#anyway it just makes me think of someone perched on a tree

[redstrewn]

The way mhin is sat makes me think of someone sitting on a tree branch

[takamimami]

Omg omg, could I request “Your hand feels so much better than mine.” For Benn Beckman please? I just need more smut of him 🥺💜 thank you so much!! ✨😊

Hello, lovely. Firstly, I want to apologize for how LONG it took me to get to this request and thank you for your patience :3 I said this in a previous request too, but I didn't want to just force myself to write something I wouldn't be proud of, so I needed to wait to find some inspiration for this (on top of being heavily distracted by my other vices lately >.>)

Anyway, this is the first ever piece I've written for Benn, so I hope I did him justice for you!! <3

Benn Beckman x F!Reader - NSFW - “Your hand feels so much better than mine.” STORY UNDER THE CUT - MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI 🔞 CW: SMUT; exhibitionism/public sex, sexual tension, benn's got a filthy mouth, fingering, benn calls you 'doll' and 'good girl' :3, shanks is a menace, why does the red force have trees on deck???, kinda cool but still ---word count 1.7k

Perched underneath one of the trees at the stern of the ship, you flipped through the pages of the newspaper you’d snagged from the vendor on the port town your crew had just left – noting the headline on the innermost page.  

‘Rockstar “Soul King” Joins Straw Hat Pirates – Claims Straw Hat Luffy Lives!’ 

You often found yourself in this same spot when you struggled to fall asleep, your brain running rampant and unrelenting to the exhaustion your body felt. 

“They’ll make anything a headline, these days,” a deep voice echoes over your shoulder, and you fight your initial reaction and do your best to appear unfazed at the frame that stops in front of you. 

Tonight had been the closest you’d come to giving into the game you and your vice-captain had been playing for weeks now. You knew he was giving you your space to sort through your feelings, but the sexual tension between the two of you only grew more intense the longer you tried to ignore it. 

You drop the newspaper down far enough to look up at the tall man, just in time to watch him lift his cigarette to his lips and pull a long drag from it. He lets the smoke flow slowly from his nostrils as he stares down at you, brow cocked as you hold his stare intently. 

“Soul King's not your style, Becks?” You muse, watching the smirk that curls up on his lips when you finally speak to him. 

“Didn’t say that,” he retorts, and you fold the newspaper in half to offer him your full attention. “I just think anyone who thought Straw Hat was dead could use a few extra brain cells.” 

You chuckle and stand from the spot you were leaning against the tree, shifting awkwardly as Benn takes a step toward you. 

“So, doll,” he drawls, “What’s got you awake this late?” 

The knowing smirk on his lips has a blush heating up your cheeks, mind racing back to the booth you two had been cozied up in at the tavern just last night. 

“Just... not tired,” you answer, keeping your words short in case your voice betrays you as you try to feign nonchalance. “You?” 

“Same,” he says flatly, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the dirt and stamping it out with his boot. “Can’t seem to stop thinking about this pretty little thing I was... chatting with tonight. She ran off on me and left me all by my lonesome.” 

Your blush only intensifies as he takes another step closer to you, chin dropping so he can crane over your smaller frame. 

“Starting to think she might be scared of me, or that she’s got someone else warming her bed.” 

You keep your eyes on his lips as he speaks, his voice dropping an octave and sending a surge of desire straight to your core. When he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip your eyes flick up to meet his, feeling his breath tickle your neck as he leans in closer. 

“I doubt it's either of those things,” you manage to form the words despite the tension threatening to consume both of you. “Maybe she just didn’t think you'd feel the same way about her.” 

Benn quirks his brow and you smirk as he offers one of his own, your shoulders relaxing slightly as he snakes a muscled arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. 

“Well, that’s a shame,” he muses, lips just an inch from yours as he speaks, “If she would have opened her eyes a little wider, she might have been able to see just how much I feel for her.” He growls out the last of his sentence and the sound snaps a cord in your mind, your brain unable to control your body as it presses further into him.  

You connect your lips to his and he welcomes the kiss, letting you feel some semblance of control over the situation as you nip and bite at his lips. When he parts them for you, your tongue presses into his mouth fervently, tangling with his own as he grips your hips and guides you back toward the tree you had been leaning against previously.  

Once your back presses against the wood, you feel Benn’s rough hands slide down and grab at the back of your knees, lifting you up towards his chest and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. You feel him growing hard under the pressure of your core against his, and you hiss into his mouth when he ruts his hips against you roughly, the movement full of need and desire as he takes command of the kiss. He pulls his lips from your mouth to pepper wet kisses along your jaw, slowly moving lower as he alternates between open-mouth kisses and gentle nips at your skin. 

A sound from the bow of the ship reminds you where you are, and how exposed the two of you are as you whip your head around, scanning the area for anyone who might be watching. 

“Everyone’s asleep, doll,” he groans against your neck, hips moving again between your legs and causing you to whimper under his touch. “No one’ll see.” 

His words do little to reassure you, so in order to pull your attention back to him, Benn reaches up and tugs at the hem of your top, pulling it down far enough to expose one of your breasts to him before dipping his head down and taking a nipple between his teeth teasingly. 

“Don’t know if I can wait any longer,” he growls, and again your mind melts as he sucks down on the sensitive bud in his mouth, his hand shifting to fumble with the button of your pants as you fist his grey hair. “I shouldn’t admit this, but... I came by your room earlier. Heard all those pretty sounds you were making.” 

Your eyes go wide at his admission, face flushing deeply as he tugs your pants down your legs. 

“Didn’t want to interrupt in case you weren’t alone, but now that I know that wasn’t the case... I gotta know,” his voice hitches as he traces the lace of your underwear, feeling the dampness of them as he strokes over your clothed cunt. 

“Were you thinking of me when you touched yourself, doll? Did you imagine they were my hands?” 

A nod is all you can manage as he tugs your underwear to the side, and a moan slips from your lips as he runs his fingers through your wet folds. 

“Good,” he croons, his face dipping down so that his mouth grazes your earlobe. “’Cause I’ve thought about having your tight cunt wrapped around my cock for ages. Thought about how good those pretty little hands would feel stroking me.” 

A sudden stretch has your eyes screwing shut and your head pressing back against the tree, his thick fingers curling against your walls as he presses two of them deep inside you. You bite your lip to keep quiet, but your moans still manage to slip through as Benn lifts his eyes from your soaking cunt. 

“That feel good, doll?” 

You nod and Benn presses his forehead against yours, commanding your attention as he continues his ministrations. 

“Huh-uh. Use your words.” 

You whimper at the command in his tone, eyes opening to look into his as he awaits your response. 

“Y-yes, Becks,” you whine, your eyes dropping to where he is touching you as another moan escapes you. “Your hands feel so much better than mine.” 

Benn’s eyes twitch and you grip his shoulders as he shifts to pull his erection from his pants, your eyes widening at the considerable size of him.  

“Hmm, I bet this will feel even better than, doll,” he growls as he pulls his fingers from you, using the same hand to stroke himself and lubricate his shaft with your arousal. 

After a few tantalizingly long moments he shifts you higher into his grasp, lining himself up at your entrance and pressing into you slowly as you feel all the air leave your lungs. 

“Fuuuuuck,” he hisses, and you dig your nails into his shoulders as he presses into your fully, giving you a moment to adjust to the stretch of him. 

When he starts moving again your mouth falls open, the drag of his cock along your walls pulling obscene sounds from you and your cunt as he quickens his pace. Your whole body hitches from the power of his thrusts, your back scraping against the bark of the tree with each movement.  

“You like that, doll?” He growls into your neck, sinking his teeth into your neck gently as he tries to muffle the sounds of his own moans. “You gonna sing me a pretty song while you come on my cock?” 

You manage to gasp out a feeble “Yes” as Benn brings his calloused finger to your clit, thumbing gentle circles around it as you feel yourself tighten around him. Unable to contain it any longer, you let your mouth fall open as his name falls from your lips, the pitch in your voice signaling your end as your body begins to shake with pleasure. 

“Good girl,” he croons in your ear, keeping his thrusts precise and sharp as he fucks you through your orgasm.  

Your voice breaks as your mouth goes dry, your labored breathing causing your chest to rise and fall against Benn's as his hips slowly come to a halt. He holds you close, letting his cloak fall over your exposed body. 

“D-did you...” 

“Good Gods, Beck!” You hear a familiar voice call out from the nearby staircase. “When I said ‘by any means necessary’, this is NOT what I had in mind.” 

Your body goes still as you feel all the color drain from your face, blood running cold as you realize that it is the voice of your captain. 

Benn, seemingly unfazed, simply holds you closer to him as he flips Shanks a middle finger, and much to your relief the sounds of laughing and footsteps grow further away as he pulls your pants back up your legs for you. 

“Don’t worry, doll,” he smirks mischievously, tugging you into his arms again and carrying you toward his quarters. “I’m not done with you, yet.” 

✨come say hai :3✨

[deathofacupid]

didn't see you there | peter parker

late christmas fic cuz why not

summary: what's a little cafe meet-cute?

the walls were coated with green, red, and white. christmas decor hung from corner to corner, draped against the walls.

there was a small christmas tree in the back, wrapped with tinsel and ribbon. small, shiny ornaments perched themselves upon the prickly branches.

holiday music rang from the speakers, and you twirled around, broom in hand. it was closing time and you were cleaning up before heading out.

"last christmas, i gave you my heart... and the very next day...

"you gave it away... this year..."

brushing pieces of trash and clumps of dirt into pile, you sang loudly, not concerned since you were the only one there.

the music was turned all they way up, and you weren't conscious of what was going on around you.

that's probably why you didn't here the chime of the doorbell, indicating that someone had entered.

at this point, you were doing less working and more... whatever was that you were doing.

"um— miss? i was just— i was popping in for a drink?"

you yelped, hopping backwards and jabbing the broom towards him. once you realized that he was not in fact a potential robber or bad guy, you lowered the weapon. weapon?

there wasn't much to work with in a cafe.

your cheeks were flaming hot, and you were just about ready to die.

the worst part?

he was 100% the cutest guy you'd ever seen. i mean, that had to make everything worse.

because now you couldn't even hit on him. poor guy probably thought you were crazy.

"...we're closed."

"oh, sorry. i didn't think you closed until 10:00. that— that's what the sign said outside, anyways."

"uh, yeah it's..."

9:51.

"oh. oh, i'm so sorry. i g-guess i lost track of time. i can take you right now, if you'd like."

strike two.

"yes, please."

you cleared your throat, face still flushed. "what can i get you... at 9:52, good sir?"

the boy (man?) cracked a grin, and your insides squeezed. he was just so damn pretty.

"one large black coffee. um, extra caffeine."

you raised an eyebrow, and he took it upon himself to further elaborate, "college student," he chucked, and that was enough for you to understand.

"well, that'll do it."

he laughed, "yep!"

"can i have a name for the order?" you didn't need it, but it was a good excuse to get his name.

"yes, yeah," then he paused, like he was trying to remember said name. "parker peter. wait, no— that's not what i meant. i-i don't know why it came out like that. peter. it's peter. parker, that's my last name... if you're wondering where that came from."

"okay... peter. cute."

you didn't ignore the blush that made it's way onto his face. maybe he didn't get flirted with often, you thought.

but then again, how could he not? peter was literally a greek god... like, what?

