#are u even into carry on. idk sorry i am in a total of two (2) entire fandoms

[tyrannuspitch]

fic title ask game: this house says my name like an elegy (you're mine; oh my)

(yes they're[.. lightly misheard] song lyrics lol.)

oh this is OUTSTANDINGLY baz pitch. the title but also the song as a whole. baz as a character is ALL ABOUT family names as possession and house-meaning-family and ghosts and curses and fire imagery.

however, whenever i try to get further than that, i hit a wall and come back to a WIP that already exists, so i guess i'll just have to tell you about that. (current working title: the unquiet grave.)

in this AU, baz is a late-victorian ghost still lonesomely haunting his family's abandoned mansion, and simon is a mid-2010s(?) washed-up journalist / reluctant ghost hunter. simon is the first significant living human presence in the house since a few years after baz's death, and he kind of "wakes" baz from a dream-like state into more normal, living-seeming consciousness... and they start to form a weird little melancholy bond.

important (title-relevant) backstory: baz was meant to be the lord of the manor, pass on the family name, etc, but instead he died in his mid-20s by suicide because he couldn't face the life laid out for him by a homophobic society. (there may well have been conversion therapy involved; i would need to do more historical research and consider it very carefully.) BUT, despite his family all being dead by now, he is the only (literal) ghost remaining there. it's just him and the house that killed him and all his memories and somehow-still-lingering expectations. (and the house either has a moat or is on an island: literally surrounded by running water! ghost trap!)

simon, for his part, is coping (badly) with his relationship with agatha breaking down. they somehow got as far as engagement, even though they're not attracted to each other and don't want to be in the relationship, and simon's current work (ghost-hunting) trip is him kind of running from this reality and his queerness as a whole.

and uhhh they fall in love and simon has an awakening(tm) and they have a few very tense, sad conversations about homophobia across eras, and baz slowly reaches a point where he realises that even if the world is a long way from perfect, he does want to (or want to want to) live... and somehow it all works out to baz getting a second chance at life. BUT the house won't want to let him go. i'm still working out those details. but i am determined to make it work

-> send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i'd write for it!!

[adorekento]

Addicted `

NSFW : In which xiao ended up on an inappropriate website and was astonished to see his best friend bare in front of his screen.

anon asked : do you perhaps write for camgirl/porn? If you do! Will you please write one, where xiao is desperate to feel y/n's tongue wrapped on his cock but unfortunately he can only watch her hump the pillow on screen :((

warnings : smut (mdni), camgirl/porn, dirty talk, cussing, degradation, fingering, riding pillow, wild thoughts, mild sexual content, strong language, etc.

notes : I don't know much about camgirl and riding pillow, this is just based on what I've seen in some fanfics, so if I wrote something wrong or IDK I am so sorry 😭😭

Xiao was not the type of person to spend his time watching nasty content on a website. Xiao did not have that kind of tolerance for such things. He was more than pleased to go out and do his job, or so he told himself when he found himself staring down at an open webpage on his phone, a little after midnight, as he saw a video of some guy who got drunk while dancing with his wife.

He scrolled through it quickly, trying to find anything remotely amusing, until suddenly, a h/c haired girl popped up, dressed in only her bra and panties, wearing a smile plastered across her face. Xiao’s mouth gaped slightly, as he watched her take off her bra and slip it over one shoulder. As she moved closer to the camera, her bare chest seemed to be glowing softly under the light. He could see her belly button clearly from this angle, almost like a miniature moon. It felt weirdly intimate to see her like this, but there wasn't any way around that,

"y/n...?!" His heart pounded faster, As far as his fantasy could reach him, he never visualized his own best friend as a cam girl! Not to mention being an actual slut, playing with herself on camera while she's talking to a crowd full of people, But here he was, watching, helplessly and shocked.

He saw the comments start to stream in. The girl had been a total hit with the crowd. Most people were screaming at her for having breasts and showing them off so shamelessly. Xiao wondered if she even knew how much attention she was getting, and what people thought about the situation. He hoped not.

fuck me, mommy!!

I love u and ur tight cunt

ohh baby SHE'S SO HOTTT

who doesn't even wanna fuck her

LET'S JUST KISS TILL WE'RE NAKed

the urge to squish your badonkers is hard

I'm getting hard already, wanna fucking rip you

He paused reading the comments when he heard her laugh, "you guys are making me blush!" she said, in a soft voice that carried over the microphone, “So which toy do you guys want me to use first?" She asked playfully, "or should I start with this?” With a flick of her hand, she reached for her wet pussy. There were moans all around him now.

how much do i pay to have u on my bed

not an astronaut but i can explore uranus

i have two hands and you have two tits 🤘

oops, my phone went into my left hand 😍

at this point, xiao started to pump his dick slowly in response to the sound of her moaning. despite him knowing you entirely, he couldn’t help the blossoming of jealousy in his chest. with a scoff, he created an account and entered your live chatroom,

Use toys? Why not use your fingers, slut.

