki’s overall naivete in many aspects of life.

Should she tell her? Was it even Nico’s place say such a thing? Nico was no stranger to speaking her mind when it came to her own interests, or those of her siblings. And she was dating Maki now, which meant defending her girlfriend’s best interests also shouldn’t surprise anyone. Or at least what she believed to be Maki’s best interests, as her parents obviously felt differently.

“On a related topic, Yazawa-san, Maki has told us much about your shared love of music.” Dr. Nishikino continued.

Nico derailed her own train of thought and refocused her attention on the conversation at hand. “It is one of our favorite subjects to discuss… or argue over.”

“And you often listen together while studying.”

“I believe music helps keep us in a good mood, which then helps us study.” Nico explained.

“I think we can all attest to the positive effects of music.” The Nishikino matriarch said.

“Indeed.” Her husband agreed.

“And Maki-chan has helped expand my appreciation of other genres of music.” Nico turned to her girlfriend. “And I’d like to think I’ve expanded hers as well.”

Maki nodded an affirmation with a smile.

“Maki also has told us that she often helps you study.”

“She does.” Nico confirmed. “Maki is incredibly smart. Even if she doesn’t know the answer to a problem, she is often able to logic things through and help guide me in the right direction. Honestly, if I didn’t already know she was going to be a doctor, I’d’ve suggested she become a teacher.”

“Now that would be an interesting career choice.” Maki’s mother said thoughtfully.

“Hrm…” Her father seemed less than convinced. “So, do you help her study in return?”

“Well…” Nico started.

“Nico-chan helps in other ways, Papa.” Maki offered. “Even if she isn’t able to help me with a given topic, she helps ensure I take regular breaks so I can come back with better focus. She makes sure I’m hydrated and helps track my nutrition and is quite insistent on keeping a decent sleep schedule. Honestly, she’s better at taking care of me than I am.” Her eyes widened as her admission registered in her mind.

“That’s right,” Her mother continued with the thoughtfulness from earlier, though Nico was sure she detected some teasing undertones “wasn’t it Nico that saved Maki from herself back on her birthday?”

“Mama…” Maki was losing a battle in trying to keep down another blush.

“Maki is very diligent in her studies.” Nico stated. “And I’m happy to help where I can.”

“Hmm… sounds like another couple we know, right Dear?” Dr. Nishikino sent a sly smile toward her husband, the teasing more obvious now.

“… Perhaps.” Maki’s father conceded.

Was it Nico’s imagination or did she just catch another glimpse into the source of some of Maki’s behavior? The Nishikino patriarch wasn’t the easiest to read behind his stoic mask, but his daughter wasn’t always straightforward with her emotions either and Nico had figured her out fairly well by this point.

As far as Nico was concerned, the rest of dinner went quite smoothly. Once Maki’s father got past his initial questions, he remained mostly quite. It ended up being Nico and Maki’s mother carrying the bulk of the conversations, which honestly didn’t really surprise Nico all that much. Maki’s mother inquired about Nico’s family, though Nico suspected she already knew most of the things anyway and it was more for Maki’s father’s sake. Still, Nico wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to brag about her amazing siblings and about how proud of them she was in taking care of the household and themselves in her absence.

After dinner, Maki’s parents excused themselves to finish up the day’s emails and paperwork. Nico couldn’t help but wonder if that would be something Maki would end up doing once she became more involved with the hospital administrative duties.

As for Nico herself, she joined Maki in the Nishikino music room for the previously promised private concert. There, she had happily settled into the best seat in the house, next her girlfriend on the bench. All in all, it was a wonderful conclusion to what she believed to be a wonderful night. However, as confident as she was, she still wanted to be sure, so she made a mental note to ask the one she believed would know best, or at least better than herself.

“So, how did I do?” Nico asked, once she was sure they were well beyond earshot of anyone even remotely associated with the Nishikino residence.

“You were perfect, Nico-chan.” Maki responded with a smile that sent a warm feeling through Nico’s chest. “I think Papa likes you and is fine with us dating, and we already know how Mama feels.”

Thank the gods… Nico thought with relief. And with that load off her mind, “Of course I was perfect,” she decided to get in some teasing of her own, after spending the evening watching Dr. Nishikino do so “Nico is always perfect.” She grinned and held up her signature gesture.

“Id…” Maki’s typical retort was interrupted by a yawn.

Nico laughed before continuing the tradition. “You love it.”

“… Maybe…” Maki managed to get out as her energy seemed to be leaving her rapidly.

Nico leaned her shoulder into her girlfriend. “Steady there, Maki-chan, you going to be alright getting back to your dormroom?”

“Eh? But, I thought…”

“You thought…?”

“I thought I was going to your place?”

“Well you can, obviously you’re always welcome, but…” Nico motioned to Maki’s outfit, taking the moment to enjoy the view as well “I figured since you don’t have a change of clothes, you wouldn’t want to put this back on in the morning.”

“It’s fine…” Maki stifled another yawn. “I just want to go home…” She blinked and shook her head. “I mean your home… Yours… yours and Nozomi’s, I mean… ueeehhh…”

Nico chuckled. “It’s your home too, Maki-chan.” By the gods did she want to kiss the redhead whose cheeks were now matching her hair, but even this late at night, there was a risk of being seen. Later. She promised herself. “Nozomi and my names may be on the lease,” she said instead “but that doesn’t make it any less home to you or Eli.”

“T-thank you…”

“You don’t have to thank me for that; that much is normal for couples, right? But you know, Eli does leave a lot of stuff in Nozomi’s room…” Nico thought aloud “perhaps I should clear out a drawer and make some room in the closet for you.”

“I’d like that.” Maki smiled. “I’ll be sure to bring some stuff over soon.”

“Good. For tonight, you can borrow your usual sleep shirt and we’ll figure out something else in the morning. I think the outfit I lent you the other day is clean, but if not, maybe Nozomi has something that will fit you.”

Maki nodded.

“Then it’s settled.” Nico took Maki’s hand as they boarded the train together. “Let’s go home.”

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

[cpw-nyc]

The Lost Art of Having a Chat: What Happened When I Stopped Texting and Started Talking

We are more connected than ever, but we rarely seem to really speak to each other. So, I decided to try.

The Guardian  Rebecca Nicholson

‘People are almost always nicer on the phone than on text.’

Like most people I know, my Weekly Screen Report is obscene. Every Sunday, when the notification pops up to tell me the hours I have wasted, mostly texting, I think about all the things I could have done. Finished Middlemarch. Started Middlemarch. But as I have my phone in my hand, I scroll through Instagram instead. I send an article or a joke to a friend, a picture of the dog to the family WhatsApp, catch up on someone else’s night out. Recently, I clocked up – and I’m ashamed as I write this – six hours and 29 minutes of phone usage in a single day. I have had days where I’ve barely been awake that long. Messages is my most used app. I am talking all the time.