"so..." you started, wanting to break the silence, "what're you majoring in?"

"biotech."

"ooh, you're a science guy, huh?"

"yeah." peter was blushing again, you noted. why, though? did he think that was weird? or nerdy? well, it was nerdy, but in the best way possible.

"that's really cool!"

"you think?"

"of course!"

"um, yeah, i intern for mr. stark."

"mr. stark?" you racked your brain, trying to figure out whether or not you were supposed to know him. "...wait. oh my god, tony stark? like- like- stark industries? that tony stark?"

you were speechless. you knew that he had to be smart, considering he was in biotech. but this level? wow.

"mhm."

and, man, he seemed so modest about it.

"jeez, pete. that's insane!"

"thanks..." he glanced at your name tag, "y/n. that's a pretty name. what about you?"

"me? what about me?" you asked, banging on the side of the coffee machine. "damnit. this stupid piece of— ah-ha!" smiling as it started to work, you started filling up the large cup.

"major. wha-what are you majoring in?"

"huh— oh! i'm still in high school. i turn eighteen in a couple weeks. i'm a senior. y'know, at midtown."

peter's eyebrows shot up, "midtown?"

"hmm," you clipped on the top. glancing at the sharpie, you inhaled. you picked it up and scribbled down his name. and then, after a moment, you number.

"i used to go there. i knew you looked familiar. i'm a sophomore at college. you were... what, like freshman when i was there?"

"uh... yeah. something like that. that's so weird. i've never seen you around before."

peter winced, "um, yeah, i wasn't the most well known..."

you bit your lip, not wanting the conversation to drop.  "well, here's your disgustingly bland coffee, parker. sure you don't want any sugar or anything? a cookie, maybe?"

"no, i'm okay," he laughed, taking the cup from you. peter took out his wallet and handed you his card, which you took.

"sorry, again. for... you know."

"nothing to apologize for. you're good." pete furrowed his brows. "are- are you closing up yourself?"

you shrugged. "yeah. why?"

"no... it's just, it's really late."

"meh. i live, like, 5 minutes away from here."

"then i can drop you off? just so— just to make sure you get home safe."

"it's okay. besides, i still haven't finished," you gestured vaguely, "all this."

"i can wait. it's okay."

"pete—"

"it'd make me feel a lot better knowing you get home." he tilted his head at you.

everything about him felt so safe; you didn't even know him, but you already trusted him. he had that feeling that resonated off him.

"i—" you blushed, your insides squirming at the fact that he cared about your well-being. he was a stranger, and yet he still wanted to do this, so who were you to refuse? besides, it would be nice you stay and talk to him longer. "okay."

peter grinned, "cool!"

"just give me a minute." you cleaned up, wiping down the tables and pushing in chairs. "you know what'd be crazy?"

peter looked at you.

actually, you weren't sure if he'd ever looked away, because when you glanced up, his eyes were locked on you. "huh?"

"if you were, like, some kidnapper. and i just wouldn't know, because you'd be trying to seem nice, and then bam, you're dragging me to the trunk of your car. kinda like reverse psychology, but not."

he laughed, shaking his head. "how'd you know? man, you just blew my cover."

"don't even try it. i got a fancy red panic button on the underside of this counter."

"do you really?"

"yep... no. we don't. well, technically, we do. but it doesn't work."

"huh. okay."

the two of you went back and forth with little quips, making each other laugh, until finally, you were done. taking of your apron, you tossed it in the bin and hung up the cap. peter held the door open for you as you flipped over the "open" sign to "closed".

"you know, i normally don't let pretty boys walk me back home from work."

"well, i don't normally walk pretty girls home from work. so you should be flattered."

"i'll have you know that i am."

"how come you work so late anyways?"

you sighed, "we don't have... the greatest supply of money. my mom tries her best, but i like to put in the hours whenever i can to help. i do a bunch of extracurriculars because it looks good on resumes, and i only have time for anything else later in the day."

"i see. it's cool of you to help out like that. i'm sure your mom really appreciates that."

wincing, "she doesn't know i work this late. my mom doesn't get back from the office until 1 or 2am. it's nice i have a full scholarship. at least i don't have to pay for college. that crap is crazy expensive. or at least too expensive for us."?

"scholarship? that's awesome. where to?"

you shrugged, "midtown college. not as prestigious as their high school, but it's still something. majoring in graphic design."

"so you, like, draw?" his eyes lit up, "oh, is all that chalk art or the windows and board yours?"

"yep. you like?"

"yeah! are you kidding? that stuff's crazy. i could never."

you laughed, "thanks, pete. oh— well, this is my place. don't leak my address."

"no promises."

"and thanks, again. this was really sweet of you. it's nice knowing that there are still good people out there." and with a sudden burst of confidence, you kissed his cheek. "good night," you murmured.

you were too giddy and happy to look back at him, and you barely caught the farewell that rolled off his lips.

well, at least he had your number.

[borntobeslay]

| EAH AU: “You’re not scared of me..?”

Platonic Paring: Y/n Beauty x Ryujin hood

The simple story of how they became best friends…

warnings: none just fluff!

Y/n Areulia Beauty.. The daughter of Beauty and the Beast.. she was just like her mother, She loves to read!

In fact, that’s exactly what she’s doing right now! Y/n is sitting peacefully in the enchanted forest, her favorite place to read. Her glasses perched perfectly on her nose, her red and brown hair glistening in the sunlight. She continues to read as she feels the calm breeze brushing against her face, until suddenly WOOSH a large gust of wind blows past her, flipping her book pages uncontrollably. She looks up in confusion and hesitantly walks towards the fast blur running down the forest. Eventually the blur stops running and Y/n hides behind the tree curiously. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw it.

Ryujin, The daughter of “Little red riding hood” Panting and chuckling as she beat her baby pet wolf in a race. Ryujin flips down her hood to reveal wolf ears on her head, Y/n gasp in shock as she sees the sight and Ryujin turns around hearing the noise. Y/n shyly comes out from behind the tree and weakly smiles. “Uh.. Hi..” Y/n speaks up carefully, Ryujin flashes her teeth as her eyes flash gold but Y/N remains unfazed. When Ryujin sees this she calms down but still guarded. “What are you doing out here?” Ryujin asked without making eye contact, worried that Y/N is judging her. “Well.. I was reading a book and.. I saw you run by… I guess I just sorta followed..” Y/n replied with a little shy smile, she didn’t want to make Ryujin uncomfortable or feel ashamed of anything.

Ryujin sits down against the tree and sighs. “You’re not gonna tell anyone are you?” Ryujin asked with a hint of worry. If this gets out she’d be shunned by all of ever after. “Well that’s not my place. I won’t tell anyone. You do that on your own terms.” Y/n says with a small comforting smile and sits down next to Ryujin. She really is her mother’s daughter. Ryujin looks at Y/n with soft curious eyes. “Why aren’t you scared of me? If anyone else saw this, they would run away in fear..” She says with curiosity and slight caution at the fact that Y/n is so calm about it. Y/n let’s out a little giggle. “Well why would I be scared? My dad was a beast, silly!” Ryujin chuckled softly and relaxed. She forgot about y/n’s dad. “Right… I totally forgot..”

There is a moment of comfort silence before Y/n speaks up. “So… the daughter of the supposed big bad wolf… is also the daughter of little red riding hood, huh? I get why you hide it.. it goes completely against the whole fairy tale of Little Red being afraid of the wolf..” Ryujin nods weakly, feeling glad that someone gets it. “My dad isn’t bad.. He’s just a big wolf.” She chuckles weakly trying to laugh it off, but in reality she’s really upset that her dad is painted as a bad guy. “Hey… I totally get it… I think that’s so unfair how people can be so cruel and make such assumptions… my dad said a whole town mobbed his castle because of one person..” Y/n says with understanding, then she speaks up with a playful smile..

“So… what else can you do with your wolf abilities~?” Y/n asks curiously and excitedly if you couldn’t already tell, Y/n is a very curious girl. Ryujin looks at her and chuckles. “Ahh.. it’s almost too much to explain!” She says with a smile being playful. Y/n with a little mischievous grin reaches up and scratches behind Ryujin’s ear. “What about this~?” Ryujin nuzzles into her head and lets out a little sigh before snapping out of it and swatting Y/n’s hand away. “Alright that’s enough..” Ryujin says while trying to remain tough, But eventually they both break out into laughter. This is how Y/n and Ryujin became Best Friends…

A/n: So I made this one without request because.. I was bored and y’all hate me today and didn’t send Reqs 😭 anyway I hope you enjoy the beginning of the ever after high K-pop universe!

[microwave-core]

Red-Hot Paean

Cynthia x Fem! Reader

Cynthia has always been one to praise you whenever she sees fit (which is always), but she can’t seem to hold her tongue when it comes to interviews. At least she’s always willing to indulge you after putting you through such embarrassment.

“So, a little Starly recently told me that you were thinking about taking a vacation to the Alola region. Do you have anything to say about that?” 

“Ah, well, there isn’t much more to say about it other than it’s true. Being champion is my passion, but everyone needs a break now and then. Besides, I’ve been meaning to check out the Battle Tree, and I’ve been sorely missing quality time with my wife.”

“The Battle Tree, huh? I’ve heard that the trainers are quite formidable, especially the battle legends leading the whole operation. I suppose that’s a kind of challenge you won’t find anywhere in Sinnoh!”

“Indeed, it’s been quite some time since an opponent has backed me into a corner. The thrill of battle spurs me on, but exploring the region is also a must. The island challenge feels a bit beneath me at this point, but the beaches are quite alluring, especially with beautiful company.

“And the apparel shops are simply darling. Most of the options are not my kind of style, but I can’t help but want to pick a few things up, anyways… Ah, but my darling beloved, now she would look wonderful in them. Afterall, she looks gorgeous in any and everything she wears.

“But whenever I see any kind of cute clothing, I can’t help but see her in them. Especially outfits for the warmer climates, since I see her in them so rarely with how cold Sinnoh is and all. Alola certainly won’t be the first time I end up purchasing clothing for her on a vacation, but that just leaves what I should get for her this time…”

“Oh yes, I must agree. Alolans are quite fashionable! From adorable to elegant… everything seems to look good. Your wife sure is a lucky woman to have someone such as yourself as a vacationing companion. Is there anything else about this trip you are looking forward to?”

“Besides that… I am looking forward to exploring the ruins. From what I’ve read, there aren’t many mysteries surrounding them, especially in comparison to ruins in other regions, but I don’t think I will be able to keep myself away from them…”

The TV remote clatters to the couch cushion with a soft thud. You're not sure why you keep up with Cynthia’s interviews when they always end with you becoming far too flustered for your own good. This was far from the worst she’s ever gushed before, and yet it still gets you all the same.

And speak of the devil, the moment you lean back into the cushions, the front door creeps open, followed by the gentle clacking of heels, accompanied by less-gentle thuds. She leans over the couch, arms laying over your chest and head perched atop of yours.

“Hello, dear…” She practically purrs. You can’t see her face, but you can hear the sweet smile on her lips from her tone alone. Garchomp sidles up to you, forcing your arm over her flat head in the hope that you would pet her. You mumble out a ‘hello’, yet to overcome your embarrassment.

“What were you watching? I could have sworn I heard the TV on when I was unlocking the door…”

“Your interview from the other day.”

