#IDK IF IT EXISTS IM WRITING IT!

[anishenanigans]

aand done!! This took forever, but it's the first time I've successfully finished one of these templates and it was a lot of fun :]

[xxplastic-cubexx]

cant stop thinkin bout charles and erik readin together on the couch but instead of reading with him charles is listening to eriks thoughts while he reads. Live mind commentary ……..

[luminique]

hii hii lumii !! I ADORE your interpretation of lighter so far— I love him smm

anyways, I hope my req is okay but I was wondering if you could do a comfort fic ? maybe reader has been a lil distant lately and just in some feels and he gives them a lil talk after being blown off here and there to find out they were having issues w their mental health and not feeling good enough and maybe he’s caught off guard because reader is usually so out going and always has a smile on their face and to see them feel so small makes him wanna take care of them so much and gives them so much reassurance and gentle kisses and cuddles 👉👈

I hope it’s okay !! I’ve been in the feels lately

hi anonn !! im gonna answer this one first because i've been in the feels too and i think we all deserve some reassurance, especially after all of the sad lighter story.

i don't take lighter for the kind to be too intrusive. that's not to say that he doesn't notice the way you're staring off into the distance, as if always having something on your mind. or the way you left earlier than usual for the SoC's nightly hangouts around the fire. or the way you had just been distancing yourself from him.

maybe you just needed a day, or two, and so he waited. he waited, and waited, but it just seemed like it was getting worse. he was beginning to get anxious, coming up with possibilities and worse case scenarios. even his favorite grape-flavored lollipop couldn't reduce the anxiety that was building up inside of him as he followed after you one night.

he shook off his nerves, spending quite a bit of time at the front door of your lodging while in blazewood. mentally practicing what to say so that he wouldn't make things even worse than they already were. one step, two deep breaths, three knocks on your door. he cleared his voice, usually confident and smooth but now carried a hint of worry in it.

"hey, uh... everything alright?"

you could hear the ruffling of his jacket, the soft metal clinks of his gloves. he didn't dare open the door until you allowed him to, so he waited, just like he always had. "lighter? yeah, everything's fine," was that a slight crack in your voice? no, no, he had to have imagined that. he knew it was wrong but he had waited long enough. he turned the knob, opening the door just a little bit but still not walking in.

"you don't have to tell me everything. just... know that i'll be here, waiting for you." he wasn't the best at comforting, nor was he good at even navigating these sorts of things but at the very least, he wanted you to have the knowledge that you had him. it didn't take long for you to finally get up, opening the door that separated the both of you. you looked so... different. the light absent from your eyes, the edges of your lips normally turned upwards but now they weren't. if he couldn't say what you wanted to hear, maybe you'd understand through his actions.

his arms wrapped around you. squeezing you just a little tighter than usual as he somehow made the both of you waddle backwards into your room. he had kept his gloves in his pants, not wanting to hurt you even more with them. his embrace was a familiar warmth, like the fire during particularly cold nights in the outer ring. you could hear his heart racing, was it from nervousness? anxiety? fear? even he didn't know.

he took this as an opportunity to place soft kisses on the top of your head but then stopped all of a sudden. he turned around to the door and realized that it was still wide open. he kicked it close with his foot, feeling embarrassed at the fact that he had to stop because of something so minor. he wanted you to feel safe, to have privacy, to be able to breathe without others barging in. technically, he had invaded this space of yours but you were slowly melting into him, as if you had been waiting for this too.

every passing second hugging you, kissing you, it made his own worries disappear. he hoped the same for you as you slowly spoke to him about your own problems. as he listened, he'd pause every once in while to give you a deadpan stare. not because he was making fun of you or anything, but it genuinely baffled him how you could say such things about yourself. you felt so insecure about yourself and your image, about being with him, being with the SoC. he had to physically stop himself from just blurting "i love you" every time you said something so degrading.

instead, he chose to wait and listen. his calloused hands gently caressing yours, his lips pressing kisses on the side of your head as you nuzzled into him. he loves you for who you are, the person in front of him, not the image that you had made yourself out to be in your mind. but he waits for you to let it all out before he says anything else. he will wait, he will listen, he will always be there for you.

[itsrainingbubbles]

Ships are definitely a thing in the one piece world and I imagine people forming like fan clubs where they talk about their ships and exchange fanart and fanfics

This is specifically about the strawhats but I'm sure others would also exist

The fans collectively pay to have a column in the newspaper promoting their club

I imagine some marines jobs are going to club meetups since they're always discussing the strawhats so it's a good way for the marines to know what the public knows about them and since they're always speculating about them it also helps them when looking into the members and what their next move will be because they have thousands of people discussing it. It's why the club is allowed to remain, and why they overlook missed payments to keep the ad in the news

But because of this they also have marines arguing about ships

"you're going for zosan?? They're always fighting you idiot! Zolu is ten times more likely"

"enemies to lovers trope you buffoon! It's so romantic, you should check out xxx take on it, I wasn't sold until I read it"

"guys, obviously sanlu beats both of them. The insatiable strawhat captain and the cook?? Match made in heaven"

"you guys are idiots. All of you. Obviously east blue polycule is the only answer."

"just to be clear we all agree on frobin?"

"I myself am more of a robin x Zoro gal (idk their ship name)"

And their superiors can't even do anything about it because at least they're enthusiastic about their job? They get the information they need and aren't technically doing anything wrong

Also the barto club 100% attend the meetings in disguise so they can talk about the strawhats in peace and people don't run away from them, so they become friends with some under cover Marines and they don't even realize it

The barto club also pays a huge portion for the club to keep its advertisement because anything discussing the strawhats needs to be put out there

They also produce a good portion of the works there for literally every ship, they do not have a favorite they will write/draw it all

They probably also recruit a few members at the club

[fallen-goldfishcracker]

Still on my Ulder & Wyll bullshit but like

I keep thinking of Ulder Ravenguard, sending away his only son at seventeen, and years later hearing of a hero with a fine rapier and mismatched, kind eyes and manners from a storybook, and thinking, demanding surely not. that cannot be my son. my son is a devil's servant. it cannot be. i have no son.

and then after seven long years meeting Wyll again, at Wrym's Rock through a mindflayer's thrall, and feeling something like relief, not at seeing him but at this cold surety that this boy, this man, this hero of the frontiers could not be his son, because his son was not this tall and old and sure-footed, and did not have curling horns and a devil red eye, and the rumors must be wrong, and this Blade must be a stranger.