Like most people I know, my Weekly Screen Report is obscene. Every Sunday, when the notification pops up to tell me the hours I have wasted, mostly texting, I think about all the things I could have done. Finished Middlemarch. Started Middlemarch. But as I have my phone in my hand, I scroll through Instagram instead. I send an article or a joke to a friend, a picture of the dog to the family WhatsApp, catch up on someone else’s night out. Recently, I clocked up – and I’m ashamed as I write this – six hours and 29 minutes of phone usage in a single day. I have had days where I’ve barely been awake that long. Messages is my most used app. I am talking all the time.

 But I am rarely talking. For the chatterboxes among us, this is a time of upheaval. The long, spontaneous chat on the phone is going the way of the fax. The percentage of households with a landline that’s used to make calls is declining every year, from 83 percent in 2016 to 73 percent in 2019; the number of calls made on house phones plummeted by 17 percent in 2018 alone. We still use our mobiles to talk – in 2018, Ofcom surveyed mobile users for three months and found only 6 percent of them never made a single call – but we are not talking in any great depth. The same study found that over 80 percent of calls were shorter than five minutes, and the majority were under 90 seconds. I looked at my own recent call list: three minutes, two minutes, five minutes at a push. What can you say in that time? You can only make the point you’ve called to make. 

  I know many will welcome this as a kind of freedom. The very idea of talking on the phone invokes horror among those who claim to loathe it. There are thousands of memes explaining the many ways that talking, not texting, is rude, basically criminal. Calling is not time-efficient, ill-suited to the attention economy, where all eyes must be on several screens at once. You can send messages when you’re doing something else – watching The Irishman, or having a bath, or even talking to another person in real life. My dad recently marvelled at me being able to text with two thumbs; I marvel at teenagers being able to text while talking to you and not looking at the screen. Once technology gave us the ability to easily screen calls, we ran with it. We can ignore the relative who phones with a list of recent hometown tragedies, the work call we don’t feel like taking, our chattiest of friends who might not let us go for an hour. But what happens if you are that chatty friend?

Smart phones are smart enough to tell you that you’re using them too much. The dumb phone is making a comeback. I wondered if it was possible to ride this wave of the digital detox and make a deliberate effort to call instead of text. I wanted to see if it would change my relationships, particularly the ones I had grown lazy about maintaining. The plan was to stay off text and DMs for a solid month. I was fed up of paddling in the shallows. I wanted to swim. If I needed to speak to someone, I’d have to call them. 

 When the writer Elizabeth Wurtzel died in January, a piece she wrote in 2013, about her “one-night stand of a life”, began to circulate again, and it contained one paragraph that hit me particularly hard. “Look at how we live,” she wrote. “We communicate in text messages and emails; even those of us old enough to have lived in a world where landline was not a word because it’s all there was have fallen into this lazy substitute for human contact. I have.” 

 Who hasn’t? It should be easier than ever to talk. There are limitless outlets for publishing our thoughts, endless ways to begin a kind of conversation. Voice memos are popular, particularly among young people, but they’re a halfway house, still one-sided. We talk with one eye on efficiency, and it strangles what is so good about it – the spontaneity, the lack of ability to control what happens when two people are rambling on to each other. 

The psychologist Sherry Turkle has been studying the impact of computers on human psychology since the early 1980s, and in 2015 she published Reclaiming Conversation, in which she referred to “the edited life” that we live now. She spoke to teachers who observed that their students seemed to develop empathetic skills at a slower rate than they would be expected to. “Face-to-face conversation is the most human – and humanising – thing we do,” she wrote. “Fully present to one another, we learn to listen. It’s where we develop the capacity for empathy. It’s where we experience the joy of being heard, of being understood.”  

Are we losing that joy of being heard? Most offices are quieter places than they have ever been. The open-plan rooms I have worked in over the last decade or so are filled with people wearing headphones, silently tapping away on Gchat or Slack. Even workplaces that should invite conversation are making it easier to avoid talking at all. If you stay in a budget hotel, you can check yourself in and out. If you scan your onions on the supermarket’s self- service checkout, you don’t need to chat about what you’re planning to do with them. When it was common enough to be considered a problem, making a phone call on public transport used to be frowned upon. In the early 00s, Dom Joly built a TV career out of shouting “Hello!” into an oversized mobile in public places. Train carriages are now full of heads bowed, illuminated by blue light. A few years ago the Daily Mash ran a much-shared satirical news story: “A northern man has left a trail of terror across London by attempting to interact socially with everyone he meets.” And even in the north, screens have begun to dominate. Quiet carriages are becoming redundant. We are making ourselves quiet.

 In 2014, someone set up a family WhatsApp group. Before then, I spoke to my family on the phone all the time. Now, we spend more time in touch with each other than ever before, yet I miss them. It’s a noticeboard, more than a conversation. The person I still speak to most often, and for longest, is my nan, who is 83. She has a mobile, but doesn’t text. The other day I phoned to see how she was, and she told me a long story about how she was never supposed to have the name that she has, but there were 23 pubs in the village she was born in, and her father stopped in at most of them on the way to register her birth. By the time he got to the clerk, he’d forgotten what he’d been told to call her, so he named her after the clerk instead.

Verbal conversations are unpredictable and unwieldy in a way that those written down are not, because when we type or tap, we are in control, of our side, at least. This ruthless chat efficiency has excised the flab but, I realise, I love the flab. It’s where the excitement happens. I wanted to revive those conversations with everyone. So in my month of no texts, the WhatsApp group would be the first thing to go. I went to delete the app, pressed my finger on the screen, let it wobble – and then I stopped. There was a video of my niece dancing in front of the TV that I wanted to show my partner and I thought, I can just look at the photos and videos, every now and then. Can’t I?                    

https://getpocket.com/explore/item/the-lost-art-of-having-a-chat-what-happened-when-i-stopped-texting-and-started-talking?utm_source=pocket-newtab

[hoe-doroki]

Can I have a bakugou smut where he had just come home from a hard day and he needs to blow off some steam and the reader has been horny all day so she/they do whatever he says. Sorry if this was long, it's ok if you don't do it. Thank you 🙏❤

Omg, not too long at all! Seriously, for requests for me, generally the more details the better, especially for what kinks you may or may not like, because then I can better cater it to you! Since you didn’t specify, you’re stuck with choking, degradation, and exhibitionism, because I like them, oops. Sorry it’s taken me so long to write this—I’ve been so excited about it the whole time but…there’s no but, I just didn’t write it until now 🤷‍♀️

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, exhibitionism, degradation, choking, biting/marking, slight possessiveness

wc: 3.1k

a/n: Thanks to @dymphnasprose for making this gorgeous banner for me!