“Oh, you saw it already? I wasn’t expecting to be asked about Alola, but I suppose it was going to come up eventually.”

“I, uh, just caught it, actually and… (Azelf, give me strength) I turned it off after you got off track talking about… me. I know that you think very highly of me but… it gets embarrassing watching you talk like that… especially when Arceus knows how many people are going to see it.”

“Aww, really? And here I thought I managed to tone the gushing down for once.” You know that Cynthia gushes because of how deeply she loves you, which makes your heart pound with both love and embarrassment, but the teasing tone lacing her words allows the embarrassment to outweigh the former.

“Besides, it’s not as if I was lying… I’m looking forward to seeing your adorable self on all sorts of tropical backdrops.” She moves her hands to your face, squishing your cheeks softly. 

“Is it so wrong of me to want everyone to know how much I care about you? I just can’t help myself when I’m so easily reminded of you… “ Her voice wavers from teasing to soft, each word barely above a whisper.

“The fact that I get to call you, someone so beautiful and caring and intelligent, my own… It doesn’t feel real sometimes, that someone as wonderful as you exists, and is willing to stay by my side, no less!”

Her words feel far too much, far too praise-filled, borderline reverent. You place your hands on her own, feeling the heat radiating off your face through her skin. Your body was boiling, yet you couldn’t help but yearn for her warmth, both her body and her words. Yet all too soon, she begins to pull away.

“Well then, how about I get cleaned up and pick us up something to eat? It’s only fair that I treat you to something nice after putting you through so much embarrassment, right?” You can only respond with a feeble nod.

She leans over and gives you a quick peck on the forehead before pulling back completely, presumably going to your bedroom to clean up, leaving you to huddle into yourself (and the Garchomp practically sprawled out across your lap). 

In interviews, Cynthia would always find new ways to embarrass you with her off-track side tangents, and in private, she would always find new ways to set your heart aflame. 

But while her seeming unending love for you would make you beyond flustered, it would always lead to her treating you to whatever your heart desired. She could be teasing, and she was sure as hell embarrassing, but it was certainly worth putting up with once it was all said and done, leaving nothing but the sweet, endearing Cynthia ready to melt your heart away.

[mtkay13]

im not op but im gonna bounce off on it still!!!! mt such a great analysis i love what youre saying about how the narrative in tyk works, how through recontextualization (either by the narrative itself, shifting angles at a later date, or the reader when rereading the novel) things come to light that were intentionally or by happenstance hidden before. many thoughts regarding narrative and how it works (and how zzs makes use of it). this topic specifically has my brain rotting since i first read the novel. tyk has always felt like a tragedy disguised as a comedy to me, youre putting it so well. anyway, this is not an analysis but your words (and also op‘s words) reminded me of the scene in ch.8 (i think) when wenzhou are in the forest and investigate these two sudden murders and follow wkx‘s underling into the abandoned graveyard. especially the scene at the graveyard, told through zzs‘s eyes, is so super interesting to me. i imagine in other wuxia stories this would be atmospheric, spooky, maybe intimidating and creepy. but zzs seems so unimpressed! he relays the atmospheric markers (he remarks on the state of the graveyard, mentions the rat with its red eyes, the single owl perching utop the branch, the odd fog) but narrates it in such a way that the first time reading it, it sounded jarring and almost comical to me. it gets even weirder by wkx starting with his ghost stories and trying to impress zzs, who continues to not be impressed at all. i feel like, since zzs is such a die hard jianghu fanboy, and this is basically his first time doing jianghu things (and he seems to be aware that this scenario is characteristically wuxia), he is basically not just narrating whats happening but also commenting upon it from the angle of someone who had higher expectations and is very eager to follow that path to its end to see what turns up, but doesnt really seem all that moved when happening upon these things in reality. zzs is not the usual wuxia hero, and tyk is very earnest in taking these differences and zzs‘s familiarity with violence seriously and has zzs react and act in authentic ways. like, when they find that murder scene in the woods upon following the scream, and immediately start their weird investigation-flirting-insulting and wkx goes and casually pulls that guy whos hanging in a tree to the ground so they can have a better look at it, and it just severs the poor guy’s head. thats so fucked up and strange!!!!! but its so downplayed its actually jarring!!!! its almost comical!!!!! anyway hello hi hello mt!!!! i didnt mean to write so much i just have a lot of thoughts hehehehe

hahaha hello!!!! Sorry I took so much time to respond!!

Yes yes to all this!! Essentially answering so this can be out in the open hehehe. One thing that I feel like reacting to, though---translating Qi Ye, I recently stumbled upon several references of ZZS being a "seasoned jianghu traveller" and having had a lot of experience in jianghu already; so I guess we can conclude that he does have experience in jianghu (only that he left it around 8-9 years ago) but that he probably always had a remote look at it, from the shadows from which Siji operated. This time, he gets to "play" too, in a way. I feel like, given how smug he tends to sound when bringing up Siji's skills and activities, he may have this sort of patronizing look on the "sillier", more "classical" strange wuxia adventures, which he has been able to watch but almost like a puppet master (since Siji controlled a lot of the politics etc) and his fun, curious, detached and "demystifying" approach could be reflecting that. Anyway, thank you so much for the thoughts!!!

[hirokari]

cat got your tongue?

wc: 1.1k | g: fluff, superhero!au, chat noir!jaemin, gender neautral reader | w: profanity | a/n: tee hee chat noir jaemin tee hee ps. little personal mentions of the murder mystery novel i've been reading + the cat beanie i've been talking abt w sunny

Beyond the swaying trees and the dimly lit street lamps of the park, Na Jaemin manages to spot you between little gaps of the canopy above you, smiling a little fondly at the sight of you getting lost in another book you'd gotten; knee perched up against your chest and your book perched right up against your thigh as you indulge yourself completely in the plotline of your novel.

Though the hour is late, he knows all too well that you'd lost track of time already. Hopping off of a roof he'd been resting on, Chat Noir quietly sneaks behind the bench you sit on, pressing his hands next to both your shoulders.

"I believe someone should be heading home at the moment?"

At the slight upbraid, you can't help but jump with shrugged shoulders, turning around with what Jaemin thinks is the cutest bewildered expression.

"Chat Noir," You huff, pausing to mark the page you'd last left off. "Would it kill you to not give me a scare every time we talk?"

"It would, actually, yeah."

"Oh, very funny." Rolling your eyes, you stuff your book into your olive green satchel, fingers brushing against the faded denim.

Your "coincidental" interactions with Chat Noir had been an ongoing thing for months, though at this rate you're convinced he's monitoring you.

"Cute beanie," Jaemin comments, eyes casted to the headdress snug on your head. It's cat shaped, which makes him a little giddy. "What is this, a tribute to yours truly?"

"Sure, you could say that." You laugh softly, adjusting the beanie and brushing stray strands of hair behind your ears. Your response is like a little cup of serotonin shot into his veins, and he smiles.

"Come on," Urges the nation's greatest hero, tugging on the sleeve of your sweater. "I'm seeing you off to your home."

"You know where my home is?"

Yes, Jaemin resists the urge to bite out. You'd taken me there to work on a pair assessment together.

"Yes," Chat Noir drags out in a small voice. "A hero should know where everyone belongs, should he not?" Scrunching your nose up at him, you begin walking by his side. "No," You reply. "I don't think Seoul's mightiest hero should personally know where I sleep every night."

"Don't twist the story!"

"I'm not twisting shit and you know it, Chat Noir. It's as creepy as it sounds."

"It's not like I'm selling your information or anything. I doubt anyone would want that anyway." Jaemin says, a tad sour. You laugh at the slight bitter tone in his voice, bumping your shoulder to his in a playful manner.

"What book are you reading, by the way?"

"A murder mystery. Why?"

"Nothing, I'd just like something to do to kill time now and then."

You give him a sly, cheeky smile, "Heroes have time to kill?" To which Jaemin scoffs through thin lips, "More time than crimes to kill, trust me."

"Alright," You trail off. "I guess I could lend you my copy." Jaemin almost trips against the gravel below him. "Borrow-? Your copy?" Your head cocks to the side as you meet eyes with him through his jet black mask. "Yeah, it's cheaper that way, is it not?"

"Sounds like you're looking for more reasons to see me."

"That too, maybe,"

Now Jaemin freezes. He can't help the halt of his legs when you retort back. You'd always been witty with your responses, but never had you been so... bold. Nonchalant. He didn't know what to think of it.

"What? Cat got your tongue?"

Now you're doing cat puns? You'll be the death of him.

With dusted cheeks, Jaemin stretches his arms out and kneels down on one knee. At the action, you give him a strange look, grip tightening a little on your satchel.

"What the fuck?" You give him a confused laugh. "Are you, what, proposing?"

"I'm proposing to give you a ride home."

"What? How?"

You never thought you'd ever have your arms wrapped around Chat Noir's neck, let alone see him give you a charming, boyish smile as he jumps from one rooftop to another nearing your apartment.

"This is literally crazy." You mumble, eliciting a small yell when the hero jumps a little too high, though you can't deny the small rush in your veins when he does. "This is literally safer, you child."

Your roll your eyes at his childishness, but still laugh. Frankly, he could not blame you for the way you're acting right now.

"I'm not a child, and I'm not a fan of cold winds." You complain, referring to the cold gust that bites at your cheeks. The skin of your face is cold and numb, and you bit the inside of your cheek to maintain any form of sense on your face.

"Sorry, love. We'll be there soon, I promise."

You can't argue with that. At all. He'd whispered it in your ear with his stupid soothing voice, you'd melted into putty in his arms at this rate. All you're left to do is watch the scenery of silhouettes contrasted compared to the dark blue that paints the sky.

"Blue hour," You mumble with a sense of admiration in your voice. "Your favorite," Jaemin adds. You hum, recalling when you'd told Chat Noir that on your way to your favorite bakery, around the same hour.

It doesn't take long for Jaemin to arrive at the balcony of your apartment. Perched up safely, he helps you out of his arms and into the safety of your home.

"Thank you," You chime, leaning closer against the same railing he rests on. "Oh, before I forget: here's the novel." You hand it to him. He admires it, the pages already slightly worn out, the paperback cover having been bent a little by your little habit of picking the corners of it.

"How about this," Starts Jaemin. He sets the book back into your hands, softening at the surprised tilt of your head. "You can give it to me the next time we meet."

"When will that be?"

"On our date. Next week Thursday, blue hour. I'll pick you up here."

You can't seem to form words, mouth slightly agape at the idea of going out with the city's greatest, most charming hero. Jaemin gives you a warm smile, letting a finger rest under your chin just to lift it up.

"What, cat got your tongue?"

You can't help but laugh, closing your eyes to relish the warmth from the proximity. Standing against the tip of your toes, you shift and press your lips against his warm cheek.

"Okay. A date."

Pulling away, you lean back down to your original height and step away slowly. "Good night, Chat Noir."

Slowly, Jaemin wears the shyest smile you must have ever seen him with, "Good night, Y/N."

© hirokari, 2023

[decaffeinatedwitchfun]

I am so sick and tired of watching my favorite authors leave the COD fandom because of plagiarism and it's stuff like what @/porcelian is doing that's going to continue to drive people away and it needs to stop.

Disclaimer: do not harass this user, or any other users. Porcelian is a minor (as stated in their bio) so it's best to just block and move on. The purpose of this post is to bring attention how harmful it can be to plagiarize works (even if they are "just fan works"). Saying "this work was inspired by [user]!" is not enough of a credit for what I'll share below the cut.