And then Wyll looks at him, with such kind eyes- his mother's eyes still, even devil-tainted- and calls him "father", and he knows, he knows, and his son is here, so much older and wearier and stronger, too, and he's a hero and a man and by gods he's a monster and by gods he's his son.

[fuckinart]

local idiot dies in fursuit, more at 11

[lemongogo]

viktor prev 🤖

[chemical-processes]

makes me kind of sad whenever MB rebukes itself for spending time watching media instead of writing code/making contingencies/assessing threats. Because like, for any human that would just be downtime. No one expects a person to be at work 24/7 constantly doing things. But anything MB sees as a preventable outcome it takes as a personal transgression that indicates a system failure (or itself just doing a 'half-assed' job). Like in some instances, its like yeah why are you watching Sanctuary Moon on a hostile ship buddy we don't have time for that, but also it's a contracted worker? Just because it's not human doesn't mean it doesn't deserve to take breaks, and have time off being a security consult, and have leisure time.

[megapteraurelia]

guys i actually would love to do tag games and stuff w followers and mutuals and all

[moonstruckdraws]

I just read

The Will to Die The Need to Survive by @katerinaaqu

Trigger warning there are themes of SA and suicide in it

So be mindful please since this post will be talking about said themes, moreso the latter

It’s about Odysseus when he’s on Calypso’s island and I found it to be incredibly well written (despite not reading the Odyssey but I have free time now :D)

I've never done an analysis post, but I've definitely made posts of describing details and symbols in my art or friend's art before. Plus I write essays a lot- so this will be fun for me to try

(Also this is a really really long post)

I would have reblogged the post, but I am quite the anxious bean—I get nervous enough when I ramble about the gods or at all—and the themes aren’t stuff I’ve ever even put into my posts, so I hope you’ll forgive that.

(Comments I made already:) I’ve read a few books like Frankenstein and basically had to compare them so I could write a full essay but I won’t- (i am now lol) but the reason I bring up Frankenstein is because of the breakdowns you wrote. Victor and his creation both have this emotional spirals of depression and pain and agony where they cry out for it to end and I see it in Odysseus here. I also love the disconnect of his will to live versus his body’s instincts. His self preservation is so high in his body’s despite him craving that darkness which I can relate to. Him also initiating Calypso is so well done to me too! That he’d rather engage in pain than ponder what is plausible; that his worst fears are happening or would happen by the time he got home if he ever did. His will is cracking and he can’t go on with this trauma but he can’t take that step; he simply is physically unable. The fact that he feels the need to be ended by someone else’s hand is so profound. He literally cannot end himself and needs someone else’s to do it, there is nothing more helpless in situations like these. I have never ventured that dark but I imagine this is accurate to people who’ve made multiple attempts on their life and just couldn’t go through with it because their bodies couldn’t stand it. Honestly, it makes me only wonder if he’d go through with being killed by the gods if they heard his cries. Would be sit in comply or struggle even if it’s the same result? Would he plea for his life in that moment? Would he take his word back? Would he run? He’s clearly not weak but he is damaged greatly, so much so that he’s mechanical. And if he did think of those thoughts he refused to hear, where would he be? Would he truly go insane? Would he finally break that bridge and try to embrace Calypso? How much more would it all take? How much is too much too long? Or in reference to Victor Frankenstein, when have you gone too far? Like I said, I could go on and on about comparing the novel to your writing here, but I don’t think I should flood your comment section like that… but if I make a post… maybe

And that’s what this post is gonna be:

———

"I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and hardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others, I nearly sank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness. Mingled with this horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete! - Frankenstein Chapter 5: pg. 57

This is a paragraph from Frankenstein made by Victor Frankenstein the night his creation came to life. He had ran out of the house in horror and basically slept in the dirt of the courtyard to hide from it. This is the emotional expression that I found in katerinaaqu's writing of Odysseus. It's that dread and use of metaphors that make a seemingly simple paragraph feel so packed with emotion.

He had forgotten how it felt being happy. It was as if gladness and happiness were drained from his world; covered with a thick, black curtain of suffering. That was what Odysseus was thinking as he was slowly stirring awake. He had somehow fallen half-asleep, leaning against the rock at the beach. It was his small hideout, where he would sit and cry, looking towards the sea. He was once more exhausted by the tears that never seemed to drain from his eyes. [...] His previous will seemed totally lost under the burn marks to the edge of his eyelids caused from his own tears. His onyx eyes that used to burn with the fire of survival; like a wild beast in a cage that would growl and move about its prison, constantly trying to find an opening; a change to its situation, now those eyes of his were dead like scratched and faded glass - The Will to Die The Need to Survive

I found these parts of the first two paragraphs as the best comparison to the prior passage I put from Frankenstein. It's that instant sense of helplessness that hits deep in the depths of their emotions. You'll see me compare Odysseus to Victor and his creation a lot, but Victor and Odysseus are both burden with regret in these moments, though for different reasons. The two of them hold different views of accountability here. Odysseus poisons himself in self-loathing and pain of the death of all of his crew; the loss so big he cries endlessly. Victor, as we know he's an unreliable narrator, puts no blame on himself. He finds his choice to reanimate life as foolish and sinful, but does not take responsibility for his own creation and puts all the blame on the creature while claiming innocence.