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

You heard him before you saw him.

It was the ding of the elevator that was first audible from the dining room table where you were working on your computer. Then you heard the heavy clomp of Katsuki’s boots coming down the hallway, already painting a picture of a frustrating day on the job.

When he shouldered his way in the front door, you saw that he was still in his full hero uniform. The roots of his hair were dark with sweat and Katsuki’s ire seemed to have made it all the way down to his fingertips, where he was clumsily batting at his shoelaces. As if anger and a glare would force them undone quicker than a nimble touch.

“Rough day?” you commented, standing up from the dark mahogany table and walking over to your boyfriend. Your hands were on your hips as you looked down at where he was bent over in the entryway.

He grunted as he cast his boot off. If he were outside, that shoe would have been flung halfway down the block, possibly with smoke coming off it. Inside your home, however, even the angriest Katsuki could only manage an angry shove before moving onto his next obstacle.

You didn’t press for more. You just watched as the second boot came off and your boyfriend stood up, knees cracking. He probably hadn’t so much as stretched at the end of his shift. He looked wound tight in every way, from his clenching fingers to the tension scrunching his face.

“Fucking cops stole the villain from under my nose,” Katsuki said.

The kitchen was just a few steps away, so you filled a glass of water and offered it to him. He downed it in a few gulps and was probably just a couple measures of force short from breaking the glass as he smacked it back down on the counter.

“But they were captured?” you asked. “That’s good.”

“The only good thing about it is that now they’re the ones that have to do the paperwork,” Katsuki growled. “I told fucking five-head that if I’m not needed, I might as well come home.”

Five-head was the name Katsuki used for his manager—with a deeply receding hairline—at the agency. Fortunately, Katsuki had only let the nickname slip to the guy’s face…a handful of times.

“Sounds like a rough day,” you said as Katsuki took his gauntlets off, treating them with more care than he had his boots. “You know, I’ve been a little bit…frustrated today too.”

Katsuki’s eyes, piercing when outlined by the dark cling of his mask, flicked towards you, hearing your intentionally placed drawl immediately. “That so?”

His tone was suspicious. Maybe it should have been, by the upward pull on your lips as you leaned in close to him, stroking his arm, still hot and damp from a day on patrol.

“Yeah.” You pouted, making your tone intentionally whiny as you blinked big, round eyes at him. “Or do you not remember this morning?”

That morning had been on your mind all fucking day. Katsuki’s alarm had woken you up, as it always did, and after the ringing had faded from your ears, your body had honed in on a different sense. Specifically, the morning wood that had been pressing hard against your ass. The boner that you’d wiggled back against, moaning as you trailed your fingers up and down your boyfriend’s arm—not unlike you were right now. Katsuki had kissed you on the cheek, and then on the mouth, and you’d expected a quickie before work. You’d felt yourself growing wet at the possibility, your cheeks heating at his touch.

But then he’d pulled away and left the room before you could so much as whimper in protest. It was like he hadn’t even noticed. Like his dick hadn’t been the one to start it.

You watched the memory from many hours ago work its way onto Katsuki’s face. An eyebrow rose—you could tell even from under the mask—and a low fire lit behind his eyes. “That?”

You leaned into his ear, latching yourself around his side so that your thigh just brushed against his groin and whispered, “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Always so fucking desperate for me, huh?” Katsuki rasped, grabbing your thigh with his gloved hand and wrapping your leg around his waist. “You’re lucky I’m not cooled down yet.”

When his lips met yours, they were aggressive, pent up. You could taste the salt of forgotten trails of sweat that had run from his mask down his lips. He smelled manly with it, and smoky from his quirk.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget about this morning,” Katsuki said roughly before digging his teeth into your neck.

“All talk?” you asked your voice coming out as a gasp.

You were met with Katsuki placing both of his large hands on your ass, pressing your core against his hardening length. The pants on his hero costume were loose enough that he had room to grow and tent—or he would, if you weren’t grinding down on him without any pretense hiding your desperation.

Then, he let go of you. His hands were gone from your ass, mouth abandoning your neck. Without his support, you stumbled back, looking at him in confusion.

Katsuki, however, was grinning at you, lips shiny and flushed pink. “Strip for me, baby.”

After Katsuki’s inadvertent tease that morning, you hadn’t been able to help yourself and had dressed a little sexier than usual. You weren’t going to let Katsuki ignore you this time around.

You took off your clothes piece by piece, your eyes lingering on the garments and then flicking up to Katsuki, taking him in as he unzipped his pants and pulled his fat cock out. He stroked himself until you were left in nothing but a matching bra and panty set. Both were orange, matching the X over his chest and the palms of the gloves he’d just slapped to the floor.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, taking a step toward you, hand never leaving his cock, “this is just what I needed.”

You were prepared to drop to your knees, stretch your mouth around that juicy cock, already glistening with precum right at the tip. Katsuki followed your gaze and caught your chin with just one finger, forcing your eyes up to his.

“There’s no need for that, sweetness,” he said. “Apparently, you’ve been patient all day. So if you’re a good girl and do what I say, you can have this cock right away. How’s that sound?”

“Good,” you said, nodding eagerly.

“Right answer,” Katsuki said, moving his hand to run his thumb under the band of your bra. His hand was feathering over the clasp when, suddenly, he snapped the elastic, earning a yelp out of you. “Now fucking strip.”

You removed your bra in a hurry, then your panties, leaving yourself totally bare to Katsuki’s roving eyes. Meanwhile, he was still dressed in the entirety of his hero costume, save for his boots, gloves and gauntlets. The spikes behind his mask were still in place, as was his belt. The only thing unusual was his thick cock hanging out of those black pants.

“Good girl,” Katsuki whispered. “Now be a good little slut and open the curtains.”

You stared at Katsuki for a moment. The windows took up the whole wall, floor to ceiling of your main living space. You lived near the top of your building—with the curtains open, you would barely be visible to the street, unless someone had a zoom quirk. But there were neighboring skyscrapers that would offer a view right into your apartment.

However, Katsuki didn’t have patience to spare today.

“I’ll go into our room and cum on my fucking hand if you don’t open the curtains.”

His eyes were stern, but not hard. Behind his mask, there was enough openness that you knew if you said your safe word he’d pull you into him, apologize into your neck just loud enough for you to hear, and make love to you slowly in missionary on your bed with all the windows drawn.