Xiao cringed as he typed that, if you were with him you would probably laugh at him, but you weren’t here right now. And you wouldn’t find out who he is anyway, at least not tonight. "oh? if that's what my new viewer wants, I'll make sure they get just exactly what they want." You replied, grinning evilly in return. With a flourish,

you pulled down the elastic top of your underwear and spread yourself wide open, your pussy glistening, your clit gleaming, the audience practically screaming with lust as their eyes followed the movements of your body. Xiao was unable to tear his gaze away from your face. He noticed how your tongue licked your lips as you smiled at them,

you started moving slowly in a circle around your clit, licking your lips as you moved. Xiao watched mesmerized by you, his erection growing harder as you rubbed circles around yourself, making small whimpering sounds.  Your head tilted back, and you looked sexy as hell as you continued to move in a circle. Xiao couldn't tear his eyes away from you. You had no idea what your viewers wanted to watch, yet, you still managed to make yourself look desirable and even hot.

Xiao’s heart raced as he imagined the way your lips felt on his cock, how wet you would taste. how hot, how tight your ass would feel wrapped around his cock. perfect you would feel, stroking his length, how wet he would feel, thrusting deeper inside of you, how good it would be as you moaned into the kisses you stole from his lips… Xiao bit his lip as he watched you. you were so gorgeous that sometimes, Xiao hated himself for watching you like this, he felt like a pervert, he felt disgusted. you didn’t deserve to be shown so blatantly like this, to be seen in the most intimate way possible.

he typed in one more comment, 'ride your pillow, and think of it as my cock.'

You stopped moving in your circling your clit, letting out a breathless sigh, a hint of excitement lingering in your smile, before you resumed circling and moving, teasing the audience, giving everyone the opportunity to watch. You looked completely unapologetic.

Xiao shook his head as he watched you. He wanted nothing more than to pull you onto him and fuck you until you begged him to stop until you cried out his name.

"Huh? I'm not even cumming yet and you're already asking me to do that? What a tease…" You smirked suggestively, before grabbing the nearest pillow and starting to hump on it. Your expression turned into one of pure bliss as you moaned your pleasure into it. Xiao gulped as he stared at the screen, imagining you like that, moaning his name, his hands roaming your body as you pleasured him.

You hump on the pillow, panting loudly, your thighs squeezing around your throbbing, pulsating clit. You took a deep inhale as your body shook, your face contorted, and your eyes closed shut as the noises of satisfaction spilled out of your mouth. You gripped onto the pillow, your fingers tightening around its fabric as you ground against it in your need to release yourself from your frustration. Xiao’s mouth went dry, his breath becoming shallow as he watched you.

you kept grunting and groaning, and every once in a while, a loud moan would escape your lips, before another came. The sound you made was sinful, and it sent shivers down Xiao’s spine. He wanted to listen to your voice, He wanted to watch you ride him, watch the pleasure dance across your face, watch you scream his name in sheer ecstasy, watch you come all over him as you fucked the air out of his lungs, he wanted you.

"ah... I'm close..."  You whispered as you came undone, the last thing you could say before falling limp against the bed. Xiao's eyes flickered between you, and the screen in front of him. Your mouth hung agape and his pulse quickened, as he felt himself release at the same time as you, he was touching himself the whole time even stopping just so he could cum along with you. After all, who doesn’t want to feel your sweet juice dripping down their cock,

"Ah... that felt so good... looks like I'll have to wash my pillows later...” you mumbled as your breathing returned to normal. Xiao was speechless. He couldn't believe that you, of all people, would hump their pillow in such a vulgar manner,

'once I see y/n, I won't be able to look at her the same way anymore..'

© [ adorekento ] do not steal, repost, or translate my work.

[pullhisteeth]

okay so… i’m aspec, and i wanted to start off with how much i love how you characterize eddie! his sweet persistent attentiveness is totally what draws me to him. anyway… since you asked for requests, what about eddie reacting to being told reader isn’t ready for sex yet, or maybe that juxtaposed with when they are ready? eddie being patient and happy to hold off… maybe putting an emphasis on nonsexual intimacy or even nudity without it being sexualized? idk just a few ideas, you don’t have to include the aspec stuff if you don’t want but just the reader not being ready and focusing on other ways to feel close to him would be amazing 🥺

hi!!! I found this in my drafts - I am so sorry it took me so long! big love 2 u. <3 (gn!reader, suggestive themes, angst, Eddie being a sweetheart, mention of drugs)

-

Frustrated, you bring your knees up and kick your comforter down, over your legs and to the end of the bed. The cool air hits your skin like a wave, and it brings enough relief that you can close your eyes for a moment.

The sheets feel like wet sandpaper tonight, clinging to every inch of you. Your pyjamas are nearly as bad.

You turn over and squint through the darkness at the clock beside your bed. It's just past two in the morning, and you huff another irritated noise when you realise you only have four hours until you have to be up for work. You can see it now: you'll drift off, hopefully, at some point in the next few hours, only to be rudely awoken at 6:15 by your alarm. You'll drag yourself into work, where Fiona, the lady you open with on a Friday, will tell you that you look like hell and offer you a modafnil. You'll decline, and when you clock off in the afternoon, you'll head home, fall asleep, and wake in the middle of the night to repeat the process.