It's interesting that Victor's refusal of taking accountability (or even trying to do something as he just lets his creation be someone else's problem) only causes his mental health to worsen as he's plagued with fear of what he unleashed upon the world. Whereas Odysseus's fall was a break of his will, his valiant efforts to avoid Calypso's advancements only to start bending to them. One tries, the other doesn't, and that is so fascinating to me that they both crash regardless.

Going forward, please be aware that I do not know Odysseus. I just know of the overall journey back home but I came from Epic the Musical fandom and am aware of the inaccuracies within it since I looked up what happens in the Odyssey out of my own curiosity (like Circe, the sirens, Calypso as a whole). And aside from reading a handful of posts from katerinaaqu and a few google searched articles from back in November, I know absolutely nothing of his character. All of this analysis is basic on the works being compared and written about here. So I can't accurately speak on how I think Odysseus thinks or operates, or how he might view someone like Victor if I were to ponder it here like I could do if the sides were switched.

Victor, in my opinion and experience of reading, is irresponsible. He'd rather not deal with problems with high stakes, especially those he causes. He doesn't tell anyone what he's done or warns them, and in the end everyone he knows dies. Only when he loses everything does he dedicate the rest of his life trying to take down his creation, but all those years prior, he did nothing. If put into Odysseus's shoes of being on Calypso's island, I believe he would give up. He would give up on getting home after a few months to a few years because it's the easiest thing to do. He pushes away his problems and paints over blood with gold to cover it up; he'd block out the thoughts of his family and embrace Calypso. Though I feel like he'd do the same thing Odysseus did here in shutting Calypso up when speaking of his family. How Odysseus would fair in Victor's situation I don't know, but be interested in concepts of it.

He isn't incapable of going against those who threatens him, seeing as he destroys what would have been his creation's wife before him. However, he is mentally unhealthy. He is going crazy, and in this part of Frankenstein, he believes it will all be better—that it will all be happier—when he marries Elizabeth. And then she is killed the night of their wedding, which is what makes him feel like he has nothing left to lose. Which leads to his dedication to hunting his creature down until his dying breath. If Victor was faced by a goddess, which he can never kill (plus the fact he is not experienced in combat even comparable to Odysseus), he is just stuck. He pushes his problems away instead is how he deals with things. To be embraced with eternal love is something he'd take. He would become immortal if offered. He does have a bit of a god-complex with him pursuing to reanimate life for his own desire. He ignored his family for two years, just working on this project of his, because of the glory and pleasure of recognition and greatness he could achieve. So to me, he would give into Calypso in a few months (over a year is a bit generous to me). At most, the mental weight of being away from his loved ones would break him down, but not to the level of wanting to take his life like Odysseus.

"Please... Stop withering away like that... I understand that you miss your home, who wouldn't, but at this point you know that it will only hurt you more." - Calypso - The Will to Die The Need to Survive

This part of the writing would be enough for Victor to at least consider that Calypso is right, leading him to let go and forget. He could wither away from his mental health, but if Calypso is patient enough, she could bring him back like Henry did in Frankenstein. In my mind, he'd be able to do the one thing Odysseus can't, let it all go. Or push it so far out of mind that it only attacks him at his weakest, only to be swept back up in Calypso's arms.

The two of them also have strong self-preservation. Odysseus curses his body's desire to survive despite his will's wish for death. He cannot seem to escape as everything, in some sense, is a betrayal. His self-prompted promise of making it home as an honor to his men goes against his current will to die. His weakening struggle against Calypso goes against his desire to see his home and family—to return to an embrace he loves and not one he's conditioned into. His inability to end it all goes against himself, in this being—in his mind—his only way out, and calls himself a coward for not taking that step. Insane for reaching out when he slips and crazy for his body to say thank gods that Calypso was there.

He looked behind. He had nearly fallen off! And his body had doubled over in fear! His knees were still shaking; cold sweat adorned his forehead. Cursed instinct! Cursed need to live! How pitiful living beings were! He hadn't been so close to death for years before and this was such a sudden experience! [...] His soul and heart were screaming; why did you save me! Why didn't you let me fall! And yet his body was saying; thank all gods she caught me! Thank gods I didn't fall.. The emotions were too much for him to bear... - The Will to Die The Need to Survive

I find this portion of the katerinaaqu's writing to be absolutely brilliant. A perfect display of how his mind and body are thinking two different things. He is being betrayed by so many of his decisions, yet his biggest one in this moment is his body. His "cursed need to live" is like the bane of his existence in this time of his life. He is so worn out, he can't go on, he is being pulled in multiple directions—it is all so twisted and exhausting and confusing for him. And while I he shares a his self-preservation with Victor, I feel like he aligns more with Frankenstein's creature in struggles. But the lines, "Cursed need to live! How pitiful living beings were!" is similar to this passage in Frankenstein to me:

Alas! Why does man boast of sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders them more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by every wind that blows and a chance word or scene that that word may convey to us. - Frankenstein Chapter 10: pg. 93

I can't articulate what speaks out to me about how these connect, but it's there.

"Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it." - Frankenstein's creature - Frankenstein Chapter 10: pg. 95

This is when the creature first shows up to Victor in the mountains. It's ironic that the one born of suffering is the one who valued staying alive the most (in this moment) than the other two that start wishing for death due to their suffering.

Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my feelings were those of rage and revenge. - Frankenstein's creature - Frankenstein Chapter 16: pg.

This occurs right after the cottagers drive the creature out of their home upon discovering him. Its early life is so somber in how he never got to experience it. The creature thinks of ending his life twice: in this moment, and then after Victor's death. This sorrow in this moment is most similar to Odysseus to me.

Both of them are still alive despite what their wills are saying, and while the creature doesn't curse himself for staying alive, he does curse his existence. His own life is unlivable like how Odysseus thinks his life is also unlivable. Both of them can only take on so much pain before cracking under.