But this wasn’t a missionary kind of day.

You cocked your chin and walked past the leather couch and dining table over to the window. The curtains were drawn so that there wouldn’t be a glare on your laptop, but now you opened them, slowly but steadily. On your high floor, the afternoon sun was on the same plane as you. It was catching those late afternoon shades of bright orange that draped you in strands of golden luxe.

“You like that?” Katsuki asked when you looked over your shoulder, looking perhaps a little too self-satisfied. “You like everyone seeing what a slut you are? How fucking gorgeous you are?”

You could only moan as Katsuki came up behind you, catching your bare breasts in both hands and rocking his cock against your ass, just like that morning, but without the separation of your clothes.

“The thing is, sweetheart,” Katsuki whispered between kisses on your already bruising neck, “if anyone’s gonna see you like this, they’re gonna haveta see that you belong to me.”

One of Katsuki’s hands drifted back to his cock and slid it between your legs, through the stickiness that was already clinging to your thighs. He kicked your legs wider to make room for himself, thrusting between your pussy lips, forcing you to lean forward against the window for leverage. His dick dragged against your clit very intentionally, pulling groans out of you as your hips naturally rocked with his.

“So wet already,” Katsuki commented. “You really have been desperate for my cock all day, haven’t you? Did you touch yourself waiting for me?”

You’d thought about it. When Katsuki had left and you’d still felt that initial heat between your legs, you’d considered pulling out your wand and cumming against its rumbly, reliable vibrations. Your fingers had been itching for it, pussy craving the speedy finish it would provide.

“No,” you whined. “I didn’t.”

“Good girl.”

Your forehead fell against the window, eyes closed in the bright sunlight as the meaty head of his cock began to split you open.

“This what you wanted?”

“Yes,” you breathed, leaning your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes as he sunk into you. He claimed to be rewarding you for your patience all day, yet was going slow enough for you to feel every inch. You squeezed around him purposefully, trying to suck him in faster. He acted like he didn’t notice.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Katsuki said when he finally bottomed out. He sat there for a moment, kissing your neck as you continued to flutter hopelessly around him. Then he pulled out and rammed back into you in one go, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

Katsuki cackled, squeezing the meat of your thighs in both hands as he pounded into you. “Do you really think I’d do this for everyone to see if I was going to do anything less than fuck your brains out?”

All that powerlessness that Katsuki had felt at work was now being turned around into sheer might—metabolized frustration being taken out on your poor pussy. He hadn’t been able to capture that villain, but now he had you in his clutches. That unutilized strength was forcing your breasts and one cheek flat against the glass as he let your body have it.

“Katsuki,” you whined. “More.”

“So desperate and needy today, aren’t we sweetness?” Katsuki said, driving his hips forward even harder. You could feel one of the grenades on his belt smacking dangerously against your ass. It was like Dynamight had found you on the street and dragged you down a back alley to fuck while on patrol. “Lucky for you, you’re asking for something I want too.”

You’d riled something up in Katsuki. In a mood like this, he might use you, cream his cock deep inside you and let you think that he was gonna leave you like that for a good few minutes before finishing you off on his tongue or his fingers, or going another round. But it seemed as though you’d just managed to maneuver yourself onto his good side today. He wanted the satisfaction of you squeezing around him, milking his cum out of him at least once.

One of Katsuki’s hands crept up your side until it reached your neck, gripping around it but not yet pressing in. His lips were on your ear, biting your lobe before whispering, “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes.”

The end of the word came out as a hiss as Katsuki’s thick fingers closed around your throat. His other hand crept to the front of your pubic bone, flattening the hair there as the tip of his pinky reached just above your clit. Intentionally not making contact under the guise of just being able to hold you closer to his driving hips.

Your face grew hot as Katsuki pressed against your windpipe, against the veins so that you felt your throttled heartbeat begin its desperate dance. As your breath grew short, everything became sharper. Katsuki’s cock hitting right against your g-spot suddenly hit less like sparks and more like a thick stroke of fire with every go.

“You like that, huh?” Katsuki taunted as he pulled your neck against his shoulder, his thumb and middle finger nearly meeting behind your neck. “You like me fucking choking you for the world to see? So everyone can see what a dirty whore you are?”

It wasn’t like you could respond with his hand that tight around your throat. You could do little more than whimper, the vibrations buzzing against the rough calluses on his palm.

“Heh, that’s what I fucking thought.”

The power trip only seemed to be stoking Katsuki’s spirit as he pounded you unabashedly in the window. You were bracing yourself with one forearm but used the other to rest on top of the hand he had just over your sex. You just wanted to urge him just a few more millimeters south. A few blessed moments of contact on your aching clit would tip you over the edge, you were sure. But Katsuki only pushed you forward, trapping your hand and his against the cold glass, condensation framing around your hot touch.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and so far from apologetic. “I thought it was this cock you were so desperate for? And here I am, already so generous with my hand on your beautiful throat. ‘S that not enough for you or something?”

It wasn’t, and he knew it. His cock hitting your sweet spot and his hand keeping you just on this side of passed out would edge you from now until eternity. It would leave you burning in your core, dripping down your thighs, and desperate to cum until your dying breath. But it would never have you squeezing around him, never falling boneless against his chest. Not if he didn’t touch you.

Just when you were giving up, just when you were able to focus on little more than your head growing light, your vision narrowing on the blades of orange light on the buildings in front of you, Katsuki’s last three fingers came together, threading through your fuzz before they swiped furiously over your clit.

You jerked forward so hard Katsuki lost his grip on your neck, allowing you to cry out full throated as your orgasm took over, crashing into you with more power than you’d felt in months. Air felt like water as you gasped, nonsense falling from your lips as your thighs shook and Katsuki wrapped his now free hand around your waist to keep you upright.

Your raucous orgasm had Katsuki was groaning too, barely leaving your cunt as the last couple thrusts urged his seed out of him, painting your walls before you were done quivering yourself. Your cheek was flat against the glass as Katsuki leaned his forehead against you, breathing heavily once his orgasm had washed over him.

“Shit, how’s a guy not supposed to bust when you do that,” he said, slipping out of you and placing a chaste kiss on your shoulder. “Clamping around me like a fucking vice and screaming like that. If the neighbors didn’t see you, they sure fucking heard you.”

You might have mindlessly apologized, if you weren’t still struggling to get your breath back under you, your own recovery taking much longer than Katsuki’s. You felt him leave your back, your eyes blinking open to see the translucent reflection of him leaving the window as the sun fell behind one of the city’s many skyscrapers.