You're not sure where she gets the myriad of drugs she seems to carry with her. For a while, you assumed she just had a hefty prescription – she's at least in her late fifties, and age hasn't dissuaded her from smoking a pack a day – but sometimes you catch her at the dishwasher or by the bins out back, swallowing something from another orange bottle. Once, when you were emptying the trash, you found one. It was Xanax.

Maybe there's a drug for this, you think. Because, surely, it's some kind of disorder, a syndrome, something abnormal. Your beautiful, lovely, sexy boyfriend, kind and wild and falling for you, and you still can't find that urge to rip his clothes off.

You turn onto your back again, head slotted between two pillows, and stare blankly at the ceiling, turning over the previous evening in your head. It burns, the embarrassment, like white-hot fire under your skin. Your hair flares, lifting from the hot shame, when you think about his face, the drop of his hands from your waist, the awkward way you let yourself out and came home. He didn't call.

-

"I'm gonna go clock out."

You reach behind your back to untie your apron, using your elbow to push through the kitchen door back into the diner. Fiona barely turns to acknowledge you from where she's hunched over, polishing a glass, giving a short noise of agreement as you make your way to the staff room. You pull yourself through your routine, throwing the apron in the hamper and shoving your timecard into the machine, before you stop before you reach for your bag.

You realise that you have no way of getting home.

Eddie usually picks you up, but he won't be here today. And you're tired, so tired, too tired to walk home. You'd only finally gotten to sleep a few hours before you woke, just as you'd expected. Your legs feel like lead.

As you mull over your options, you pull your bag over your shoulder and grab your jacket. And when you push the door open, you nearly cry, because sat in his usual spot, right by the door, is your stupid, lovely boyfriend.

He looks up at you when he hears the door, and the first thing you notice is how tired he looks, too. He's a little puffy, almost like he's only just woken up – his hair tells you the same, curls going wild amongst one another, sticking out at every angle. He wears a sad smile as his gaze lingers on you, and you feel yourself nearly crumble under it.

He stands as you make your way over. Just as he does every day, he takes your bag from you and slings it over his own shoulder, and he reaches out and takes your hand, and it's then that you let go.

The tears come quicker than you can stop them, silent, hot rivers running down your face. He tugs gently on your hand, urges you out of the door, not giving his usual quick-whip goodbye to Fiona, and pulls you across the lot to his van.

When he opens the door for you as he always does, helping you in and dropping your bag by your feet, he rubs your knee with one hand and takes your face in the other.

"We're gonna talk about it when we get home, 'kay?" he says, and his voice sounds just as tired as he looks. "Please don't cry."

All you can give him is a nod, but he takes it, squeezing your knee as a quick goodbye before closing the door and jogging around to his side. The ride home is quiet, besides your sniffling, and his hand plants back on your knee for most of it. You look out the window and feel the sun on your face, made hotter as it passes through the glass. Your eyes close and you breathe, and as it paints your skin with a golden heat, you begin to think that maybe this won't be as bad as you've made yourself believe.

You like Eddie's home, perhaps moreso than your own. Yours is lonesome, but Eddie's is full of love. His uncle likes photographs and souvenirs and clutter, and it makes their little trailer feel like the warmest place on earth.

Today, though, it's tainted, edges burned by the memory of the night before. You daren't think about it, too worried about crying more than you already have, but it's difficult when you have to look at the door you slammed in Eddie's face 18 hours ago.

"C'mon," he says, squeezing your thigh and opening his door. You pull your bag onto your knee and do the same, hopping out and following him slowly up the steps. Inside, he takes your bag again, hanging it on a hook by the kitchen, while you take off your sneakers and traipse over to his couch. You don't dare to sit down, though, until he's back by your side pleading with you to.

"What's got you all wound up, hm?" he asks, taking your hand in his, and his voice is like honey, making you want to cry again. You breathe in a short, sharp breath instead and try desperately to ignore the white-hot burn of exhaustion and shame behind your eyes.

You sit and he follows, using his other hand to wipe away the tears as they come. You must look a mess, you think, all tired with huge, dark marks beneath your eyes and cheeks wet from crying. But he's looking at you like he always does, fond as ever.

"Why'd you run off like that last night?" he asks.

"I-" You try to answer, but the words are lost on you, lodged in the thickness of your throat. His arms wind around you and you lean in, lost to the familiarity of it. Your sobs, broken by hiccups and broken breaths, are in freefall.

He soothes you, leaning back so you're lying on his chest. His hands run up and down your back as he kisses the crown of your head and whispers that it'll be okay, that you're okay, we're okay.

"I'm sorry," you say into his t-shirt.

"For what?"

You wish you could tell him, and you wish he wouldn't ask. Isn't it obvious? You stormed out, you slammed the door in his face, you didn't call, you let it get this far, you led him on knowing you'd feel like this.

"For crying on your shirt," you say.