Alright, enough with the comparing and contrasting, onto the more fun part for me.

I love the way Odysseus acts with Calypso in this. The mechanical movements to the use of tactics to get her to steer away from certain subjects. Honestly, I can imagine that Odysseus would've or used to do this a lot, in the sense that he'd use Calypso's love for him to predict what she'd do and say to try and avoid it. Maybe it worked for a short time, then it worked but she'd steer back to her original intentions, and the maybe it only ever worked on some days. Maybe it was due to his will breaking, or maybe the repetition broke down his will first.

His mood was getting harder and harder to comprehend, she realized. The past weeks he would come back more and more exhausted. Despite the fact she tried to relieve him off many things, he seemed to be withering away. He didn't seem sick or ill. Just sad. - The Will to Die The Need to Survive

I can't help but wonder what Calypso would do if she fully broke Odysseus. I say "fully broke"—despite him wishing for death and for once giving into her desires (though it was to make her shut up)—as in making him let go of everything. The only way for him to fully embrace Calypso is for Odysseus to let go of his family, his friends' and their deaths, the promises he placed upon himself, and all the love he's ever held for anyone.

And it just isn't something Odysseus can do. Not without being someone else, or be a fully emotionless being that just goes through the motions. It's similar to how he is here, but a fully broken Odysseus probably wouldn't care if he initiated Calypso like he does in this writing.

"Anything...! I'll do anything as long as you shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Stop badmouthing my home...my wife and son... Please no more...! Stop it! Or rather, be silent altogether! I don't want to hear your voice anymore! No! Not anymore...!" - The Will to Die The Need to Survive

The fact that Odysseus would do anything to not hear Calypso talk about his home is so real to me. He isn't doing it exclusively because she's badmouthing everything he has left to care about, but because he is avoiding thinking these thoughts themselves. That the words she says are entirely in the realms of possibility, and are only becoming more possible as the years go by. His family is growing up and old without him. His family is moving on without him. Things are moving forward, going great, doing amazing—all without him. The thought that if he ever made it home only to find that he has no place in his home or his family's hearts could kill him. Because if all of that was true, what would he do? He'd have to ask that question, that possibility.

Would he stay in Ithaca? Would he move far away? Would he find love again? Could he ever be capable of marrying another woman without feeling sick that it wasn't Penelope? Would he ever possibly have children and not think that he wasted missing the life of his first son? Would he cry if it was another son he'd have? If he had a daughter, would he cry that she doesn't look like Penelope?

Would he regret leaving Calypso's island?

All of thoughts are too big to think about without a part of him dying, especially the last. The thought that after all this time, he'd ever have thoughts of regret in regards to not being with Calypso would pierce him like a spear. That all this fighting and resisting to stay true to his love was pointless as everyone else has moved on would be claiming insanity to him. That admitting Calypso is right. That he should have stopped thinking about his family and home, that it only caused more pain. He would not be able to bare it, to entertain it.

And so he did what he thought would shut her up, even if he regretted it after.

"Why gods! Why...! Why...! Just...release me already! I paid all years of Troy with years of my life! No more...please...!" [...] "Gods! Men of my age die...! Why! Why! Just let me die...let me be done with this! I don't care anymore how...just finish it already!" As usual his silent prayer fell in silent ears. Never before his arduous trip had he felt more abandoned, more alone, than what he was feeling now... - The Will to Die The Need to Survive

THIS right here is my favorite part of katerinaaqu's writing. I adore this so much as it give me the most questions about Odysseus and thoughts about him. The fact he calls for the GODS to end his life—I can't explain it why it grapples me so much!

"GODS!" he yelled to the heavens, "PLEASE! JUST TAKE MY LIFE ALREADY!" His voice was being once more carried away by the winds. "ATHENA! HERMES! ZEUS! Someone! SOMEONE! Please" He collapsed on his knees sobbing. "Someone...I beg of you end me already! Take my life! Please...!" - The Will to Die The Need to Survive

He can't bring himself to take that final step, because his body won't allow it. He can't end his own life, so he calls out to the gods multiple times. He has tried pleading with the literal gods.. to kill him.. because he can't do it himself. It makes me wonder what else has he tried if he has? To me, it all seems futile, as he never is able to commit to it. Has he tried not eating or drinking? Seeing as it's impossible to do it now with Calypso hanging over his shoulder, and that she'd keep him alive if he tried that. Plus I doubt he'd be able to go through starvation, the pain being too great. He'd want a swift end, and even then he can't commit to it. If a boulder were to fall on top of him just by circumstances, he'd move out of the way, even if his feet were chained to the ground. His body's will to live is just that strong and he despises it. So much so he feels as though only divinity can let him rest now.

He even almost asks Calypso to end his life and has made thoughts of making her angry enough to enact punishment upon him that would kill him. And if he did manage to ask that of her—she'd never do it of course—it'd make his life so much worse as she'd likely never leave his side. How much more can he suffer? How much longer? How much is too much too long? I can only wonder what would happen if he went on so much longer. And faced by the gods to answer his pleas, would he even go through with it?

"I can't..."he mumbled, "I can't anymore...how...how can a person take so much?" - The Will to Die The Need to Survive

He'd run, he'd struggle, he'd survive. Despite himself, he'd survive. It's his body against his mind, and every time when it comes it his life, his body will always win.

"Woe is me..." he mumbled in realization, "My soul that wishes release is trapped in a body that needs to survive!" - The Will to Die The Need to Survive

---

I just adore katerinaaqu's writing here, and with free time on my hands now, I'll have to find a place to read other works! This is Part 4 of her story "Survivor's Guilt and Survivor's Duty" all relating to Odysseus if interested. And these are:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

of the story mentioned prior. I'll be excited to read the other two when I get the chance. (The third part was just the one to be on my feed so-). I'd recommend reading them if interested or reading other posts by katerinaaqu as she makes posts about mythology (and can translate the text herself which is really cool :0)

[waterfallofspace]

Not sure if you have any interest in this ship, but I was wondering if I could request a DabiHawks drabble with a sneezy Hawks? I tend to prefer colds, but honestly I’d be happy with whatever scenario you chose.