A moment later, you felt a washcloth between your legs, swiping at the combined cum that was already dribbling down your thigh. The cloth slowly trailed up and you shivered when Katsuki softly swiped it over your too sensitive pussy. Then the washcloth was gone from his hands and he was on your shoulders, gently kneading out the tension there as you lolled your head side to side to stretch.

“God, I needed that,” Katsuki said quietly. “You alright?”

“Yeah, that was amazing,” you replied, your voice raspy but dreamy as you began your slow descent back to Earth.

“Course it was.”

You turned around, raising an unamused eyebrow at Katsuki’s smirk and then walked back over to the corner of the room to pull the blinds back in place. Now that your lust was receding, you had no interest in flashing your tits and wrecked pussy to the neighbors.

“God, I need to take a fucking shower,” Katsuki said as he started dismantling his costume, starting with his mask. He hardly seemed to notice as he took off his neck brace and then his tank that he was giving you the exact same kind of strip tease that you’d given him just a few minutes ago.

“A shower?” you asked coquettishly as you sidled over to the dining table he was placing his costume onto. “Might there be room for two in this shower?”

“No,” Katsuki answered quickly, placing his grenades one by one on his shirt so they wouldn’t roll away. He didn’t so much as glance at you.

“No?”

Katsuki looked serious as he kept his eyes focused on his task, bending down to unstrapping his knee pads. When he stood up straight again, his grin was devilish.

“I think I like it better when you’re frustrated.”

[seatosomert]

APPLYING NEW SKILLS TO OLD IMAGES.

12th March 2021.

Lockdown during the Pandemic has limited the opportunities to get out and shoot all the things we would normally.

If you’re like me and hankering to get out and shoot street photography and portraits, but still can’t due to lockdown measures, why not reflect on what you would like to improve upon with your editing skills?

It does 2 things for you...The obvious practising of your editing skills, but it also allows you to review and reflect on your lighting used and your composition.

You can look at your old images that you’ve forgotten about in your hard drive with a fresh perspective.

This not only allows you to also apply new editing skills you may not have had back in the day and to bring about a completely new look to your images, but it also allows you to think about what you’d do better next time. What you’d do to add light, or take it away. How you might have used a modifier to shape the light, or positioned your subject nearer to a light coloured wall etc etc.

I shoot that many images that often many won’t see the light of day. I pick a hand full of my fave images from a shoot and do quick edit or tweak on them, then post them to my IG account. I’ll get some printed also. Then i leave the rest with the intention of going back to them in a few weeks. A few weeks turns into months and a few months turn into years.

By going back to old images and revamping them, not only do you get to apply new skills you may have learned since you took them, but you also get to see just how far you have come in your art from a year or two before. It can be pretty satisfying.

The way i work is for my client work I’ll edit on the Mac through Lightroom CC or LR Classic.

However, for my own personal project work, I’ll use Lightroom Mobile. It’s that good as a mobile app now that I can do pretty much anything i might want to do on the mobile app, as it’s very rare i need to actually fix an image. Also, because the images are for me only, I’m not bothered about them being absolutely perfect for the pixel peeper. It takes the pressure off of me.

The images here have all been take in the last 2 years and I’ve tweaked them applying a couple of techniques i wasn’t using 2 years ago when i shot the images.

Give it a go guys and as usual, if you have any questions about anything I have discussed here, please comment and I’ll get back to you.

All the best and see you soon.

Regards,

Neil.

[aewriting]

I forget where I saw someone say that their Roswell NM OTP is every main character ​and a good therapist, ha (edited to add - it was @soberqueerinthewild, THANK YOU!) but it’s soooo true, and it got me thinking. Full disclosure - Malex is my end game. I hope they get it together. But once they do, they have so, so much trauma and hurt and issues between the two of them that to have a real, healthy relationship it would take a lot of work. And so this little fic was born.

Warning for relationship strife.

(Also edited to now include a "keep reading" option, which I had NO earthly idea how to put in last night on the tumblr mobile app, ha)

Here’s the AO3 link, if you prefer.

***

Michael stumbles out of the bedroom bleary-eyed, out of sorts.

Trepidatious.

The tension eases, slightly, when he smells the coffee, freshly ground.

He hasn’t left.

Not, not that he thinks he would, really, not that he has for years, now, but he can’t help it if that’s where his mind still goes.

Prosthetic’s not on, and he’s moving stiffly, with the crutches. Michael feels a pang of guilt, then anger. It’s Alex’s own damn fault, stubborn ass that he is. Wouldn’t sleep in the damn bed with Michael, and wouldn’t let Michael take the couch. So yeah, he’s probably feeling it this morning. Boo fucking hoo. Maybe next time he’ll just give in...

Michael should have never let him sleep on the couch.

Should have, could have locked him in the damn bedroom.

Michael knows he can hear him - Alex is always hyperaware of shit like that. He probably heard him the instant his feet hit the floor. So it’s frustrating as hell that he’s made no move to turn toward Michael yet, that there’s been no acknowledgement of his presence.

“Hey,” Michael finally says. Loud. Probably obnoxious. He’s wearing only his boxer briefs (nice ones, an Alex purchase last Christmas), and god dammit he’s gonna use that, knows it’s always been one of the best weapons he’s had against Alex and his moods. He ambles over to the kitchen, overly loose. Casual. Leans back, hands on the counter, body on display.

Alex finally eyes him, swallows hard. “Here,” he says, placing a mug of hot black coffee next to Michael’s hand.

The corner of Michael’s mouth quirks up, almost sly. “Thanks.”

“Mmm hmm,” Alex says. He’s still not looking at Michael, not really.

Michael makes a show out of blowing on the coffee, sipping it. He sniffs the air, frowns. “What am I smelling?”

“We had some bananas going bad. I made banana bread. It’s in the oven now.”

Michael’s frown deepens. “How long you been up?”

A shrug. “A while.”

And Michael can’t help it. “Guess the couch wasn’t too comfortable, then?” He sees the slight shake of Alex’s head, the eye roll. Then the guilt comes back, full force. “Look, I’m sorry. About last night. I should have texted.”

Alex is still just looking down at his own coffee cup, face tense.

Michael heaves a sigh and pushes himself off the counter. Approaches Alex from behind, finds him overly stiff when he finally touches him. “I’m sorry, okay? Real sorry.” Skims his hands down Alex’s arms, to his hips, his thighs. “Come to bed and I’ll show you just how sorry.”

And normally, that would do the trick. Alex would fix Michael with one of those dark, intense looks of his, or maybe roll his eyes, even - bite back a smile. The sex was always good like that, too - a little wild, dirty. An edge to it.