He chuckles and you feel it, the deep rumble of laughter in his chest. He twists underneath you, turning the two of you on your sides to lie facing one another, mostly so he can get a good look at your face.

"I have other shirts," he tells you.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising."

"Sorry."

He laughs again and you can't help but break a smile.

"So," he begins. "Why'd you go?"

"I just…" You sigh and he sees the way your face twists, contorting into something like frustration, so he eases the grip of his arms around you to let you sit up. You do, leaning on his bent knees, and look up to the ceiling. 

"I feel… I feel like I've led you on."

"What?" He sounds surprised, which in turn surprises you, because surely he can see that that's what's happening here.

"Eddie, I don't know how to… I can't explain it."

He doesn't say anything. The couch dips and creaks as he sits up, knees crossed, opposite you, imploring you to try.

"I... I can't give you what I'm meant to."

He looks back at you bewildered, and for a brief flash you feel the burn of frustration. You'd usually find this endearing, but all of this would be easier if he would fill in the blanks by himself.

"I don't want to have sex, Eddie."

You watch the dawning of realisation on his face, the twist and the widening. His eyes search your face as you hold it in, the dam close to bursting again, and then he softens.

"Oh, baby, you should've just said."

He reaches over, a hand on your ankle, holding you there as if to stop you leaving.

How could you ever?

"What do we do?" you ask him after a beat. You're looking at one another, you at him because you're sure this is the final time you'll get the chance, and him at you because he's sure he's never loved anybody like this before in his life.

"What do you mean?"

"Eddie, don't make me-"

"You're not leaving me," he tells you. It's not a question, or a plea, but a statement of fact. You're here, with me. You're not going anywhere. I'm not going to make you go anywhere.

"I don't want to," you say quietly.

"And," he begins, inching closer, taking your waist in his big hands to pull you in. "I'm not leaving you."

He resumes his position on his back, you pressed comfortably to his chest. You feel his heartbeat, quicker than usual, and feel a pang of remorse that you've made him so nervous.

You think back to the evening before - when he'd got handsy, and you'd liked it, but then the clothes had started coming off and you'd freaked, pulling your things into a bag and running out the door before he could stop you - and it's suddenly muddied by distance, a memory trapped somewhere far away.

"I'm just not ready," you tell him, cheek to his chest, feeling his fingers run through your hair.

"'S'okay," he murmurs. "I'll be here if you ever are. Or if you never are. Either way."

-

[wndaswife]

i’m the same age as you and i have read a lot of rpfs up til now. but now I have to agree with the anon who messaged about real person fics.

i read your long reply to them & it really is just excuses that we make to carry on posting/reading rpfs. because it doesn’t matter that it’s “fiction”, i realise now it’s really gross to be posting smut about actual real people.

that anon had a point. how would you feel if strangers online posted stories about people having sex with you? or about sexual things happening to you? or dark!fics like murder or rape? or if a stranger was posting fics about a friend of yours? because i know i’d feel awful if someone was writing adult stuff about me or a friend.

we don’t know lizzie’s private life experiences so we don’t know if she has any triggers or if she’s ever been sexually assaulted or she’s had bad experiences with any of the adult situations that you write her in.

you’re now just choosing to be ignorant and disrespectful and selfish because getting likes on your fics is more important than respecting a real person who you’re meant to be a fan of.

and yes, posting smut stories about her without her consent is just as bad as taking photos of her without her consent like paparazzi or journalists writing lies about her and her family.

it’s about consent and respect. as a reader i realize that now. you don’t have her consent to post sexual stories written about her, and you know she would never give consent for strangers online to write sexual stories about her as a real person if asked for it.

aaaahhmm idk if us being the same age matters or anything like that but.. irregardless

u are being so weird for saying im trying to make excuses for likes and followers like mf who do you think i am 😭😭 this is a tumblr blog it’s not some hollywood pr stunt like i really write fics in my rented place on a couch in my living room like what do u think im doing this for.. it’s rly not all as serious as ur saying it is like im a blog on tumblr, “ur doing this for likes and follows” please check urself

that’s such a bizarre thing to say.. me writing a total of 3k words about a fictional version of lizzie with a character that doesn’t exist is the same as spreading rumours about her sisters including an eating disorder, stealing the olsen twins’ childhood and making websites counting down the seconds until they turn 18, bombarding their cars in public, following them home, sexualizing lizzie's sa scene in martha marcy may marlene, following them to private vacations, leaking photos of her from her icloud?? idk if u know how delusional you sound right now because if anything u are being so incredibly disrespectful and disgusting trying to compare some dehumanizing shit like that to tumblr fanfiction that's actually a little revolting.. those experiences that their entire family was and still is subjected to is NOT something u can say is as bad as 3k words on tumblr for lizzie x reader fanfiction like ur actually sick for saying something so ignorant that

u seem like you’re projecting because u just got out of your rpf phase and ur feeling a little guilty about it but that’s just my two cents !

im sorry to say this but after you're done feeling good about yourself for sending this because no one else is gonna do it for u lol you can unfollow me or block me or whatever, better yet u can even report the three (3) lizzie fics i've written on here (i'll even give you masterlist link so you can find them)

thank u for this spiel im glad u could get these terribly frustrating little thoughts off your chest