Feel free to say no or ignore this if it isn’t your vibe, though!! Either way, I’ll continue to devour whatever you write with reckless abandon hahaha ❤️

Hello!~ Thank you so much for the request!~ I don't ship these guys in canon, but for a snzfic?? oh yeah, they're an amazing dynamic to play around with~ I had a lot of fun with this, even though it's rather short, and hey- might actually get me to reopen that d/abihawks document that I've not touched in months, hahaha~ <3

(in a twist that was in no way planned but kinda just happened-) Here is kink!D/abi, with a sick H/awks!~ 870ish words, contains swearing and references to contagion and nsfw concepts~ (nothing too bad on either point, but be aware incase it's not your thing!~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Birdie, if you sneeze one more time I���m going to spray disinfectant directly into your mouth.” 

Hawks can’t help but roll his eyes, taking a second to collect himself before he turns towards the voice, Dabi’s judgemental gaze meeting his own. 

“While I’d certainly love to see you attempt that,” Hawks pauses, a far off look starting to form as he powers through the rest of the sentence, “I wouhh- wouldn’t wish this cold on my worst ehhnemy. And you, Dabs, are certainly not that.” 

There’s a hint of a smile across the charred skin, but it’s quickly chased off as Hawks raises a fist to his nose, ducking to the side and bracing it with his other hand for a desperate, “hhh’nTGht-! ek’GDtshh-!”  

Dabi scowls at him, taking a clear step back, and making a face Hawks can’t quite place. “Why are you even here then?” “Awwh,” Hawks coos fakely, knuckling his nose with a sniffle (and internally wincing slightly at the congested nature of his voice), “I was hoping for a bit of a nicer greeting, hot stuff. Didn’t you miss me?” 

“Didn’t miss your fucking germs.” 

“So you did miss me then?” Hawks taunts, tilting his head and shooting Dabi a smirk. It’s half-hearted at best, given current conditions, but it does the trick. That telltale glint alights in Dabi’s eyes, a hint of smoke wafting from his fingertips. 

“Don’t recall saying that.” 

“And you’re so afraid of catching this, that you won’t even get a liiiittle closer? Didn’t realize thhh- hHH’ETCHH–! eh’NGT-chh! Oh, bless me. What was I saying?” 

“Something you’d regret,” Dabi retorts, smoke continuing to fall from his fingers. There’s a hunger in his eyes that gives Hawks chills, and he can’t resist the urge to take a step forward, eyes locked on Dabi’s. 

“Right, I remember now, it was something about how I didn’t realize you, Dabi, one of the most powerful villains in the league, were scared off by something as common as a cold.”   

It’s a point-blank challenge, though Hawks can’t even tell why he’s making it. He wasn’t lying, he really doesn’t actually want to give Dabi this wretched cold. But still… something about that look in Dabi’s eyes and his posture, leaning against the wall– it’s damn near flirtatious. 

A single step forward is all it takes before Dabi moves, faster than Hawks can keep track of. First he feels a warm hand grab his wrists, then one against his wing, and before he knows it he’s pinned to the wall. Dabi’s mouth is against his neck, teeth meeting his skin. 

Hawks lets out a low gasp, letting his hands fall idle in their place above his head. The soft burn of Dabi’s heat against his slightly feverish skin is heavenly, and sets each of his nerves alight. 

“Dabs-” Hawks manages to slip out, voice raw with a mixture of this cold and something more personal to them. Dabi recognizes the tone instantly, and leans back, surveying his prisoner. 

True, Hawks could break free without much trouble, even sick, but well. That was hardly the point, now was it. 

Dabi leans forward, letting his charred lips meet Hawks’ mouth. He tastes familiar, and Hawks lets himself melt into the taste, just for a minute. Smoke, something vaguely minty, and a hint of the chapstick Dabi adamantly denies using. 

“W-wait–” Hawks mutters through the kiss, pulling his head as far back as he can manage. Dabi follows him at first, teeth clenching his lip (grinning at the near-moan it gets in reply) but quickly backs off as he gets the message just in time. 

“hH-gNDxt! F-fuck I… hhhh– hk’ntCshh!- D-Dabs you gotta release my haahh… h-hands… hh’kNXgt–chh!” 

Dabi concedes, taking a step back and letting Hawks deal with the mounting situation. Smoke could get to him sometimes if he was already irritated, and it seems this cold was the perfect flame of irritation. 

“hH’ETCShh! ETCHH’uh! Oh fuck- hH’nGXt-chh!” 

Taking pity, Dabi holds out a tissue. It’s crumpled, and torn, but clean. Hawks takes it with a thankful gasp, pitching forward with a harsh double “hHZShh-EZSHh!” into the soft folds, before finally blowing his nose and putting a stop to the attack. 

“That,” Dabi says, a glimmer of greed in his eyes, accentuated by mischief, “Was disgusting.” 

There’s a tone that Hawks can’t quite place, until he glances down. 

“Oh?” It’s congested to all hell, but the teasing nature of it remains squarely in tact. 

“Not a word, bird brain,” Dabi retorts, leaning forward for another kiss. 

Hawks pulls away just before their lips meet, giving Dabi a mischievous grin. “Is that why you were so worried about catching this? Gonna make for some embarrassing moments with the league.” 

“I stand by what I said. You better not fucking get me sick.” 

“hH’eNGxt! Hey, you’re the one kissing me, hot stu-” 

“Oh shut up.” 