This morning, though, Alex exhales. Shrugs off Michael’s touch. “I...” he starts. Then, “No.”

Michael’s eyes widen and he stumbles back, chastened. Scared, honestly. Because in all the time they’ve lived together, he doesn’t think Alex has ever turned him down, not quite like this.

He suddenly feels overexposed, shrinks back. Alex is wearing sweatpants, a sweatshirt. Michael wishes he would have pulled something on before coming out of the bedroom.

And he’s pragmatic. Cause he’s had to be. Already thinking about next steps, the Airstream. Isobel’s got a condo now, a nice one - same developer that did Kyle’s, though Isobel’s is nicer, of course... there’s no way her Homeowners Association is gonna let her shady brother park his shitty Airstream in the damn parking lot. He’s saved up some money, though, in these past few years, living with Alex. He’ll, he’ll have more options now than he did at 28, at 17.

He looks at Alex warily, watches him sit down heavily at their little kitchen table. He hangs his head, grips his coffee cup. “Are... are we fooling ourselves?”

“What?” Michael folds his arms in front of himself, like a barrier.

Alex isn’t looking him in the eye. “I just... All those years, when things didn’t work with us, it was so easy to blame all the other shit. The big, external things.”

And shit... this, this might really be it, Michael thinks. He, he’s been waiting for this - like, it was always kind of there in the back of his mind, but it... it maybe, really being here is something different. He tracks Alex’s every expression, every movement with wide-eyed alarm.

“My dad. DADT. Just, like, the military in general. You being,” he exhales shakily, “being an alien. Us seeing other people. And everything with Caulfield, Project Shepherd.”

Alex purses his lips. “But... but it’s just us now. And, and what if that’s the common denominator? Like, what if we’re the problem?” He’s shaking his head, looking stricken. “Dad’s dead, Project Shepherd’s shuttered...”

Michael leans his head back, sighs deeply. “What do you want, Alex? Just, what is this about?” Their eyes finally meet, briefly. “This is more than me forgetting to text.”

“Yeah, yeah it is.” Alex’s brow is furrowed. “It’s... it’s all the texts, that you’ve forgotten.” Michael open his mouth to protest, but Alex barrels forward. “And it’s all the times I’ve gotten mad about them. It’s the way we fight about stupid shit, like keeping the cabin clean, or what we should do on the weekends.” He bites his lip. “It’s all the times one of us has slept on the couch. All the times I’ve thought you were out with someone else. Someone easier, less complicated. All the times you’ve thought I was leaving.”

He’s rubbing at his neck. “Like, do we really think we can do this?”

Michael’s whole body feels tight, coiled. “Do you?”

Alex’s shoulders slump. “I... I don’t know, honestly.”

“Fuck,” Michael mutters, looking away.

“And that’s not to do with you.”

“Bullshit it’s not,” Michael grits out. “Don’t give me this ‘it’s not you it’s me’ bullshit.” He shakes his head. “Not with me.”

“Fine,” Alex says. “But it’s both of us. Like, we’ve been through so much shit, Michael. So much. And the way we grew up...” Alex’s eyes narrow. “You know I don’t know a single couple I’d want to be like? Not a single one where I’m like, wow, that’s a great relationship. Maybe I can have that someday.” He gives a disbelieving little laugh. “Not one! And sure as hell not, not a queer one. Or...” There’s another nearly hysterical little laugh. “Or an interspecies one, for fuck’s sake.”

Michael licks his lips. He’s, he’s grasping for ways to talk Alex down. “Is this about the wedding? Like, second thoughts? Are you, are you not ready?” Michael swallows. “Like, if you need time, I’ll give you time.”

Alex is just staring at him, and Michael starts ticking through the boxes of what else Alex could possibly need, want right now. “Is it, is it the idea of being with, with just me?” And god, he hates what he’s about to say, but he says it. “Cause, cause fuck, Alex, I love you. God knows I, I had years to fuck around. And I know you didn’t get that like I did, with the military and your dad and shit, so if you want that -“

“What the actual fuck, Michael?”

“I, I’m just saying -“

“Have you heard anything I’ve just said?”

And now Michael’s hurt. Offended. “Of course I have.”

“And your first thought was, what, maybe he wants to open this up?” Alex is looking at him, incredulous. “Like, do you?”

“No!” Michael exclaims. “I just, I love you Alex. I, I want you however I can have you.”

“And that’s part of the problem!” Alex says, desperate. “You’re so... so damn self-sacrificing sometimes. And let me just put it out there, for the damn record, you have me. You’ve fucking had me since I was 17, and, and I think I have you, but is that enough?” Alex is hunched over the table now. “Like, I want this to be good for us. Healthy. But, but how can we even know what that looks like?” He shakes his head at Michael. “Like, healthy is not volunteering to have a god damn open relationship at the first sign of trouble. Especially when you don’t even want one, my god.” He blows out a breath. Looks down. At his leg. “And it’s also not, not being a stubborn bastard and ignoring your own health just to stick it to your boyfriend and sleep on the couch.” He curses low, under his breath. “We’re both the problem, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

“I...” Michael starts, then stops. Buffy chooses this instant to trot up to him, curl herself against his bare legs, and fuck, he can’t, can’t imagine leaving Alex, leaving her...

“I left a voicemail for Dr. Ling this morning. Told her I want to start up regular sessions again,” Alex says quietly. “And I think, well, it was her suggestion, actually, when I was seeing her before. She said that maybe we should consider couple’s therapy.”

Michael scoffs, at that. Rolls his eyes.

Alex sees, and his jaw tightens. “You know,” he starts. “ I think it’s more than a little - “ he breathes, regroups. “I think it’s telling that you’d sooner suggest that we fuck other people than actually talk to someone about this.”

And fuck if he doesn’t have a point, there.

The truth of it rattles Michael, and he finally sits down across from Alex. Sets the coffee mug on the table, a little too rough. “I don’t want to have to go in there and lie.”

Alex purses his lips. “I... I get that. I know you hate that. But, with this, I think we could still get something out of it. I mean, I have to lie. To Dr. Ling. About you.” He sees Michael’s face. “And I know that’s not the same. It’s definitely not. But, but I think it could help us, Michael. I mean, even if we never even touch the alien stuff, there’s so much else.” He pauses. “And maybe, maybe we could learn. Learn to really talk to each other. So that when we did need to talk, about anything - even the alien stuff, especially the alien stuff - we could.”

And Michael looks at him, really looks. He’s just this side of desperate. Almost pleading, but... but there’s still hope. And the hope does it. Because he wasn’t lying when he said he’d do anything for Alex, and he knows it says something really fucking strange about him that, even after all these years, he’d find it easier to, to take a goddamn hammer for him than to open up like this, in this way. But at his core, he knows he’s right.