[writingisbetterthandying]

movie date! - vh

vinnie hacker blurby headcanon? who am i? and yes this is so self indulgent but idk i saw tomorrow war and ik he went to the premiere so here we go

no spoilers though!

i will write pb again just like idk man rn

this is unedited and kinda short 😌

- before even leaving the house he’s trying to sneak some of his fav movie snacks into your purse but gets caught and puts on a pout

- laughing at him, but then he pouts more so you give him a quick peck and tell him “maybe next time,” and he looks appalled and asks for more kisses

- he drives with his hand on your thigh the whole ride there

- pulling up together looking so cute, probably in coordinated outfits

- being goofy in his tiktoks about the premiere, laughing at each other

- he deffo made one where he went “date night!” and made it seem like he was going in for a kiss with you off camera, but instead pans the camera to the monster arm and pretends to make out with it

- the two of you definitely didn’t go into it knowing what the movie was about

- at the beginning it’s just like what? and you’re asking him so many questions and he’s just like babe shh idk either

- but then you get real quiet when chris pratt takes his shirt off and vinnie notices of course, and covers your eyes like a child

- uncovers your eyes and goes “can’t have you distracted when you know i have better abs” and a lil possessive smooch because he gets that way

- you have more questions of course because logistically there’s a lot of gaps but he’s trynna make some moves

- he deffo thinks he would absolutely crush all the monsters and starts like flexing and trying to show off, making your cheeks flush not only in embarrassment but i mean come on he has nice arms

- but you keep your cool and bring up his cod stats in response as proof as to why that wouldn’t work, and he flips you off

- talking about how certain friends would do in a sudden draft like the movie and laughing about how they’d try to make it into content and how vlog cameras and tiktok would definitely make things interesting

- sharing a popcorn bucket and he tries to make you reach over him to get some and being all cheeky

- he totally does the fake yawn arm move, and then gives you that kind of look, so you of course oblige and cuddle into him and give him a sweet kiss

- with every new development and surprise gasping and looking up at him like “did you see that?” and he just laughs because you’re just so adorable and he’s like yeah dude and gives you a lil kiss on the top of your head

- getting sleepy at the end of the movie and falling asleep on him which he just had to make a tiktok of

- he watches the rest of the movie in relative peace, glancing down at you every once in a while but then gently shaking you awake as the credits start to roll and people start applauding

- the car ride home you’re like half awake but entranced by vin as he drives you back

- “you’re so handsome, baby”

- he’s holding your hand across the dash and he brings it up and kisses the back of it

- getting back to his place and getting all settled for bed, and then making some posts

- you find his tiktok of you asleep on him and aww, before seeing his caption, “she looks adorable but she stole my popcorn” and then attempt to defend yourself that he was actually the popcorn hog but he was having none of it so instead just pulled you in for a kiss

- pulling away because you had to post before you got too carried away

- him laughing and teasing you as you typed out a caption for your post: “sorry i asked too many questions during the first half and then slept through the second 😋 movie date was fun with popcorn hog!”

- he made sure to spam with comments: “first 🥵” “🧢 on the popcorn hog thing tho 😮��💨” “luv u bb 🤍”

- you made sure to say “i love you too vin,” before saying goodnight with one last kiss before falling asleep

[o-wyrmlight]

Totally probably gonna look like a weirdo here but

I was reading ur cacao/choco analysis and THANK U MY GODDDDD it was such a good analysis and I love how it wasnt entirely one sided as well💀

One thing I’d like to add if ur comfortable is the names of dark choco and cacao representing their parallel of the sweet and bitterness of their lives

Dark choco is irl sweeter than cacao but it’s still bitter regardless

While cacao irl is very bitter but with these characters it’s almost as if they’re names that represent the bitter and sweet are connected to their own personalities and relationships

For choco it’s a sweet beginning like how chocolate is sweeter than cacao but turns into a bitter ending like dark chocolate is especially with the people he’s surrounded with

And for cacao it’s bitter like cacao then becomes sweet like what cacao can become but then reverting back to bitter when he lost everything because cacao can always become a bitter dark chocolate

Idk maybe this is to much sorry if this is weird or I came on so sudden I just wanted to share my thoughts on these two since I love em so much and I loved reading ur analysis on them💀

No, you're fine! I actually do think about this sometimes.

I like the cleverness behind Dark Cacao and Dark Chocos' names. The cacao bean is an incredibly bitter bean that, when used as the only main ingredient to make chocolate, is known to be incredibly bitter. However, if you add some sugar and sweetness into it, the chocolate becomes something much more pleasant to the senses. In order, it's usually 'pure cacao chocolate', 'dark chocolate', and 'milk chocolate'--as the most well-known ones.

Dark Cacao as a cookie is well renowned for his bitterness. And yet from that bitterness, he is still able to have a son that carries with him some degree of warmth and kindness--a pleasantness to help subside the bitterness that cacao is known for. Dark chocolate has... A strange taste to it. It isn't necessarily bitter as much as it is just a touch sweet, if you know what I mean. But I'm sure that it's easier to stomach than chomping on a pure cacao chocolate bar.