Hawks does as he’s told, wrapping his hands around Dabi’s waist and pulling him in close for another greedy kiss. Of the facts about this hothead that he’s learned? This is hardly the most interesting. And hey, maybe this cold can be useful for something after all.

[petrichal]

Look, I really love KobyLu, but specifically KobyLu where Koby is a marine and Luffy is a pirate and nothing else, because I LOVE seeing how people handle Koby's inner conflict while also maintaining his dream in canon.

Lead this up with Luffy being himself; he's not fazed by what other people think of their relationship, doesn't give two shits about it, but he's emotionally intelligent-- he goes along with Koby's insistence that they talk away from prying eyes (and isn't it such a pirate thing to do, to duck and hide and whisper under the canopy of leaves, to steal away treasure under the dead of night? Luffy's selfish and possessive of those he loves, so he's gleeful that there's a world where he can see a side of Koby no one else can), and *absolutely no one* would think to ask Luffy about love or dating so it's all the more easier for him to not slip his secret, this back-and-forth meeting with a marine upstart, the first person he had met from when his journey had just begun.

And as time goes on, they both get stronger, monsters in their own right and maybe more distant. But Koby's a sap so every time he sees Luffy on the newspaper after a dangerous stunt, he thinks he's so reckless but he thinks it with such endless admiration and pride that he thinks his heart might just burst. (On the same stretch of ocean, Luffy sees news of Koby too, rising up in ranks after each new exploit and his excitement grows because Koby's gonna be an Admiral and one day, he's gonna have to chase Luffy too. and if he's going to replace one of those shitty Admirals in office, well, then that's a bonus as well.)

If anyone asks them why they keep looking at the newspapers, always staying at the same page and on the same picture, Koby would deflect. He's selfish in that way too; the longer he stayed with the Marines, the more he knew he had to act against the corruption within, and he wasn't about to ruin his career by claiming he's been seeing the future Pirate King in secret. There was also that promise he made to Luffy, something about "catching him eventually" that Koby should've probably thought about harder in hindsight but remembering Luffy's sunny grin made his admission all the more worth it.

(and Helmeppo would sigh, because he's been with this idiot for 2 years and while he can't see what the hell Koby's been seeing in Luffy, if he sees even a trace of that ratty straw hat on the front page of the news, he's gonna pass it to Koby.)

Luffy, though. Luffy is loud. To people close to him- his crew, his trusted allies- he'd yap their ears off about this shy marine guy with incredible tenacity and potential for power and everyone goes woah so you know him? he's a friend? he's your WHAT and he laughs because no one really asked him before and wow, this really is everyone's first time hearing about this, huh?

(and Law knows Koby- Koby the Hero, who was around during the Rocky port incident- and he turned towards the Strawhats with a questioning, alarmed stare only to be met by the same look. Secret brothers, and now a lover?, they'd mutter under their breaths. Zoro though, he looked like he was simply being told what the day was and raised an eyebrow as if it was no big deal. As if he knew already. what the fuck?)

So when Marine Captain Koby comes to visit (under the pretext of wanting to arrest Luffy), waving his hands like he was greeting a friend rather than an enemy, wide smile on his face to match Luffy's, the crew leans back and sighs, and let him chase their captain all around whatever island they'd be docked at at the time.

And, well, if they happen to settle by the shore after that, entangled limbs and hushed talks of dreams, the world, of what lies after holding hands and chaste kisses- that's Koby and Luffy's business entirely.

[v-arbellanaris]

tbd later

i think tht pisses me off the most abt the dalish in terms of how theyre written is the conflation between like. land back movements when it comes to the dalish vs zi onism and how basically this is addressed in truly horrific ways no matter which route you decide to go down

others have done loads of posts on the dalish being allegorical for indigenous peoples, so i wont reiterate that too much. but the problem is that with the addition of datv this is... simply not true. the elves are not the first peoples of thedas -- the dwarves are. the elves, mirroring z ionism, literally show up in the waking world, and violently colonise the space and hoard the resources. im still 98% sure that solas' orb in dai was a titan heart, and the elves were literally mining for lyrium. there are direct parallels between the arguments that z ionists make for settler colonialism in p alestine vs the in-world justifications for the "war" on the titans & dwarves. the ancient elves literally steal the bodies of the titans, mirroring i srael's history of stealing organs and even skin from p alestinian prisoners. elves' arguments of the lands being theirs etc is simply... untrue. and land back movements for the elves when we take this history into account is... an argument for settler colonialism. the land they were "given" by maferath, i.e. the dales, was literally never theirs but it gains such a sinister overtone, and again, parallels western nations "giving" p alestine to z ionists who demanded a state, with the assumption it was "theirs" first. and it wasn't.

at the same time, bw has gone out of it's way to draw clear parallels to the history of the j ewish peoples - between things like the long walk, the exalted march on the dales (harding even says "never again" when you get to the exalted plains), history of slavery for modern elves, etc - all create such a frustrating conflation between j ewish people and z ionism that pisses me off to no fucking end.

it's damn near impossible to solve for me as someone who is neither indigenous nor j ewish, because this representation is not for me. either i ignore datv and the end half of dai to draw more strongly on parallels between indigenous peoples and the dalish, at the expense of ignoring j ewish representation in the narrative. or i buckle down and directly address the z ionist nonsense, which leaves me with a horrible argument for indigenous land back movements. like how do i rework this!!!!!!!!!!!

when i fucking get you, bioware. when i fucking get you, david gaider!!!!!!!!!!!