Now, Porcelian came out with this story called Peach Black Descent (also on AO3) which is a blatant copied version of @/yeyinde's Bos Taurus (also on AO3). Here are some of the more glaring instances of near blatant copying and pasting that I was able to find while skimming through the stories side by side.

Everything on the left is yeyinde's work, and everything on the right is Porcelian's stealing.

And these were just the photos I could get combing through the near 25k long total words I had to read for both stories. Not to mention, the first few paragraphs sound a LOT like @/alnilaem's coyote head and the body of a man

alnilaem's:

Sometimes, you believe you were born in the centre of a dying star. 

Born on the crest of death and fated for a bleak life. Dead, before you even had a chance.

The universe sweeps before you. Infinite. Expansive. Hungry. You float at the mouth of the galaxy and it swallows you whole, but doesn’t seem to like the taste of you—too bland, too trite—so it spits you back out and sends you tailspinning. 

You land with a lack of courtesy. Tossed between trees and dropped in a basin. You find yourself in nowhere, Oregon. In a town flecked by a lake inlet and a clement fjord, where the moose population outnumbers the people population. It has a maritime allure but strangely enough, isn’t commercial enough to be a tourist hub. It’s too hidden in the thicket. Too deep in a borehole.

and porcelian's:

You feel as if you were born in a galaxy slowly being ripped apart at the seams. Stars colliding, crashing; kaleidoscopic colors mix into together as they lose their golden ichor of life and dim into nothingness. A black hole drinks it's ichor. The unforgiving crooked teeth bites in the stars and they give into the hold.

A dying nebula. Hot and scorching as it brands your skin because of your sins. Engraved into your soul. It is dirt under your finger nails. Forever stained.

Stained—you think—you'll have to figure out how to clean up the sign perched near the motel wall—Highway Inn. A ironic and obvious name, considering it's situated right next to a highway. The road turns and twists, contorting into something akin to a labyrinth only a few unlucky ones can pass through and make it to this brick fortress.

(note: alnilaem's fic has reader working at a hotel, which was another thing that tipped off a bell in my mind besides the whole very similar beginning. It could very well just be me though, but considering everything else, I'm not optimistic.)

The most interesting thing here, is that porcelian didn't even bother to credit yeyinde for the stolen work until she was confronted!!

I find it interesting that you would block someone that "inspired" you to write a story that was basically their work word for word. It legitimately looks as if you had your writing document up, and yeyinde's work side by side, and you blocked her hoping that she wouldn't find you out.

Unfortunately for you, people still saw it and sent it to her, and then you backtrack saying that you want people to read yeyinde's fic as if you weren't planning on just trying to block and hope no one would notice.

Anyway, at the end of the day, don't do this? To anyone? You guys are going to run off all the amazing authors on this site, and who are you going to steal from when they're all gone?

(Once again, I reiterate, just block and move on!!! Don't harass anyone on here but don't do this with people's works either!!)

[suddencolds]

Fool Me Twice | [2/?]

Part 2 to my OC fake dating fic! Thank you so much to everyone who expressed support for part 1 ❤️ This chapter is slightly on the longer end (I was considering cutting it off halfway but decided against it). Hopefully it doesn’t feel too disjointed :’)

Part 2 (ft. fake dating, a party, a confrontation, and an elaborate lie)

(You can read [Part 1] here!)

—

Yves wakes up the morning of the 31st with a dull, throbbing headache. 

His whole body feels heavy, his limbs leaden and sore as if he’s just gone through a day of heavy lifting, and it feels as though he’s barely slept at all. It’s the kind of unshakeable exhaustion that doesn’t dissipate even after a hot shower and a cup of coffee (nearly hot enough to scald, though at least it feels good on his throat), and he’s congested in a way that no number of tissues seems to alleviate.

He spends the morning wrapping his presents for Margot, shoveling enough snow off of his front doorstep so he can open the front door, and rifling through his closet for something to wear. Then it’s a stop at the pharmacy for cold medicine—he picks out the kind that he hopes will leave him least symptomatic for the party—and a short text exchange with Vincent, who doesn’t say much except confirm that he has everything ready for tonight, followed by a longer text exchange with Mikhail, who will be at the party too.

If Yves is honest with himself, he could use a nap, but he denies himself one until he finds himself nodding off in the middle of putting together lunch. If he’s going to be staying close to midnight and driving back after, he thinks, then perhaps a short nap wouldn’t be the worst idea.

The nap, as it turns out, doesn’t help much. He wakes up groggy and disoriented. Still, he hopes maybe, at the very least, it might help keep him awake enough on the drive back. Vincent’s address is a twenty minute drive from home. Yves downs a dose of cold medicine, sets his presents down in the trunk, texts Vincent that he’s on his way, and then heads out. 

Outside, it’s snowing in thick, heavy flakes. Snow settles over the roads, over the trees and the houses. He gets there five minutes early, out of courtesy, but it’s barely ten seconds after he knocks on the door that Vincent is opening it.

He’s dressed in a white button-down shirt, a black blazer, and tight-fitting jeans, though something about the way the jacket fits over his shoulders makes them look sharper and more angular than usual. His dark hair is sideswept, and there are pink-tinted sunglasses perched atop his head, and there’s a tiny golden rose pinned to his lapel. He looks simultaneously put together and flatteringly in his element. Definitely photoshoot material, Yves thinks. 

“I didn’t have much other than work clothes,” Vincent says, which is how Yves realizes he’s been staring.  

“No, you...” Yves swallows. ...You look like someone I could fall in love with, his mind supplies unhelpfully. “You look fantastic. I can’t thank you enough for doing this.” 

“It’s no trouble,” Vincent says. He shuts the door behind him, locks it, and steps outside into the cold. 

Yves follows after him. It’s cold enough outside to make his nose run, and he sniffles as discreetly as he can, clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He can only hope he looks half as presentable as Vincent does, right now. The cold medicine is working its magic as it stands, but it’ll start to wear off around eleven—hopefully by then, everyone will be drunk enough not to take notice.

“I know you said parties are not your scene,” Yves says, rounding the corner of the driveway towards his car. “So we can leave whenever you want. I mean, I’m guessing you probably have New Year’s plans anyways? I can make sure to… hhEHh-!” As if the timing could be any worse. He veers sharply away, raising an arm to shield his face, and buries his nose in his suit sleeve. “hHEH… hEHh’iisZSCH-ieww! snf-! Ugh, sorry, unfortudately you’ll be hearing a lot of… t-that… HEHH’izsSCHH-Ew!”

The sneeze is messy and spraying, and he winces, wipes his nose on the back of his wrist.

“Bless you,” Vincent says, seemingly unaffectedly, though Yves can’t help but wonder if he’s disgusted.

“Thadks. But dod’t bother,” Yves says, and sniffles again. He’ll make a point to ask Margot where the tissues are. “You’ll get tired of that phrase really quickly. Adyways, as I was saying, I can mbake sure to get you back home before midnight. Or… earlier, if that’s what you prefer.”

“I can stay late,” Vincent says. “Though if you��re unwell, you should probably get some rest.”

“That’s sweet. I’m ndot really that unwell, though,” Yves says. “But I can’t promise I’m not contagious. I wod’t make you like, hold my hand or adything.”

“If it’s to sell the relationship,” Vincent says, “I wouldn’t mind.” 

Yves says, “Still.”

“You’re doing this to prove to your ex you’ve moved on,” Vincent says, as if it’s really that simple. “For that to work, we’d have to be a convincing couple.”

“You can just sit close to mbe,” Yves says, pulling open the car door to slide into the driver’s seat. “Or laugh even when I crack a bad joke. Or tell embarrassing stories about mbe—great power, great responsibility, of course.”

“I could do all of those things as a friend,” Vincent says evenly. “But it won’t exactly look like I like you if I refuse to touch you all night.”

“If the others dod’t buy the act, at least I can say I’ll have tried. I just - snf-! - don’t want it to be an inconvedience to you, especially when i…” Yves turns away sharply, towards the window at his left, and lifts his arm to cover. “hHEH’iIIZSHEew! Ugh…” The sneeze mists over his sleeve, leaving him teary-eyed and sniffling. “...when I’b - snf! - so evidently… well, you know.” He clears his throat, though even that small action is enough to make him cough. 

Vincent goes quiet for a moment. Then he asks, “What would you be fine with?”

“What?”

“You said you wouldn’t make me hold your hand. But would you be fine with it?”

“Just hypothetically, I’d be fide with whatever,” Yves says, with a shrug. “Hand holding, hugging, making out—i mean, it’s ndothing I haven’t gotten drunk and done before with a stranger, but obviously I don’t actually expect you to do any of that. You just being there is more than edough. I mean, you’re already spending your New Year’s Eve doidg this for me.”

“Yes,” Vincent says. “That’s exactly why I want it to not be for nothing.”

When Yves looks over to him, Vincent’s expression is difficult to parse.

“It wod’t be for nothing,” Yves says, mustering up a smile. It’s almost endearing how seriously Vincent is taking this.

Really, if Yves can get through tonight with this cold of his—and his ex of his—he’ll consider it enough of a win.

—

When they get to the party, Margot waves them in. She steps in for a hug, and even though Yves thinks that’s probably inadvisable, he lets her—Margot hugs everyone, and the extra warmth is more than welcome, as it stands.

“I made sure that tonight’s refreshments included orange juice,” she says. “How’s the cold?”

“Fantastic,” Yves says, trying not to sniffle. “I’m sure the orange juice will cure it.”

“That’s the spirit.” She steps in to hug Vincent, too, who stiffens at first, but then returns the hug more naturally than Yves would have expected. “And this is Vincent, right? Yves has told me all about you.” “Nice to meet you, Margot.” Vincent says. “Your apartment looks spectacular.”

And it does—Margot’s decorated it with string lights and HAPPY NEW YEAR! banners, strung in neat arcs from the ceiling; champagne flutes lined up on the fireplace mantel, 2017! spelled out in glittery block letters on the living room wall. Pale golden balloons bob up and down in the hallway; yellow roses are strewn neatly across the living room tables, the walls gilded with shining gold streamers.

“Thank you, thank you!” Margot says. “I’m so glad you could make it.” She leans in conspiratorially. “We need you for intel. We’ll trade you embarrassing things Yves did in college for embarrassing things he’s done at—”

“Please take my peace offering instead.” Yves says loudly, and then hands her the gift he’s holding. Margot laughs and squeezes his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to,” she says. “It’s good to see you again, Yves.” Then, to both of them: “Dinner will be ready in an hour. There are drinks in the iceboxes, so feel free to help yourselves.”

Then someone knocks, and she’s off again to meet the newcomers at the door. Yves muffles a cough into his sleeve, remembering too late he’d meant to ask her where to find the tissues. He’s sure there will be some napkins laying around.

The hour before dinner goes better than he expects. He introduces Vincent to a few of his friends—he runs into Mikhail, who thanks him for helping him move in and asks about his family, and Nora, who—like him—is going into business, and asks him and Vincent both about the work culture at Evertech. He talks to Joel, who congratulates him on the relationship and asks them how they met (they have a story prepared for this, of course) and Francesca, who—much to his embarrassment—says, “You really weren’t joking when you said he looks like a model,” to which Yves nods and smiles and pretends not to notice the questioning look he gets from Vincent.