Another interesting aspect about bitterness in general is that--if I'm recalling my information correctly--most medicines in general are bitter. There are theories that bitterness helps aid the immune system or kicks it into high gear, though take that with a grain of salt because I am not a dietician or a doctor. I just think it's interesting in general for Dark Cacao even though I'm drawing a comparison out of literally nowhere. Lad definitely needs a taste of his own medicine after that shit he pulled in Episode 13.

There's probably more thoughts I can up with past that but I've been procrastinating on driving home long enough lol

[spacewizardtrek]

WARNING: This post will ruin you. Like Medusa; look at your peril.

But here is is. It’s the one you’ve all been waiting for.

Kirk bod appreciation #7: The RIDICULOUSLY BEAUTIFUL FACE. A highly technical and academic review.

This is a rather nebulous one. And not, on the face of it (pardon the pun) very philosophical, as it’s essentially about Kirk being stupidly pretty. This post probably will (it will) descend into just screaming and sobbing, but there will be, I promise, *some* meaningful insight into the meaning of ‘beauty’ and textual analysis of its role herein.

Beauty is subjective. But look at him. It’s not just being aesthetic, but it’s the *way* he’s aesthetic. Here I might repeat myself a bit, but stay with me. I may have mentioned before once hearing him described as ‘beautiful in the way women are often described as beautiful’. He is PRETTY. He is indeed often conveyed in the way the women stereotypically (not necessarily rightly) are on screen: perfect, smooth skin; soft, big eyes; luscious lips (his body is sensually curvaceous and furthermore it’s emphasised). He’s not androgynous though. He’s masculine. And yet I still sense what was meant in describing him as ‘beautiful in the way women are often described as beautiful’. He is a rather uncommon form of gender fuckery. He is a form of stereotype-subversion not commonly acknowledged. He seems to be everything at once, ALL THE GENDER; combines whichever traits he desires from those categories, and yet is undeniably a man and masculine whatever the ingredients. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE, one might wonder. The fact of the matter is, that it IS. And it teaches us something.

The FUCK. nO. You are not allowed to be that pretty, and you are NOT allowed to look at her like that. We’re trying to have a SENSIBLE DISCUSSION here.

Sorry, that was a non-sequitur / nothing to do with what we learn by Kirk’s embodiment; I was just ambushed by my own gif. Only the control of a Vulcan. ONLY that could possibly withstand this onslaught. And even that won’t hold up forever AS WE WELL KNOW

God.

This is going well, as you can tell.

OK. So, it’s claimed he has Eyes and Stupidly Long Weakness-Inducing Eyelashes. You know, from all that fanfic that goes on about ‘big, sparkling eyes’ and him fanning his ‘long, copper eyelashes’. I mean, yeah right, tropey mc tropeface -

IT’S TRUE. HE IS LITERALLY AN ANIME PRINCESS.

There are some moments where he just BLINKS and, how to describe it...how does a BLINK have that effect. It’s NOT ALLOWED.

...I’m sorry. It IS allowed. All of it. I am not shaming you your beauty. Never change, Jim. Never.

OK. I’m ok. 3 pics down, we can get through this -

Oh you are joking. Stop.

I don’t understand how anyone can be so beautiful. Life is a lie. Reality is fake -

- you did NOT just turn your big anime eyes on Spock. You do know this is why he ran away to PURGE ALL HIS EMOTIONS?

And for that matter, you know when Kirk looks his most beautiful? Literally WHEN HE’S LOOKING AT SPOCK. Spock talks some bollocks and Kirk just sparkles like a fucking angel:

Unbelievable. But utterly undeniable.

Sigh. Moving on.

Oh - someone once suggested I talk about The Lips. Lips are so wonderful aren’t they. So many wonderful things they can do.

And Kirk’s. They’re there in every picture: perfect, rosy, soft and madness-inducing. My advice is just...don’t think about them. But since I’ve been asked to draw attention to them, well, you’ve just sealed your fate. Scroll down at your peril.

I WARNED YOU.

I am pulling NO punches.

I’ve seen this great meme going around:

Excuse me though....CUTE?

That’s the understatement of the 23rd century.

Try impossibly beautiful, mind and body: heart of solid gold, soul deep in love with you. Those eyes and all their passion burned into your memories a thousand times over, along with - maybe, suggestibly, idk I’m extrapolating from all the goddamn tension - even the one unforgettable time he laid between lily-white sheets and gave himself to you; every gift of the mind, body and soul - and your ostensibly-forced Vulcan conditioning, that completely ignored how incompatible one part of you was with it, caused so much dissonance that you thought the only possible course of action for you both to survive was to BREAK UP, tear yourself from this beauty and love and sweetness to PURGE ALL EMOTIONS because nothing, nothing equipped you for this; you were set up specifically to fail, and fail hard in the face of transcendental love and beauty by those who rejected such things and didn’t understand you and could never imagine this for you and who instead of helping your beautiful neurodivergent brain flourish taught you to repress and caused you pain and shame and Gol was so hard and Kirk was so sad, so very sad and depressed and hurt and yet he couldn’t stop loving you with a bond so strong he called to you across the stars and Gol was all for naught yet you still didn’t know how to live like this, it was torture, torture until the mind meld with the living machine flashed your BIOS and you knew, love.exe was suddenly running with no errors and he came after you and held you and you held hands and, and -

.