[purpurussy]

i thought i had been too loud already about how cringe I think the whole dogpiling on r/danandphil thing is but apparently i need to be louder 😔 frankly i find the "banned from r/danandphil" meme childish and grating, own up to your freak nature and stop fixating on what normies are doing on a completely different platform it's kinda weird and pointless. let them be cringe in their way and we'll be cringe in our way and we can live in peace. yeah i would get banned from that subreddit if i went over there and posted the way i do here, that's why I'm posting on here not on reddit like ????????? I truly do not understand why this is a problem just mind your business idk 😭 it really is like the meme of the guy putting a stick in his bike wheel and then blaming someone else like why are you going out of your way to create a problem. when there are already so many actual problems you could be worrying about. dpmo

[save-the-spiral]

Revenant

(Part Two) (Part Three)

Content warning for: Major Character Death, Gore, Violence, Blood, Torture, Human Trafficking (mentioned), alcohol (no described drinking/drunk characters), dehumanization (it/its pronouns & animal comparisons)

(Ao3 Link)

2.5K words. Vampire Whumpee(s), Human Whumper

Beau had always been a good servant. Silent, obedient, efficient. Able to work ahead, as if he knew his master's wishes before they were spoken, but was in fact reading behaviors and routines that even his master did not know he was exhibiting.

He had always known his master was an angry man. One with much responsibility and authority, and no outlet besides violence.

The anger only came out at home, where it was private. No good servant betrayed their master's secrets, after all.

Beau had been trained by his mother in the kitchens of the large estate. The rest of the staff was his family, as he had no other parent or siblings. All throughout his youth, it was impressed upon him the importance of silence, of obedience. Able to act as if one isn't there, to be as unnoticed and inconsequential as a piece of furniture.

He had attended school, but had little in the way of friends. Graduating high school was where he ended his academic career anyway, as his job in the estate's kitchens was more sure than any attempt at getting into a college or university. He wasn't smart enough to get a scholarship anyway.

Beau was good at his work. A natural, the chef would say as she ruffled his hair. Quiet as a church mouse, his mom would praise.

He had once attributed it all to his looks. Black hair and brown eyes, average in every way. On his mother, those features looked pretty, at least to him. On Beau, it was plain to the point of invisibility.

One of the maids he had grown up alongside, Eun-Yeong, insisted it was all skill, though Beau took that with a grain of salt considering her clumsiness.

Whenever Beau denied it, she tried to whack him with whatever rag or feather duster she had on hand and declared that she wished he could be as invisible to her as he was to the master and his guests. Supposedly being humble didn't suit him.

Whatever the case, it was because of Beau's skills as a servant that he had been enlisted as one of the servants that took care of the thing his master kept in the basement.

Ever since he was a child, Beau's mother told him to never pay any heed to the screaming that came from the basement of the estate. To never ask about it, to never peek down there, and to never, ever venture down those stairs without permission.

A good servant did not pry into their master's affairs, after all. It was no business of theirs what happened down there, only to clean up the aftermath and do what they were told.

It hadn't been until the most recent of his master's victims had arrived that Beau was assigned down there. It was only to bring meals to the master- the thing his master vented his anger onto had no need to eat.

There was an air of hope regarding the thing in the basement. Rumors among servants said that it had no need to eat, to sleep, to breathe. That it healed from any wound, even those that would be lethal on a normal person. It would be around for a long time, they said. So none of the estate's staff would face their master's untimely wrath with it around.

And for a while it seemed true. Their master was less irritable. In the kitchens they knew it because he was not as particular about his food or drink, only sending a single dish back every week.

People wondered at what the thing in the basement was. It certainly didn't have any elven blood, the head butler affirmed, as despite its pointed ears. The more worldly of the maids was able to deny any rumors of it being beastkin. Even with its regeneration, it had none of the strength or build of an orc or troll.

The strongest rumor was that it was some sort of ghoul or zombie, not even alive, not truly able to feel. The kind of thing that existed only in horror movies. Some kind of botched soul magic had been attempted, only to resort in what screamed and pretended to be a person down there in the basement.

It could scream, could cry, could bleed like a person. But note the near black color of its blood. Note how it didn't need to breathe or eat. How it hissed like a feral animal at the sight of silver. How its fangs tore at its own lips like a rabid beast.

Never pity those in the basement, Beau's mother had told him long ago. That was when the master's victims had been people, homeless vagrants, those trafficked from foreign countries that used the few words of English they knew to beg.

It wasn't a kind world out there. Beau and his mother were only human. All they could do was work for their shelter and food. They had security here, knowing what was expected of them. Outside of the estate was an unknown element to Beau, who had only attended school and done little else, spending what few days he had off from work resting in the servants' quarters instead of exploring the outside world.

Beau's world was the estate. He had never known life without the occasional desperate screams emanating from the basement once every few months, lasting for a few days or a week at most until it was blissfully silent again.

This time it lasted longer, a week turning into months. The master had invested in remodeling part of the basement, making it soundproof, so he could have guests over despite having a 'guest' in the basement as well.

Something about the silence made everything more eerie. Beau had long since been inured to the screams, not startling at the sudden noises. He had always been grateful the servant's quarters were outside of the main building, so their sleep wasn't disturbed.

Once the silence filled the mansion, Beau had been assigned to bring the master meals, to ensure the man did not go hungry during the long hours spent torturing and tormenting the thing in the basement. Simple things, snacks the master could eat with one hand, the other dripping with that dark, unsettling blood.

The thing in the basement haunted Beau's nightmares ever since he began bringing the master food. It was rake thin, truly as ghoulish as the rumors said. It had unkempt hair so matted with gore that Beau had no clue what the original color had been. It had piercing red eyes, ones that gleamed even in the dim light of the basement. It had fangs, its canine teeth elongated and razor sharp.

Most of the time Beau saw it slumped on the floor. It was so corpselike that he was always surprised to see it move from where it lay in a pool of its own blood.

Beau had never thought he would grow to pity such a wretched thing. Not when he held no pity for the past victims. But he had never seen the past victims of his master, only heard their cries and screams. He had never been haunted by the sight of them, the taste of rotting blood in the air, the look in its eyes. Not even begging, but resigned. Like an old sick dog wasting away on the side of the road, knowing there would be no rescue or premature end to its suffering.