He thinks his cold is manageable enough, too—he gets accustomed to turning sharply away from Vincent mid-conversation, to burying his face into his sleeve to stifle another harsh, wrenching sneeze, and to the (unnecessary, but thoughtful) bless you that sometimes follows—though all this talking is not exactly conducive towards his voice, and he finds himself clearing his throat incessantly and stopping mid-sentence to cough. If Vincent notices how his voice is getting hoarser as the night goes on—or how every stifle exacerbates his headache, if only slightly—he says nothing of it. 

It’s only when they’re all settling down for dinner—Vincent at his right side, pouring him a glass of water—that Erika arrives.

She looks just as he remembers her—beautiful and intimidating, with her hair down over her shoulder, curled just for the occasion, her eyeliner a large, graceful dark wing. She’s wearing a long sheath dress which hangs off from one shoulder, and Brendon is at her side, with his arm around her waist, wearing a suit with a boutonniere which matches her dress, and he says something that makes her laugh loudly and lean closer into his chest.

“Thadks,” Yves says, to Vincent, as he sets the pitcher back down. Maybe this will be fine if she doesn’t speak to him. She doesn’t have any real reason to start a conversation with him, anyways.

But then Erika takes a seat diagonally across from him.

“Yves,” Erika says, looking straight at him. “It’s been awhile.” He watches as her gaze slides over to Vincent. “And who’s this?”

“This is Vincent,” Yves says, clearing his throat. “Vincent, this is Erika.”

Really, the introduction is nothing more than a formality. Vincent must already know. 

Erika turns to look Vincent over. There’s something calculating in her expression, something that unsettles Yves. “Your coworker?”

“Boyfriend,” Vincent corrects her, with a small, economical smile that seems to fall just short of sincere. “But yes, coworker too. And you’re his ex? I think Yves might’ve mentioned you in passing.”

“Yes,” Erika says. “Only good things, I hope?” If it’s meant to be a joke, it comes out a little too pointed, but she laughs after it anyways. Yves wonders if there’s a way to stave off the headache he feels brewing. He needs a drink. “It’s great to meet you. I didn’t realize that Yves was seeing someone else.”

“We haved’t exactly kept in codtact, so I wouldn’t expect you to kdow,” Yves says to her. Then, remembering himself, he grins. “Mbuch to catch up on, right?”

“Yes, much,” she says, leaning her head onto Brendon’s shoulder. “Brendon and I were just talking about how easy it is to fall out of touch with old friends.”

“It really is, if you think about it,” Brendon says. “I think it has to do with how we’re all very different people from who we were in college, even though it’s barely been a year and a half. And with all of the job stuff, too, and all the moving away—it’s really only natural that people drift apart.”

Yves shuts his eyes briefly. It’s really only natural. As if that justifies everything—the cheating, the dishonesty, the lack of apology. Briefly, he wonders if Brendon even knows what she’s done, or she’s reframed things the way she likes to, rephrased cheating as unfortunate miscommunication over a falling out.

He used to think of it as one of her strengths, back when she’d done debate in college: that she was so good at redirection, that she knew exactly what she believed in, that she could frame things as favorably or unfavorably as she wanted. Now, that knowledge makes him feel sick to his stomach.

“On the contrary,” Vincent says, “I think it’s a matter of making time for the people you want to keep in your life.”

“That’s much easier said than done,” Brendon says.

“I didn’t say it was easy,” Vincent says.

Erika looks between them, her eyes flashing, and Yves looks away in favor of muffling a cough into his fist. His throat is really starting to hurt. Maybe he has been talking too much tonight.

“I guess we can agree to disagree,” Brendon says, as if that makes him the bigger person.

Or maybe he has it wrong, Yves realizes. Maybe Brendon knew exactly what Erika was doing, back then. Maybe he even encouraged her.

“Either way, it’s good to see everyone agaid,” he says. “Eved if we have changed.” There’s a slight, almost imperceptible tickle in his nose, but knowing this cold—knowing how many of his sneezes tonight have caught him off guard, often with barely enough time to cover—he’s not sure how long it will stay that way.

“So,” Erika says, deceptively nonchalant. “How did you two meet?” 

Yves is ready to give her the spiel he’s already given so many times tonight. “We met at work,” he starts. “I was assigned to Vincent’s team, so I—” His voice breaks on that note, and he clears his throat again, fighting the urge to wince. Has he sounded this rough since he got here? “So I relied on him a ton for… hh… those… hHEH… sorryIhavetohH… HEh’IZCHH-Eew! snf-! Ugh, snf-!” The sneeze is just as theatrically loud as usual, which, embarrassingly, prompts a few bless yous from further along the table.

He thinks he can feel the effects of the cold medicine starting to wear off—or perhaps his cold is just getting worse. Either way, all this sneezing must be making him lose his voice twice as fast.  “I relied on him a tod for those first few weeks, with all the… snf-! All the odboarding stuff. And then after that, I… hH-!” he really, really doesn’t want to sneeze again, but the tickle in his nose seems to have only gotten worse. “...figured I should thank him… f-for… hh-! for helping out…  sorry, I— hh!... HEh-hhHEH’IZSSCH-EEW!”

He can feel Erika’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t have time to interpret her expression before he’s twisting away from the three of them, coughing so harshly into the crook of his arm that he can feel his eyes beginning to well up with tears. His throat really hurts—every subsequent cough seems to scrape uncomfortably against his throat, making it feel impossibly sorer.  

He feels a hand settle on his own, feels someone interlace their fingers with his, though the incongruousness of the action doesn’t quite register to him immediately; at least, until—

“Save your voice,” Vincent says, softly. “I can take it from here.”

Something about his tone of voice startles Yves. He’s never heard Vincent sound like that before—uncharacteristically soft, despite the command.

“You’re sick?” Erika asks. 

Yves opens his mouth to respond, but Vincent beats him to it. “He’s a little under the weather.” 

“It’s - snf-! - a lot better than it sounds, I prombise,” Yves cuts in.

Vincent sighs. “What did I say about saving your voice?”

“He was saying something about onboarding?” Erika says, as an invitation for Vincent to continue.

Vincent nods. “Back then, we worked pretty closely for a few weeks, so Yves took me out to dinner as a way of thanking me for my help. That was in June, back when Starcruisers was just premiering in theaters.”

“That movie with Willow Alder and Denver Gill?” Brendon says.

“That’s right. Yves likes the same kind of sci-fi as I like, so we went together.” That’s a half-truth: they have talked briefly, but not extensively, about Starcruisers, and Yves does like sci-fi, but he’s not sure if he’s communicated that to Vincent before. “After that, we started seeing each other more often. Dinner, and a movie, every Friday after work. And when we ran out of movies to watch in theaters, he invited me over to his place.”

The smile Vincent has on now is worlds away from the strained, tight-lipped one he’d given Erika earlier. If Yves didn’t know better, he might have thought it looked sincere.

“If I’m honest, it became the thing I looked forward to the most every week. I mean, it’s not uncommon for me to meet people who are easy to get along with at work. That kind of surface-level agreeability—for lack of a better phrase—is generally well-valued in our field, to the extent that it hardly even feels like a choice. But even outside of work, even when it doesn’t benefit him, Yves is actually one of the most thoughtful people I know. He’s always thinking about others, even when it’s ill-advised. I’d imagine you know that too.”

At that, Vincent looks to Erika, as if he expects her to agree with him. But he doesn’t wait for her acknowledgement, either, to continue: “And he’s good at taking initiative, which saved me a lot of stress. He asked me out shortly after I realized I had feelings for him. We’ve been together since then.” 

Yves stares back at Vincent. His mouth feels suddenly dry.

He owes Vincent a free dinner over this. And a performance review so good that it earns him a raise.

“That’s very sweet,” Erika comments, with a pointed smile. “And I know where you’re coming from. I used to think some of the same things about him, too.”

Used to. Yves is sure Vincent must hear the unspoken remainder of the sentence: but of course, I’ve come to know better.

But Vincent merely nods. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Just a sec, I should give my presents to Margot before I forget,” Erika says. She reaches under the table for the packages she’s set down, both of them wrapped nicely in silver wrapping paper and sealed off with a neatly tied bow. Yves watches her leave. He’ll have to remember to thank Vincent later.

“Erika was telling me she doesn’t know why you don’t text her more,” Brendon says.

Yves stares at him, disbelieving. 

“We dod’t exactly have a lot to talk about,” he says.

“Really? She told me she wanted to stay friends.”

Yves knows this, of course. It had been his idea to not stay friends after the breakup. He missed her, then, of course, but it was the best decision out of several unfavorable options. 

“I ndeeded space,” Yves says, muffling a cough into his sleeve. “I’m sure you cad guess why.”

Erika reemerges from the kitchen, though she doesn’t take a seat just yet. “What are we talking about?”

“Whether Yves is open to being friends with you,” Vincent says.

Yves’s problem is this: if she announced, now, to everyone, that she was breaking up with Brendon and getting back together with Yves, there’s a part of him that would seriously consider being with her again. There’s a part of him that misses her, even still. There’s a part of him that would stop at nothing to have a semblance of that same closeness, that familiarity, that trust. 

But there’s a part of him, too, that knows better.

“Oh. That’s a good segue, actually. I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Erika says, lowering her voice and leaning forward. This can’t possibly turn out well, Yves thinks. “Do you remember that night with Brendon?”

“Of course.” As if he could forget, even if he wanted to.

“I had already been meaning to break up with you for awhile,” Erika says. “I was just waiting for the right time.”

Yves nods. She’d said that back then, too.

“But then I got drunk,” she says, “and I made decisions I shouldn’t have made, even before I broke things off officially.” She meets his eyes, now, with a frown. She’s always been beautiful, but something about the lighting tonight makes her look so beautiful it feels cruel. “What I’m getting at is that I didn’t mean to lie to you. I always meant to end things properly.”

Yves stares at her.

He really, really doesn’t want to deal with this right now.

“I’b sorry,” he says, with an apologetic smile. He gets to his feet, pushes in his chair. “If you could hold that thought. I really have to go blow my ndose.”

Then he just about bolts—he leaves the dining table and heads out into the hallway, leaving the three of them still there. He’s been to Margot’s apartment before, so luckily, he knows that the bathroom is just off to the right. Thankfully, it happens to be unoccupied. He slips in and shuts the door, turns the lock, turns on the light.

[Part 3]

[dizzythegreat]

a God

do you believe in a God?

well it's complicated, i say. is it really? here's what they told me: there is someone out there who loves me. no matter my sins, no matter my faults. He loves me, i will never be worthy. forgive me, father, for i have sinned, and there is nothing i will ever be able to do to make up for that fact.

there is someone out there who created me, piece by piece, and made no mistakes. took each part of this broken body and mind in His hands and curved them all together in a wretched attempt to create something beautiful.

they say i have His love, but how can i accept it knowing what i was made from? i'm stretched between desire and resentment, acceptance and rejection. they say that the woman committed the original sin, that although the man slipped the fruit into his own mouth, it was her who convinced him, although having been deceived herself. i think i'm both the man and the woman, continually deceiving myself, continually sinning. i hand myself the apple. just take one bite, and another, and another, and another, and. i know exactly what i'm doing and i do it anyways. i am the original sin and the generations damned for it afterwards. i am the tree and i am the fruit and i am the hands that passed it between them and i, too, will fall as they did, be thrown from the garden that my God created for me, cursed as i deserve to be. screaming the whole way out, i'm sorry to be like this. i'm sorry to have crumbled and cracked this body back into the dust it was made from. i'm sorry you love me.