*sobbing*

.

just...give me a moment

.

YOU WONDER WHAT THE SUBTEXT (FRIKKIN’ MAIN TEXT) OF STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE WAS ALL ABOUT???

The pain?? The angst?? The two logical entities seeking contact, love, THIS SIMPLE FEELING? That fucking moment when spock walks on the bridge and the only way he can control himself is to be SUPER Vulcan, while his love gazes at him with those EYES, fucking huge and glittering and hurt and loving?? Is it so much a mystery what memories these two are carrying, what’s behind the searing tension???????

Love him. Love him Spock. Take him in your arms and love him. He’s for you. All for you. Fucking hell guys. The fuck. This movie.

.

ok.

ok I can do this

CAN U NOT

those damn eyes I swear

It’s obviously not all just superficial physical beauty. What IS beauty? Narratively we do sometimes find this ‘prettiness’ enhanced and emphasized like the old vaseline lens to set the tone of a scene (he’s vulnerable and delicate, or someone’s indeed in love with him so we see their ‘lens’ on him); but it is somewhat intangible and nebulous and changeable. I don’t think aesthetic beauty, if one deems it so, on its own, would be enough for the likes of Spock (indeed, no woman could charm him thusly); it's about something deeper. It’s about who he is. Who he is inside: the beautiful AND the imperfect. How his good and bad - how his ‘all’ -  chimes with Spock’s 'all’. The Enemy Within deals with this, and shows how Spock loves all of Kirk, wants him complete, with both his light and shadow. The beauty of all of us is this totality and variance, not one intangible quality.

I’ll bet Spock’s parents knew immediately. Can you imagine Sarek trying to be a total bitch over Kirk, having heard the rumours and just wanting to have one more thing to reject Spock over, immediately projecting onto Kirk as some blow-up pretty-boy and how Incredibly More Disappointing My Son Is for being Obviously In Love With Stupid Illogical Human Doll Face Bubble Butt Bimbo Captain, and Amanda’s like, stfu, let me remind you Kirk is actually a Fucking Amazing Highly Decorated Starship Captain who Saves Your Life and don’t you DARE resent him just because he’s got tits/ass/tum/lips that won’t quit and is obviously the freakin’ sun Spock orbits. Mr ‘I married a human but that was special because it was logical’ or some bullshit. How is Kirk an illogical choice? I mean literally, Spock is a Science Genius™ on the federation’s FLAGSHIP whose well-matched Genius Captain™ understands him, accepts him, brings the best out of him, helps him fulfil his whole potential and is in love with him in the deepest and purest way and will be his bonded soulmate for ALL OF TIME and that fucking sour-faced bih at the start of that ep, ffs.

Of course Amanda stays in touch with Kirk, adores the fuck out of him, sends him old Vulcan lit on t’hy’la bonds (yes sarek, a T’HY’LA bond, so revered freakin’ poets write about it) etc because frankly her son could do FAR FUCKING WORSE.

FAR. FUCKING. WORSE.

Don’t...just don’t slip the bod into the equation, the face is enough for one post. We’re all in therapy for this already, let’s not relapse.

Oh, what’s the use. I’m gonna die. This is it. This is like the Monty Python joke that is so funny it kills you. This man is lethal. I need to stop this thread and purge all my emotions

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

That’s it. I’m dead. You’re dead. We’re all dead.

I hope, however, seeing this post was worth it. See you at Gol everyone.

.

.

The Forbidden Texts, DO NOT READ:

Kirk bod appreciation #6: The Curves. The Front. The...chest. AND THE AMAZING GREEN WRAP

Kirk bod appreciation #5: The Paws

Kirk bod appreciation #4: The Curves. The Back. Poetry in motion.  

Kirk bod appreciation #3: Season 3 (Part 1)

Kirk bod appreciation #2b: The Gluteus Maximus

Kirk bod appreciation #2a: The Gluteus Maximus

Kirk bod appreciation #1: The Tum

[genshindreams]

Hi! Could I request some Kaeya angst? 🥺 Like idk the reader dies in his hands or something like this? How would him react? Like very dramatic please! 😭💖 Thanksss If you don't want to do it it's totally fine!

omg, I am totally rewriting this on the future, because I just watched given and banana fish some days ago and I'm too fragile for angst, so I'll totally transform this into a One-shot with more details when school and my emotions don't betray me. thank you so much for your request! 💕

Warning: This has angst, so if you are not comfortable with it, please don't read or interact with it!

Kaeya with a s/o that dies in his arms:

If u read the manga, u probably remember that part where Amber is talking with Kaeya and he doesn’t notice until she screams his name. So I totally imagine you two fighting together at a dungeon and he doesn’t notice that you are in danger until u let out a scream of pain.