He breathes deep and looks right at Alex. “If it’ll keep you off this couch,” he says, pointedly, “then yeah, I’ll go put in my time on a different one.”

And Alex, Alex looks so relieved. Reaches across the table and grasps Michael’s hand with his own, still warm from gripping his coffee mug. “Thank you.”

Michael leans forward, then - cradles Alex’s face with his other hand, and gives him a kiss. A real one. Not urgent. Just... genuine.

And Alex smiles, pulls away and looks down, almost shy.

“What?” Michael asks.

“I, I just...” Alex finally looks at him, quirks an eyebrow. “I told myself I wasn’t gonna do this, this morning, told myself that we were gonna talk, but, well... want to spend a little time on, on our couch, first?”

The invitation is clear, and now it’s Michael’s turn to be relieved.

“Yes.”

[killmebutneverinsultme2]

Rules for mobile (Pinned Post)

The Code

Success. I’ve sufficiently pestered the wench to make me a blog, much to the cost of a certain behorned mischief god whose presence I must share. Follow the rules below, and there’ll be smooth sailin’, savvy?

This be an exceptionally selective blog. I was me mun’s first ever muse yonks back and I’ve pestered her into writing me again, BUT, she’s horribly pressed for time. Partners will likely be very few, else ones doubling up with Loki’s. Anyone is welcome to approach and enquire, but she and I will be leaning toward those either from me own universe or crossovers with which she’s highly familiar and characters in whom she’s especially interested. Ye have been warned.

Replies are like to be slow, up to a few weeks at most.

Partners must be 18+. Various themes of an adult nature may be found here. Sexual things will be tagged ‘#filthy pirate’ with whatever level/variety of sin I deem them. More details below.

Behave. There shall be no rudeness, no passive aggression, no hate, no censorship or generally being a twit. Do I make meself clear?

The Code - Extended (below the cut)

Hi, guys. I’m Pirate (oddly known as this long before I made Jack a tumblr). Here are my more detailed rules and guidelines for writing with me on this blog, though the absolute basics are at the top as, honestly, it’s never easy to remember everyone’s requirements.

Jack is a sideblog. If you’re being followed by a benevolentgodloki that means I’m following you back. I don’t need us to be mutuals (both following each other) for us to write together, but there is a greater chance of us having a partnership if we’re letting each other know we’re interested.

How I Roll

I note myself as ‘highly selective’. This isn’t to be an elitist bugger, it’s because we all only have a limited amount of time we can put in. I want to write what I enjoy with people I enjoy. I am married with two attention-seeking cats, two jobs, a slow-brewing intended writing career and a video game addiction.

Asks/Memes - I will usually answer these no matter who they are from but I may or may not turn them into a thread I intend to keep. Some memes are very much designed to be something that continues so context can be key. If you would like to know in advance whether I intend to answer and/or keep something, please do pop me a message and I will be kind and honest.

My Threads - While Jack’s blog is still exciting and new, I’m being a bit all over the place with who and what I reply to depending on which way Jack’s.. compass.. is pointing. I do have a rolling turn order that I adhere to (to the point that I can genuinely tell you who is next at any given moment) but it’s all piled in with Loki’s threads, meaning I can take a few weeks to get round everything. Every partner gets one of their threads answered within that ‘round’ and then I go round again. However, when I’m really into something/finding something easy to pop back, I treat myself to spamming certain threads or partners at my whim. I use rpthreadtracker.com to maintain what I have. 

I will remind partners of threads that have not been replied to for more than three months. If I do not do this, I have either forgotten/lost it myself, I’m not too fussed about keeping it at that stage, or you were absent for a long period of time. 

My Style - I will write in both past or present tense depending on partner preference. My default is past but I like either. Please kick me if I screw up and write the wrong one. I prefer using regular size font but I will make mine small on replies to people who use the smaller so that it looks neat. I will often match partners’ lengths and some formatting details e.g. bolding dialogue, but I struggle with doing novella-length posts for reasons below.

I have a bugbear to admit about role-play. What we call splicing. A good half of my partners write this way so I’m not about to tell everyone to stop but if you’re someone who does this, you will occasionally run into some frustrations when writing with me. ‘Splicing’ is when you retrospectively write dialogue or actions as having previously happened during your partner’s last post. These things are fine when they’re passive i.e. your character muttered them, thought them or you were writing what your character was doing at the time because that’s pretty much essential. The trouble comes usually when my characters talk a lot/ask rhetorical questions and partners choose to answer every single one despite the fact my character carried on talking. I know it’s an ass that I have talkative muses and you really want to respond to every point/get a word in, but putting words and actions into the past effectively godmods my muse into accepting they happened. If you feel your muse would have full-on interjected midway through their ramble, please ask me to edit my post/stop it at that point. Otherwise if you do prefer to splice, my muse will only respond to whatever it is your character did or said last in their post. This is one of the reasons I can’t write novella, because often there is only so much you can write before you’re stepping into the territory of changing what went before and not allowing your partner to do anything about it.

TL;DR don’t ever worry about your post being too short for me. If it’s one sentence long but it’s because something fast-paced is happening, I won’t be miffed.

Shipping! - no not that kind of ship, Jack. I love shipping. Ships all around. Let’s face it, romance can be one of the most exciting reasons we bother writing. I am open to a lot of ships for Jack, practically all of them. Yes, even that one. I will do downright nasty, toxic, horrible stuff, savvy? It’s fiction and Jack is a great indulgence for bad things happening to him as much as good. That said, of course don’t force something on him without prior agreement between us. Well, I mean, your muse can try and accost him and see what he does, just don’t expect him to definitely reciprocate. Jack and I are bi/pansexual. We’re open to everything. I will admit a heavy lean toward m/m but, that said, Jack is extremely fond of the ladies, more so than Loki. I am very into Sparrington especially.

Not Safe For Ye Olde Work

Sliding down from the above topic, I enjoy the occasional smutting. It is not a requirement from my partners. In fact, I’m warming very much to fading to black depending on the context/mood/if things feel a bit repetitive. I do feel a touch more comfortable with partners who don’t need that boundary but as I’ve recently figured ‘if it needs a cut, then it’s smut’ I know when to skip on.

Saucy material will go under cuts/Read More’s and be tagged as mentioned above with ‘filthy pirate’. Additional tags will be based on the citrus scale: ‘lime’ for general grabbing, ‘lemon’ for full on sexual content and ‘grapefruit’ if things get extra kinky. I will tag things such as ‘rape tw’ or ‘noncon tw’ or ‘dubcon tw’ where necessary. Please blacklist any or all of these at your leisure, or search them if you fancy :U I do NOT tag these as ‘ns.fw’ because tumblr just completely hides them from being searchable which is useless for my partners.