/ / / /

well, it's sort of the same with you, in a way. i want you here with me and i want you exactly where you are. i want you to want me too and i want you to reel back in disgust. i want you to see me, to take in all my cuts and bruises, and i want you to close your eyes. i want you in a glass case, for me to look, but not touch, and i want you in my mouth. i want you to love me the way i love you, and i can think of nothing more terrifying.

this was supposed to be a religous poem, goddamnit, and i've brought it back to you again. well. i'm sorry to be like this. i'm sorry i love you in a way that you might not be able to reciprocate. i'm sorry i'm the way i am. just please keep me with you, i'll perch on the arm of your chair like an angel, keep my mouth shut and my lips upturned, close but never too close, just as i was made to be. i love you in a way that's just right and nothing less. i feel for you the way i am meant to. give me my undeserved love, pour it down my throat into the starving hole that lives beneath. i will never be worthy and you will never stop giving, and i hate you for it.

[hyacinths-in-a-storm]

Stolen Crowns and Blue Flames

Tyzula Week: Day 4 Role Reversal

You can read it here on archive of our own as well

A/N: I put off editing this for so long.

The Royal Family of the Fire Nation was said to be blessed by Agni’s light. Ever since the creation of firebenders, they were given the mandate that stated that they had divine right to rule.

Ty Lee didn’t quite believe that. If her family was truly blessed, then all seven of the Firelord’s children would be firebenders, not five of them. It was a sore point among the family, that Ty Lee and Ty Lat were as ordinary as the common man, nothing interesting about them. They were to be political pawns, to be married off to the highest bidder. Ty Lat had accepted her fate, spending her days in the river swimming, and making friends with the servants and the turtle-ducks.

Ty Lee refused. Instead she chose to spend her days pouring over every single piece of information she could get her hands on. She spent nights looking through historical sources, looking for anything, anything that could be used to have the upperhand, or at least level the playing ground against benders.

Finally her studying paid off. Chi-blocking, the skill of disrupting the bodies’ chakras, paralyzing people, and in benders, blocking their ability to bend. For the first time in her life, her Father looked at her instead of through her. The first time she demonstrated it properly, he even called her a prodigy.

He sent her to the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, to nurture her gift, and to help her form bonds with the daughters of other high-ranking officials.

That’s when Ty Lee met Azula.

~

“I hear that another one of the princesses is joining us, I think she’s even going to be in our class.” Azula remarks as she grabs another tree limb, trying and failing to climb higher,

“Oh yeah I know that.” Mai answers impassively,

“You could at least pretend to act surprised, it took a lot of listening to figure that much out.” Azula says, glaring from her spot in the tree,

“You mean eavesdropping.” Mai corrects,

“Same thing. Besides, how did you figure it out?” Azula asked, holding onto the trunk of the tree as she inches to a standing position,

“My uncle told me father, my father told me.” Mai picked up a rock, testing its weight,

“Where did your uncle get the news from?” Azula asks, readjusting her weight so she could stand without the support of the trunk,

“He made the decision himself.” Mai aimed the rock at Azula’s forehead,

“What do you mean?” Azula noticed the projectile and crouched down preparing to jump down from her perch,

“He’s the Firelord and you shouldn’t jump down from there you’ll break your legs.” Mai answered calmly, as if she were commenting on the weather,

“What?!” Azula yelled in disbelief, she jumped down anyways, nearly crushing Mai, “Your uncle is the Firelord and you never thought to bring it up?”

“It never really came up.” Mai shrugs, readjusting her aim, and within the blink of an eye she throws it aiming for Azula’s left eyebrow, Azula who was used to this dodged it without missing a beat.

Ty Lee, who was eavesdropping, was not. It hit her square on the temple. She let out a cry of pain, attracting the attention of two girls.

“Mai!” Azula yells as she runs over to Ty Lee’s side, “I told you that your throwing obsession would get us in trouble!”

“Says the person who likes to set flowers on fire for fun.” Mai responds dryly,

“Only the old ones!” she protests,

Ty Lee feels a presence beside her. She looked up to see a girl staring down at her, her face merely a few inches from Ty Lee. Her heart beats faster for some unknown reason. She was so close that Ty Lee could count each of her individual eyelashes if she wanted to.

“I’m alright.” Ty Lee states, proud that her voice didn’t falter, 

“Sorry about that, it’s just someone,” Azula pauses to glare at Mai, “doesn’t watch where they’re throwing things.” Ty Lee actually laughs at that, and is about to respond when a voice calls her,

“Ty Lee, come on! It’s your first day and you’re going to make us late.” it was Ty Woo who was towering over them, Ty Lee stood up so fast she got dizzy,

“Sorry Ty Woo, I’m coming right now.” Ty Lee knew her sister would be reporting every mishap to their father, and Ty Lee wasn’t going to risk falling out of her father’s favor so soon after she’d earned it,

“Hurry up.” Ty Woo added unhelpfully before walking away, Ty Lee scrambled after her sister before remembering the whole purpose she was sent to school,

“See you around?” she asks the girls, hoping her voice sounds inviting, and not like her only social interactions had been servants and her family members. Azula waved and flashed a bright smile that had Ty Lee’s heart racing again.

Ty Woo put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it hard, nearly dragging her away,

“Associating with the governor’s daughter? I hear she’s a talented fire-bender.” she says, smirking, she squeezes harder “Something you could never be.”

“Shut up.” Ty Lee responds, and the light fluttering in her stomach sours to dark, heavy rage.

~

Ty Lee watched with glee as Azula crumbled to the ground with a loud oof! Ty Lee gracefully bent backwards and slowly, deliberately got to her feet.

“You don’t have to look so happy.” Azula says as she climbs to her feet,

“It’s the fifth time I won.” Ty Lee answers smugly,

“That’s because you’ve been practicing handstands for years, I only learned last week.” Azula pouts, “Besides, can you do this?”

Azula opens her palm and a large red flame ignites, flickering and sparking. Azula’s firebending is nothing like Ty Lee has ever seen before. It’s red, but small blue embers run up the length of the flame, which promise a prodigy, as if Azula wasn't already classified as one.

Ty Lee should feel jealousy stir in her stomach. A reminder that benders will always be stronger than non-benders, will always have the upper ground, an unfair advantage. But she feels nothing but excitement and a growing sense of admiration even. It flutters in her chest like a dragonfly, trying to break out of her chest. The feeling scares her. It scares her that one person, that one girl can completely throw off any control she had over her feelings.

"Earth to Ty Lee. Earth to Ty Lee. Are you there?" Azula says booping her on the nose,

"Yeah, I'm here." Ty Lee answers, snapping out of her thoughts,

“Good, I’m pretty sure the chef made some mochi, let’s go see if we can steal some.” Azula responds, taking Ty Lee’s hand in hers. She could feel her heartbeat along her palm, where her palm was pressed against Azula’s. Almost as if her heart was trapped in-between them. It wasn’t an unwelcome feeling.

~

Two years later, in the middle of the night Lady Azula and Lord Zuko, the children of General Ozai and his wife Lady Ursa went missing. The official story is that they were kidnapped, despite the dozens of guards, despite the hundreds of safety features, they were taken from the beds in the middle of the night. They disappeared, seemingly without a trace.

Ty Lee wouldn’t see her again for two more years.

~

Ty Lee steps foot out of her palanquin and into the recently captured Earth Kingdom territory. She stretches out, wondering how the hell anyone can stay in that cramped if gilded cell for hours on end. The town she was staying the night in was very quiet, even the children seemed muted, though this is most likely due to the tall Fire Nation flags that whipped in the wind behind her. It was the closest town to Omashu without actually being in Earth Kingdom territory. Still, this town set her on edge, maybe if she scoped out the area, she would feel better. She motioned to the nearest servant and informed them of her plans, and they bowed leaving her to her devices.

The town was silent. Any person she came across would scramble back in fear. Parents would grab children and usher them inside, girls would glare at her, if they had the guts to even look at her, and boys mostly looked at her in disgust, except for the brave few who decided it was appropriate to look at her with lust. She scoffed, glaring at one of the offenders, and his face paled,

One boy stood out, for instead of fear or disgust, he looked at her with something akin to recognition. He put down the tea kettle he was holding and bolted into the building behind him. Strange.

Ty Lee brushed it off and made her lap around the town, when she came back she found that the servants had already set up. One of them handed her a letter. She ripped it open, scanning over the contents, it was a generic report from a general about how Omashu would fall any day, and that they would be honored to have her-

“Ty Lee?” she stiffened, her entire body tensing as swore that she could recognize that voice. She turned around coming face to face with someone she hadn’t seen in years. She whispered, so quietly she could barely hear herself,

“Azula?”

A/N: This has to be by far my favorite prompt, and I’ll probably do more little snippets for this AU in the future.

[honeyhobi]

For the ask game you know who I'm gonna do...Spider, sixteen.

Put That Guy In a Situation™️ Ask Game

Crossposted on AO3

16. Meeting past/future self + Spider Socorro

A/N: What are the plot redefining implications of the RDA somehow getting their hands on time traveling technology, you ask? Shrugs, try not to think about it too hard. Enjoy!

Content warnings for implied abuse and non-con.

“Ready or not, here I come!” Spider calls, jumping down from his perch in a tree where he'd been counting with his forehead pressed against the trunk.

He listens to the breeze whistling through the branches; runs his hands along the tall greenery and giggles as a kenten takes flight in a colorful swirl, away from his curious fingers. Hide and Seek is his favorite game to play in the forest. He likes seeking more than hiding, because no matter how still he is or how quiet he tries to be, the others always seem to find him first. But when he’s the one seeking, it’s like he is an equal. He is the hunter, ears strained and eyes hyper focused for any signs of his prey.

Neteyam’s been teaching him how to track using displaced soil and the positions of the plants. It’s hard work, but it comes in handy for games like this. Spider gets close to the ground, studying the grass that's at eye level with him. Movement in the corner of his eye has his head snapping up, but it’s only a couple of syaksyuk swinging from the branches above him. The moment of distraction is what causes him to spot the group of wilted ferns a few feet away. They list heavily to one side, like something bigger has kicked them away. Spider grins triumphantly.

“Lo’ak~” he sing songs, bounding over to the trail and following it as the pattern weaves through the forest. Now that he’s spotted it, it’s almost ridiculous how obvious the tracks are. Someone has been this way, and recently, too. “You’re getting sloppy, bro!”

The trail leads him right to a thicket of vines before disappearing beyond them. It’s a great hiding spot with the way the vines are half-obscured in shadow. He peaks through a gap and sees a tall tree in the center of a clearing. It’s hard to see at this angle, but there’s a figure kneeling at the base of the tree. Gotcha. Spider shoves through the curtain of vines, the words already halfway off his tongue.

“I found—”

His voice dies as the figure comes into full view.

It’s not Lo’ak. It’s not Neteyam or Kiri, either. No, the figure that turns to face him looks just as shocked to see him as he is to see them. A human boy. He’s wearing clothes similar to the humans back at Hell’s Gate, but Spider doesn’t recognize him as any of the scientists that work alongside his foster parents. His mask isn’t as bulky, either, and the exopack is quieter when the boy inhales sharply.