Every once in a while he was sent to leave snacks preemptively, as the master would in all likelihood visit the basement that evening after a stressful day at work.

Those moments down in the basement, leaving a charcuterie board or platter of fruit with only the thing down there to keep him company, they were the most harrowing.

Sometimes Beau was able to live up to his reputation, silent enough to leave the food at a side table and escape without waking the thing as it rested between its tortures. Most of the time he did not. The thing would be awake, eyes gleaming even in near darkness, its unnerving gaze following Beau.

It never spoke to him. Beau didn't know if it was smart enough to speak, to be honest.

This time was seemingly the same as always. The thing lay in a pool of its own dark blood, limp like a marionette with its strings cut. It wore little in the way of clothes, covered in healing wounds and its own blood as it was, there was no modesty to preserve, Beau supposed.

Beau placed the polished silver platter onto the table, opening the bottle of wine so it could breathe in anticipation of his master's arrival. The dry, almost sour smell of the white wine made Beau's nose wrinkle as he poured a careful amount into the glass, careful as he left the cork on the tray and pocketed the metal wrapping to throw away.

Thinly sliced meats and cheeses were arranged artistically, no flaws to be seen. Beau turned to leave the basement, his job done for now.

Then he caught sight of the thing. It was kneeling, closer than ever before. The chain connecting it to the wall was taut, and Beau was surprised it could withstand the strain with its emaciated body.

Its matted hair covered its face as it swayed on its knees.

Beau couldn't help but worry, not in the way of a servant fretting over a potentially broken possession of his master's, but how a person felt concern and compassion over someone obviously hurt.

He shouldn't let himself worry. He should turn and walk back up the staircase, to the kitchens where he would continue the tasks assigned to him. This was just another task, one already done, he couldn't-

The thing began to keen like a wounded animal. It slowly raised its head up to look at Beau, glimpses of scarlet between dirty locks of hair.

"I can't help you." Beau found himself saying before he could think better of it.

The keening died off and it slumped back, the chain finally lowering as it was given more slack.

"…" Beau looked between the pitiful creature and the platter of food. "…I can feed you? Just a piece of deli meat, would that help?"

Truthfully he didn't even know if the thing could eat, only that it didn't need to. It raised its head, eyes glimmering and looking so human, like it understood everything Beau had said.

Then it nodded.

"Okay." Beau spoke softly. He slipped a thin cut of capocollo off the platter, the marbled ham somehow looking more grisly in the lighting, with blood splattered on the floor.

He held it with pinched fingers, slowly crouching down and reaching out towards the thing. He could've thrown it, but that felt too demeaning when he was just trying to help.

"Here you go." Beau murmured.

The thing stirred again, straightening up, but already at the end of its chain. Beau felt bad for forcing it to exert itself so much, and leaned closer.

Bloodstained and cold hands grabbed at Beau's wrist. Every knuckle and bone seemed to be trying to escape its body, skin stretched over its skeleton like a horrific Halloween prop. Its nails were ragged and uncut, split and chipped with its own blood stuck under them.

Beau's pulse raced, and he pulled back, dropping the meat with a soft splat into one of the puddles of blood. One of the thing's nails sliced into his soft, pale skin.

Beau's blood welled up, glittering garnet under the light, the same shade as the thing's eyes.

And then it was truly over.

The thing pulled with strength Beau hadn't known it had, and Beau was swept off his feet, falling forward. His white dress shirt and black slacks soaked with blood as he sprawled onto the floor, breathless.

It still had a hold on his wrist, hunched over his hand, uncaring for the food now soiled on the ground.

"Let go-!" Beau gasped out, already trying to struggle and failing.

Then the creature bit down into his wrist, razor sharp fangs like knives through his flesh, scraping at his bones.

Beau screamed as a hot, searing pain zipped up from his wrist to his shoulder. He struggled again, feeling the fangs rip at muscles and nerves with every vain attempt to free himself, still screaming, hoping anyone could hear him, save him.

But the basement was soundproofed. Even if it weren't, all of the house's servants had long since learned to ignore the screams coming from the basement.

Beau grew faint with bloodloss and shock, held up only by his arm. He couldn't keep his head up, unable to even gather the air to scream again despite the agony. He could taste the blood pooled on the floor, foul on his tongue, yet his body had no strength to retch.

He couldn't resist as a hand sank into his hair, pulling his head up and baring his neck. His pulse was thready in his ears, the room darkening.

A agony bloomed from his neck, and Beaumont Mallory died, his throat ripped out by a vampire.

Soon enough, the master of the estate would make his way down the basement, leisurely as he anticipated a nice evening of wine and torture to destress from the day. He would find the his most recent and favorite plaything- a vampire he had been gifted by a business partner, a rare find in their circles with how isolated and secretive those enclaves could be- sobbing over a corpse.

He didn't remember the poor boy's name, or even his face, but it must've been one of his servants considering the clothes.

With a shout, the master would grab the stake from its place on one of the tables, a constant threat he had no intentions of using before now. He had enjoyed his toy that wouldn't break, a punching bag after his long days of work. But a dog that bit once would do so again.

The vampire didn't resist, still crying as its heart was staked, as it finally died the true death it had been wanting for months.

The master spat on the vampire's corpse, disgusted. He glanced to the corpse of the poor servant boy, only to watch the shredded skin of a pale throat began to knit back together.

Just like his now dead plaything.

Yet this one was once his servant and would be far more obedient.

He grinned, elation he hadn't felt since he was a young man washing through him.

Transferring the collar took just a moment, the silver chain enough to hold the beast. He went to his chair and sat, grabbing the wine glass. He delicately sniffed the white wine and tasted it.

It had been aired out perfectly, a great companion as he waited for his new toy to wake.

(Part Two) (Part Three)

[kevindaes]

need someone to write a jegulus greys anatomy au i can’t because i don’t know anything past high school bio