OC’s - Due to my time constraints I am extremely picky when it comes to OC’s. This is a good fandom for well-thought-out muses and I know firsthand how hard it is to make headway as an OC in the RP world. However, I also understand that for people like me, I want to dip in on this site to mostly play with the characters and worlds I’m really absorbed in and ship my weaselly black guts out. Some people have more time than others to really give your OCs the time and love they deserve. Unless I’ve played with you a long time and I really like the cut of your and your muse’s jib, it’s very unlikely I’ll bite. Apologies! The same goes for crossover muses from fandoms I’m unfamiliar with, but I will let you know if that’s the case.

Limits

Threads - I don’t have a strict limit on how many to have per person but please bear in mind that the more of these you have with me the longer it will take me to get to a particular one (unless I’m spamming it back and forth). This is more a mun/muse context how many I accept.

Exclusives/mains - I don’t do these although I may consider having a maximum of 3 or 4 of one muse depending on activity levels and to ensure plots don’t get mixed up or attention feel unfairly balanced.

Triggers/squicks - I don’t like body horror e.g. graphic detail of squishy bits having bad things happen to them. I’m writing a pirate so there’s absolutely allowed to be elements of torture/violence, just don’t stab him in the eye or chop bits off him. One torture-related thing sends me into a complete freakout which I’ll discuss with partners if we’re doing a thread of that ilk as needed. Kink-wise I’m not into mpreg, A/B/O or infantilism or toilet things. Just ask me/Jack if you’re after something XD

Who I Am/What I Need From You

Being yourself is the most important thing and I promise I am not a scary person (usually). We’re only human and it’s natural that we’ll get along better with some rather than others. This is more to give you a gist of the sort of person I am and who I gel with best.

So I’m a shy hermit at the best of times. I’m trying to be better at engaging and enthusing with partners over our threads because I realise more than ever this does keep things alive and make for a more enjoyable experience. I’m not always great at it. I work best with people who are patient and don’t worry too much on what I think of them and their writing, with people who are happy to keep threads going for the longhaul rather than keep dropping everything before I’ve had the time to get to the next post, and most especially people who accept that fiction =/= reality. I do need a certain level of quality, which doesn’t always mean perfect grammar, but it must be coherent, fun and creative. I like a relaxed approach, sharing mutual enjoyment in silly fantasy world sandboxes as escapism from (and exploration of) this complicated world we live in.

If you managed to read all of this, have a drink (even if it’s water). You’re a diamond. 

Pirate xxx

[rissynicole]

❤ (uh, idk why the emoji is lookin weird on my end but uhh) Song that saved your life or had a great impact on you 🤙🏼

Okay, after a little deliberation, I decided to answer this one honestly, which means I’m going to get kinda personal.

A song that had a huge impact on me was Just Add Water by Cavetown. Check it out if you haven’t already. It’s really sweet.

https://open.spotify.com/track/7nqVHRpNCw5pvl6AJpE9Z1?si=4-Cca5UXR-Cf7ogavQDV6g

Here’s why it had a pretty big impact on me. This will go under the cut, since it deals with some heavier topics. I also don’t know just how openly I want to talk about this.

(Okay, umm, so Tumblr’s not letting me put it under the cut on mobile, and it won’t let me edit the draft on my computer sooooo... I guess it’s all going here. I’ll try to fix it later. I’m sure you don’t want this giant ramble on your dash, I’m on not thrilled about this big personal story spamming everyone.)

After my father died last year, I constantly seesawed between feeling angry and feeling depressed. I didn’t want to be around a lot of my friends, I didn’t want to keep up a social media presence, and I was just very bitter at everything.

I discovered this song by accident one day, back when I was clearing out and repainting the room my mother and father had shared for over 15 years. My mom had been afraid to sleep in the room, and avoided it for nearly 6 months after he died. She made it clear that she wanted a total change when she moved back into it. I love my mom more than anything, and I knew how hard going through my dad’s stuff was for her. Since I couldn’t really help her with that part—the hard part—I decided to help her in other ways. Despite her assuring me that I didn’t have to, I took on the task of redecorating the room and making it as comfortable for her as possible after she took inventory and cleared out my dad’s things.

So, that’s my setting. In my parents’ gutted room, repainting and listening to music. I heard the song for the first time, liked the melody, and kept repeating it. By the third or fourth time, I started listening to the lyrics.

Though I doubt the artist intended for “Just Add Water,” to be interpreted this way, I realized the words really resonated with me and my situation. I found comfort in it.

“Leave without me because I don't wanna go

Just add water, let me grow”

I constantly wrestled with how I was feeling. I didn’t want my friends to abandon me or treat me like a outcast, but I also often declined invitations to go out. I often told them how thankful I was, but I just needed some time alone.

The metaphor “just add water, let me grow,” resonated with me, because it explained that I was undergoing my own personal growth, and there wasn’t much anyone else could do for me. The subtle actions of people around me letting me know they hadn’t forgotten or given up on me helped a lot, though. It felt like they were offering me the means to grow, like watering a plant, simply by reminding me that they were there.

Because a lot of other people had given up on me. They clammed up at any mention of my father. One friendship ended, because the friend couldn’t handle being around me following my traumatic event. It just made me feel like I was suffering all these little losses on top of my big one. Talk about adding insult to injury.

I needed this weird, oddly specific balancing act of people giving me space, but not flat-out ignoring me. I felt like this song explained that really well, and it kind of validated my feelings. Before, I just felt high maintenance and undeserving of friends.

“Please, don't worry, I'll be fine on my own

I'll turn the lights off when I go

Pay my bills and fold my clothes

Take care of my family and my home”

That line and it’s delivery really got to me the most. To me, it was saying “I’m in a rough patch, but I’ll be alright. Right now, I just really need to step up, help my family, and mature.”

I needed that optimism. I come from a very tight knit family. I wanted to be there for them. I never thought I’d lose my dad in my early 20s. I imagined that when I lost a parent, I would be far older and wiser. I wanted to be able to be strong for the remaining parent. It didn’t end up that way at all.

That didn’t stop me from wanting to help my mother in any way I could. Painting her room, building Ikea furniture, and hanging new paintings she’d bought was my first step in doing that.

And while I was redesigned her room, listening to that song made me feel validated and strong for the first time in a very, very long time.

Cheesy ending to that story, I guess. But at least it had an optimistic ending.