“Shit,” The boy hisses.

Spider doesn’t warn him not to curse. There's no adults around to catch him, anyway.

“Who are you?” He asks. Even as he does so, he gets closer to the stranger. Maybe he should feel more cautious, but he has no reason to fear any human in the forest. None of them have ever cared enough about Spider to want to hurt him before.

“I'm, uh, a friend. Of Norm's,” The boy says.

That has Spider perking up. “Oh, me too!”

Now only feet away, he can see the boy's face clearly. It's almost familiar, the dimple in his chin and set of his cheekbones makes Spider feel like he’s seen this boy before in passing. His blonde curls are cropped close to his head, and his sleeveless shirt reveals arms tight with muscle and broad shoulders. He must wrestle a lot, Spider thinks, when he sees all of the bruises on the boy's body. They crawl up and around his biceps, circle in purple and green blotches near the base of his throat and peek out from under the seal of his mask. There are some bite marks, too, red and fresh looking.

“Are you out here by yourself?” The boy asks.

Spider shakes his head. “I'm playing with my friends.”

The boy smiles a small, subdued smile. It's a little sad, and doesn't quite meet his big brown eyes. “Where are Lo'ak and Kiri? Is Neteyam with you?”

“I dunno, we're playing Hide and Seek. Do you know the Sullys?” Spider asks, a little surprised. This boy might not be a total stranger, no human at base really is to him, but he'd think he would know this one better if the boy knew Lo'ak, Kiri, and Neteyam by name.

“Sure do. You're all kind of hard to ignore when you play around in the labs.”

Spider dips his chin bashfully. That's definitely true, the scientists only let him go outside as much as they do because the only other option is to let his chaos be unleashed within the compound. And that can lead to lots of headaches and any number of broken tech.

“Sorry.”

The boy clicks his tongue and brushes a hand under Spider's chin to make him look up again.

“Don't be. Norm secretly thinks it's funny when you get up to trouble. Don't tell him I said that, though.”

Spider mimes zipping his mouth shut and throwing away a key to show that the secret is safe with him. It's the right move, because the boy's smile widens.

“How old are you now, Spider?” The boy asks.

“Seven.”

A beat. The boy stares at him with a faraway look, and for some reason it fills Spider with a lonely type of sadness. He gets the sense that the boy in front of him doesn't get a lot of hugs.

“We went back too far,” the boy mutters under his breath. It's quiet enough that he probably didn't mean for Spider to hear it. Not that it matters, because the words don't make any sense to him.

There's the sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves, and the boy's body language shifts. His expression turns grim, almost scared. Spider turns in the direction the sound came from, expecting to see a viperwolf or something.

“Miles?” A voice calls from beyond the clearing, getting closer.

The voice is unfamiliar. It must belong to another person Spider hasn't met yet. Is he calling for the boy? Surely he isn't calling for Spider, no one refers to him by his birth name anymore. Then the boy grabs him by the shoulders and spins him around so they are facing each other again.

“Spider, you gotta go, alright? Lo'ak is probably around here somewhere.”

The urgency in his voice scares Spider a little. Something has changed in the last minute that they've been here together, and he doesn’t know what. But he wants to reach up and smooth the crease that has formed between the boy's eyebrows.

“Do you and your friend want to play with us? You can be seeker in the next round, if Kiri lets you.”

The boy sighs, bringing a hand up to cradle Spider's head. “Maybe next time, okay, buddy? For now you have to go. Don't want the others to think you gave up seeking, right?”

That spurs Spider into action. If there's one thing he hates more than anything is people thinking he's a quitter. Even though he’s the smallest of his friends, and not as fast or strong as the other kids in the Omaticaya village, he is not the type to just give up on something.

“Right!”

He turns around and darts through the vines from which he came, only sparing a moment to wave goodbye to the boy still kneeling by the tree. The boy waves back and watches him go, shoulders hunched in on himself. A little bit of that sadness from earlier washes over Spider at the sight, but he doesn’t dwell on it for long. He passes through the vines back into the forest and almost instantly finds another set of tracks. These ones are smaller and indicative of somebody who is barefoot. They run all the way up to a bunch of trees with thick branches obscured with leaves as big as Spider's torso. A great spot for a Na'vi to blend in.

Spider cracks his knuckles and starts to climb. All thoughts beyond seeking take a backseat in his mind. He can ask Norm if there are any other humans named Miles at Hell's Gate later. For now, he has a game to win.

[ask-the-shichibukai]

So...anyone putting up Christmas decorations yet or do you lot actually have some human decency?- 🪲

Crocodile: We don't just have "some human decency", we have style. Well, I mostly. Anyway, Christmas decorations are banned from my island until mid December. I like to be organized in everything in life, that's true, but putting them up before the beginning of the cold season is a barbaric habit that I don't condone here, Anon.

If the stupid clown tells you otherwise in an useless attempt to feel important, ignore him and his moronic prattles about Christmas Spirit. They are bullshit.

Ah, and remind me to employ someone who is actually competent at preparing the Christmas tree this time. Why don't I do that myself, you ask? Why the fuck should I do that when there are people I pay for it? Unlike certain someones, I have very important work to do during the day: like preventing this organization to crumble to dust like Buggy's dignity. I haven't got time to oversee the color of the garlands (gold) .

Uhm, probably Daz Bones will do for this task. Maybe some of the others, given that I pay them for working, not for being a source of embarrassment.

The only one here who is banned from any task even remotely related to the arrangement of any kind of decoration is Mihawk. He absolutely can't be left unsupervised anywhere near the decorations, the tree and especially the lights. He's worse than a cat when he's bored and faced with a sparkling Christmas tree, trust me.

Once, when we were both Warlords, he stole my hook in order to reach the top of the Christmas tree and put the star on it and five minutes later he had managed to make the tree fall to the ground and set the Navy HQ on fire! (and that's still better than the time when he used Doflamingo's shoulders as a perch!) Nobody knows or wants to know how he accomplished it and I don't want any repetition of that experience on my fucking island. So he is to stay in the kitchen preparing dinner for the party and nowhere else. I'll make sure of that.

The stupid clown is not better, but he has his pros: unlike the other one, he can be very easily intimidated into submission if he does anything stupid and then his ability to convince the crew to work hard without complaining counts for one less headache for me. Overall, he can stay. But if he even thinks about turning this place into a more ridiculous, flashing circus than it already is ...

... Let's just say that a little "sand burial" will be in order. Nobody will find him.

I gave them a detailed list with fucking pictures of what I expect the place to look like. I won't tolerate anymore incompetence.

Anyway, you'll see the result in due time. Now, if you'll excuse me I'm actually a busy man. But feel free to ask again if you want to know anything else about our daily life here, I'll even be gracious enough to answer them myself again.

[beyondthebackup]

[Carefully folded, a delicate pink note tucks itself between the tree's undulating seams. The ripples of bark, communion ash against the blushing paper, a meek sail cresting dark waves blissfully unaware of its existence on the periphery of an expanding whirlpool, a crater left by bruised knuckles. The note reads:] "I daydream of reciting bible verses in backless Sunday dresses, brushing my fingers through your hair as proverbs pour out of me. I would shiver against your lips pressed lush and hot between the valleys of my unguarded virtue. I want you to kiss me so hard that I bruise like bitten fruit, I want you to sink your sanguine carnality into me, divorce modernity and pretend we are in some distant century, sincere and snarling into each other's skin - my muse red in tooth and claw, my savage love... You could infiltrate me so tenderly, daring my will to resist this pull from God with your succulent serenade. My voice would grow small and sharp as a misericord's blade, glinting promises of mercy asking you to slip it between the petals of my armor, all that's left to guard sense from sin. - ♡"

The early morning jogs began as a necessary staple of B's training regimen.

Victory is less about raw strength than it is about stamina and endurance, his trainer told him, if you can outlast your opponent in a fight, you win.

B defeated A in the athletic realm a long time ago, that was undeniable, and yet it wasn't enough. The envy rolling A's eyes whenever B showed off, the pounding of his heart betraying fear as B pinned him to the ground again and again and again until it was insisted that B spar with someone closer to his skill level...

Ah, the humiliation was palpable. It was an amazing feeling.

Alternative even lowered himself to a full-scale retreat, begging Roger to remove him from the class because he couldn't handle it.

Now, the early morning jogs are something B does of his own volition when he is in the mood and the weather is tolerable, to keep form and assure Alternative that in this avenue he would always be inferior.

On days like this he is usually awake before anyone else, which is what makes the odd little sign of human activity in the form of a pink note in a tree particularly eye-catching as B slows to a stop in front of it and catches his breath.

This is the tree he used as a sandbag and passed on his usual route around the orphanage. Still, besides that gaping wound he left in its trunk, it is one unremarkable tree in a sea of many. That note could be meant for anyone. B plucks it from its perch anyway, immediately thinking of the previous letter he discovered in his desk and reads it.

The letter could be meant for anyone, but twice is quite the coincidence.

Trained to be a detective from the time he was small, that glaring focus takes over and he almost doesn't take the time to enjoy what the letter is saying.

Almost.

Sunday dresses?

---------- Obelus Yoriko Umbral A ----------

Though Obelus is Catholic and the only person on B's mental list he's seen carrying a bible, he has a baffling insecurity about his bare arms and taking off the stupid flannels he wears all the time. B still intends to compare their handwriting, but unless he's playing some elaborate game (which B feels he is too lazy for) it is highly unlikely that Obe is the author of these notes or interested in wearing backless Sunday dresses. Besides, if he wanted to fuck, he'd just say so.

Even more than the hunger inherent in the delicately penned words on the page, B is struck by one thing in particular -

My voice would grow small and sharp as a misericord's blade, glinting promises of mercy asking you to slip it between the petals of my armor, all that's left to guard sense from sin.

B recognizes the blade from books he read on the High Middle Ages years ago.

Specifically, that it was meant to be a last resort - to kill your enemy during a struggle, or kill a knight with a fatal wound to gift them a more painless death. Usually with the aim to pierce the eye, the brain, or the heart.

It's a morbid way of putting things.

Whoever this person is, they consider their situation dire. The note says so itself - sin and death.

Whoever they are, there's a reason why they're hiding behind pretty little notes.

B smirks to himself. He's having fun.

He pockets the second note, and resumes his jog.

[Lavender Note]

[Pink Note]

[Blue Note]

[joansdidions]

letters to milena.

0.5k words

a/n: this is my first time attempting a fic and tbh it barely is one? anyways i hope you enjoy it!! thank you @abiiors for being my biggest supporter ily always xx

The sun slips through the curtain and golden streaks of light fill the room. It is warm. This is good. This is nice. Your fingers intertwined with mine, finding their spot almost instinctively. I think the poets would have lovely things to say about us. Do you ever think about how lucky we are? To find someone that just understands. Now we’re staring out at the sea, the trees swaying gently. We watch the waves crash onto shore again. I could spend a lifetime like this. With you. This is good. This is nice.

“In a way, you are poetry material; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. Words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal individuality.”

With your glasses perched on your face, foreheads pressed into each other, we test the limits of how close we can be and giggle to ourselves as we run our childish experiment. I mention in passing how our glasses make us look smart, as though we were applying a scientific method to this display of absolute adoration for each other. In my mind, Kafka has it right. He puts my love into words. I’ve always loved literature, maybe because I could never really find the words and wanted to know how. But Kafka, his words, oh his remarkable way with words, they are it for me. 

“I want in fact more of you. In my mind I am dressing you with light; I am wrapping you up in blankets of complete acceptance and then I give myself to you.”

I would go where you go. To fully immerse myself into you. This is forever isn’t it? When I said the poets would have lovely things to say about us, I think I meant that they would have lovely things to say about you. You embody sunlight, you carry warmth wherever you go. Even in the pouring rain and under the hood of your raincoat, I would go where you go. Running to you, rainwater wetting the very edges of my jeans. 

“I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.”

With a slip of my tongue, I tell you about my dream wedding. The wedding gowns, the floral arrangement and the cake. It’s silly, it’s childish really, that I have an entire wedding planned out but not once have I imagined who I would be married to. I flush red, my face gets warm and there’s something unbearable about the way my ears heat up and there’s no way to calm down. Not when you’re looking at me like that. There’s nowhere to hide, no place I could go for respite, so I go wherever my mind takes me and I bury my face into your chest. The sweet lingering scent of your cologne and laundry detergent blend so well. I know it’s you.

“Yours

(now I'm even losing my name - it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now: Yours)”

[theultimatesandwich]

We're Not So Different, You and I (Crossover Fic)

Guess who decided to go through their WIPs and finally write a part 2 to their dragon prince/owl house crossover fic? Me :) Anyways, probably the last I'll write in this crossover land, but just happy to have resolved the main plot points eating at my brain. Hope y'all enjoy!

Summary: Hunter and Soren find out they have a lot more in common than they thought...

TW: implied panic attack, implied abuse/child abuse

Part 1 here Words: 1.9k

“Are you sure about this?” 

Hunter and Soren were perched at the edge of a cliff overlooking a valley of red trees and jagged rocks. Flapjack was in staff form and Soren was testing its weight as a javelin. 

“I’ve never been sure about anything in my life! Now climb on!”

Hunter got on top of the staff as Soren picked them up, taking aim. 

“Wait, don’t you mean you’ve never been MORE sure?!”

“Nope!”

And with that, Soren reared back and launched Hunter out across the cliffside. It was a beautiful view, seeing the sun rise up over the Boiling Isles, a full view of the long dead titan beneath him. But, after a brief moment of screaming, then enjoying the surroundings, Hunter did have to focus on waking up Flapjack as he felt himself falling. It wasn’t too difficult, pulling himself out of a nosedive at the last second then gaining speed as he began to soar again. 

Flying back to the cliffside, he heard Soren cheering. “I think that was a new record!” 

“Really?” Hunter landed next to Soren, still filled with a bit of adrenaline. 

“I mean, that is the first time I ever threw a javelin with someone on it, so yeah, that would make it a new record.”

It had been a few weeks since Soren had come to live with Hunter and Darius, and yet he still found new ways to surprise Hunter with information about his past life. 

“The realm you come from is so…different. No palisman or witches but you still have magic, but no expectation to have to use magic…” Hunter looked over at Soren. “I know we’re still working on a way to get you home…do you ever miss it?” 

A wave of sadness crossed over Soren’s face, but only for a moment. Then he shrugged, cracking a smile. “Eh, some days, yeah. But I’m just waiting for the day to tell everyone about my adventures here! The greatest bards from across the land will be lining up to hear my tales. I almost became a bard myself once. I am a master of poetry.”

Hunter didn’t look convinced, mostly because he knew Raine would definitely disagree with that statement. But something kept nagging him about the way Soren talked about his home. 

“Come on, let’s head back.” Soren started walking before Hunter could question him. 

Back at Darius’s home, the two boys settled into a morning routine. Hunter warped around the room tidying up, usually some weapon or piece of armor lying around, while Soren began making breakfast. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t know what a flapjack was,” he joked as he began ladling out the batter. The little red cardinal perched on his shoulder, warbling affectionately. 

“Yeah, well, he had his name long before I met him.” Hunter shrugged. “Didn’t feel right to try and change it, or question it”

“Well, if anything, I’m glad I can help you experience these delicious syrupy circles.” 

Hunter laughed. “Oh I’m grateful for it. We never got to have anything like this at the castle.” 

Soren set the plate of pancakes on the table. “You never told me you lived in a castle. Were you a prince or something?” 

Hunter froze. “Umm…not really. I was a soldier.” A soldier who was a clone of his uncle’s long dead brother, Hunter thought. But truth be told he didn’t want to divulge that information to Soren. Maybe it was selfish, but it was nice to have a friend in his life who didn’t know much about his past. The two of them could explore the isles or get into trouble and not have to worry about any awkwardness. Don’t get him wrong, Hunter loved his other friends. But he could only take so many questions about what it was like being a Grimwalker before he started getting overwhelmed.

“Huh”, Soren said. “Weird. Me too!”

“Wait, really?” 

“Yeah, I was the head of the King’s guard. Went on missions, protected the princes, fought some elves…” Soren began to trail off. 

“Soren? Um Soren, the flapjacks.” 

Smoke began rising from the pan as Soren came out of his stupor, chucking the pan into the sink. “Whoops,” he laughed nervously. “Guess I must’ve gotten distracted. Hope you’re fine with just the one plate.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, but are you?” Hunter asked. 

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Hunter could think of all kinds of reasons, but he also knew not to pry too hard into them. “No reason.” 

The two sat in silence for a moment, before Soren tried to break the tension.

“Ok hear me out on this.” Soren said. “What if today, I gave you sword fighting lessons, and you taught me how to use that weird magic staff thing?” 

“That…could be interesting. But also dangerous. Let’s find a safe place.” 

Together, the two of them flew off towards the best training spot Hunter knew: the mountains of the Knee ~~~

“First lesson in sword training,” Soren said, handing Hunter his weapon. “Treat this weapon as an extension of you. Understand where to swing it, and how to use it to your advantage.” 

Hunter held the sword, a bit heavier than the staffs he’d been used to training with. “Like this?”

“Perfect!” Soren reached into his sheath and pulled out a second sword. “Now, try to swing at me, and I’ll block it.” 

Hunter swung the sword, and Soren parried the attack. It was a bit clunkier of a weapon, but as they went back and forth, Hunter began to see the appeal of a hefty close-range weapon. 

“I think I’m getting the hang of this!” 

“You’re definitely better than Callum ever was, that’s for sure.” Soren chuckled. 

“Who’s Callum?” 

“He was a prince in the castle. I was responsible for training him, for a bit, but swordfighting wasn’t his thing. Funny enough he started learning magic instead. Always thought you could either be good at magic or fighting, so thanks for proving me wrong, I guess.” Soren’s defense started to drop. 

“I wasn’t always good at magic.” Hunter eased up on his blows. “I was born without it, actually. Had to find my own way to fight for a while, before my….before I got a staff to help me do magic. Without it, without Flapjack, I can’t cast any spells.” 

Soren gave a small smile. “Well, you’ve certainly got the makings of a warrior in you.” 

Hunter smiled back. “Thanks. Ready to try out the other side of things?” Soren nodded. 

“Alright,” Hunter said, setting down the sword as Flapjack perched on his shoulder. “A magic staff is a tool, not a toy, and a palisman needs to be treated with respect. You can do all kinds of things with their magic, but only if you trust each other. Got it?” 

Soren stood at attention and saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“Ok.” Hunter held out his hand as Flapjack flew down, turning into a staff. “First lesson: hold the staff.” 

“Seems simple enough.” Soren reached out and took hold of the staff, feeling the energy course through his body. “Woah…that’s…that’s pretty sweet.” 

“Congrats on passing step one. Step two,” Hunter continued, “is casting a spell. It’s best to start with something small at first, maybe lifting an object, but in time-” 

Hunter had to roll out of the way as Soren shot off an explosion, hitting the nearby mountainside and causing rocks to fall near them. Even without his teleportation magic from the staff, Hunter was agile enough to dodge out of the way. Once the mini avalanche stopped, Soren dropped the staff, now back in palisman form, and ran to Hunter’s side. 

“Oh my gosh, are you hurt? Hunter I am so, so sorry I didn’t think…I didn’t mean to…”

“I’m alright.” Hunter sat up, mostly unscathed. His hand absentmindedly drifted to the scar on his face. “It was an accident. I’m ok.” 

“I’m sorry…” Soren yelled, kicking a nearby rock, and ran away from Hunter down the path. 

“Soren, Soren wait!” 

It didn’t take long for Hunter to catch up. Soren was seated at the cliff, overlooking the Isles as the snow fell gently around them. He didn’t pressure Soren to say anything; he just walked over and sat down next to him. 

“...I was never cut out to do magic.” Soren said eventually. “My dad…he tried to teach me, but I never was able to get it right. So when my sister was born, he taught her instead. And she was a natural at it. So she became the golden child and I just…had to prove myself another way.” 

“I’m…sorry to hear that.” Hunter said. “Your dad…doesn’t sound like the greatest guy.” 

Soren let out a bitter laugh. “HA! You don’t know the half of it.” He pulled his legs in towards his chest. “My dad tried to take over the kingdom. He tried to kill the princes, to get me to kill the princes. All so he could control everything and everyone.” 

“Sounds a lot like my uncle.” Hunter looked out over the horizon, then noticed Soren looking at him, as if wanting to hear more. 

“My uncle was Emperor Belos.” Hunter took in a deep breath. “He controlled the Boiling Isles and tried to wipe out all the witches. And he trained me to be a soldier and help him. I didn’t know anything at the time, but when I found out…” His breath became shaky, until Flapjack settled in his lap. Stroking the bird, Hunter felt his breathing slow and become normal once again. 

“Is he how you got…” Soren pointed at his face, and Hunter nodded. 

“I blamed myself for the longest time. Mostly ‘cause he blamed me for it. Said it was my fault it happened in the first place. But he was wrong. You don’t blame yourself when other people hurt you, or when they hurt others. All you can do is try to be kind to yourself, and help others when you can.” 

Hunter paused as he heard Soren trying to hold back tears. 

“I didn’t trip,” he whispered. 

“What?” 

“The portal Claudia made. I didn’t trip and fall through.” Soren looked up towards the skyline, away from Hunter, as tears began to form in his eyes. “He pushed me in. He wanted to get rid of me.” 

Hunter didn’t know what to say. He knew the emotions that Soren was going through: hurt, confusion, anger, betrayal. But if being around those who love him now taught him anything, it was that sometimes only one thing could help. 

Hunter reached out towards Soren, and gave him a hug. 

The two of them sat there, crying, but comforting each other. After a while, Soren pulled away, muttering a thanks as he wiped his nose. 

“If you want,” Hunter offered. “You could stay here. With me and Darius. I’ve never had a brother before, especially one who sort of understands what I’ve been through, and there’s no pressure if you don’t want to, but maybe-”

“Yeah,” Soren said, tears of a different kind in his eyes now. “That would be nice. I’ve never had a brother, either. I think I’d like that.” 

“Cool.” Hunter smiled as the two of them gazed out over the horizon. “Maybe we should get something nice for Darius. Just to apologize for all the trouble we’re going to get ourselves into.” 

Soren laughed, as if a bit of weight had been removed from his shoulders. “I think he’d like that.”