Kaeya totally stops everything when he recognizes your voice, but he quickly recovers as he finishes his fight.

At some point in the dungeon, you two agreed to separate so you can explore faster.

Kaeya is completely panicking as he searches for you around the dungeon, your screams being the only thing guiding him to you.

When he finally founds you, ur voice is so low that he swears that it’s almost not you.

He tries to talk to you, as he picks you up to bring you somewhere where you could recover, maybe a blessing from a statue, maybe Lisa's help? He doesn’t care, he just wants you to stay with him.

As he leaves the dungeon, with you on his arms, you lightly squeeze his shoulder, so lightly that he almost doesn’t notice.

Almost.

He looks at you, as you try to speak, but he just kisses your forehead as he tells you to shush.

Deep down, he knows that he will never reach Lisa or a statue on time, but he refuses to give you up so easily. His legs never stop moving as his strong arms carry you far away from danger.

As the time keeps going, it reaches a point where you can’t feel your body anymore, as everything slowly begins to fade, but you can’t just say goodbye to your lover just like that, you know that.

You call his name softly, and his attention goes fully to you in less than a second.

You use your last strength to touch his cheek, as you quietly murmur apologies to him, telling him that you are sorry you were not strong enough, and that you are sad that you couldn’t spend more time with him.

Kaeya swears mentally, not wanting you to think he is mad at you on your last minutes of life. He finally stops running, knowing that whatever he’ll do, your are not gonna be okay by the end of it.

He lies on the grass, putting you sitting on his lap, as he spends the last moments with you whispering fake promises, like you’ll be okay, and that you are going on a date after this.

As you slowly close your eyes, the last thing you feel is something soft on your forehead, as your memories with him run in your mind.

Before you lose your consciousness totally, you take the last minute to remember everything.

When you two met, after you fought with the dragon, when he invited you to a bar, you remember his surprised face as you accepted his offer, and the little smile he gave you after it, gosh you even remember when he got mad at you when you took Diluc’s side on a stupid argument, knowing fully that Kaeya was right, but his little pout as he pretended to be hurt by your words was totally worth it.

Kaeya seems to know exactly what’s going through your mind, as he flashes a little sad smile while his tears run in your face, as he murmurs a ‘thank you’ in the middle of the silence.

He was never going to forget you, and the way you loved him, just like you would never forget the things Kaeya made you feel.

You two learned to love with each other, but now, it was time to let go.

As I said, im totally rewriting this some day, I loved the ideia but my heart is too fragile bc of anime that if I do too much angst I'm gonna cry with my own words. This is really since it's my first time, but don't give up on me yet 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 Well, hope you liked it! 💕

[kaimelia]

can u write one about last nights episode maybe the kids with links parents and also when they drop the kids off and amelink idk

Handwritten

a/n: hi! i had a bunch of requests to write something after the episode and I hope you enjoy this!

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

"You might want to put on a shirt," Amelia muttered, running her hand over Link's back as she passed. "Your parents are coming in for breakfast in a few minutes."

"Scout spit up all over my shirt. The dude's got an upset stomach today; I've gone through three shirts."

"It's because he keeps eating. Don't give him a bottle every time he cries," she busied herself at the sink, grabbing a plate from last night's dinner. "But seriously, go put on a shirt before your parents walk in and think we were doing something else." He groaned dramatically, dragging his feet as he walked towards the stairs. She shook her head in amusement and laughed to herself.

"Better?" He asked after returning, gesturing to his clean shirt.

"Appropriate for parents," she grinned, crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you have any idea they were coming?"

"Nope. I think my mom knew that if she said anything, I'd try to convince them out of it or give them a fake address." Link picked up stray toys from the living room floor, tidying up the space around him. "You're not mad they're here, right?" She walked over to join him, folding the throw blanket and tossing it over the back of the couch.

"No, I'm actually glad they're here. It's the break we never thought we'd get." Amelia stopped at the sound of a knock on the door, moving faster than Link to answer the door. He followed behind her, his hand settling on the small of her back as the door opened to reveal his parents. "Hi," Amelia greeted, stepping back as they walked through the doorway.

"I hope the kids didn't drive you too insane after we got home," Maureen pulled Amelia into a hug.

"No, they were out like lights as soon as they got home. We literally can't thank you enough for doing that." She greeted Eric before Link led them all into the living room. "I'll go start on some waffles for us?" Amelia suggested, heading into the kitchen.

"Oh, I'll come help!" Maureen eagerly followed behind the neurosurgeon as their partners both laid on the couch. "I love Eric, but being in an RV with him for two weeks straight gets to be a lot." Amelia grinned while pulling the waffle maker out from the cabinet.

"There are too many kids in here for Link and I to get sick of each other. Yesterday was the first time we've actually gotten to spend time with each other since the beginning of the pandemic. It feels like there's always someone who needs our attention." Maureen smiled sympathetically, watching as Amelia mixed ingredients together.

"How's their mom doing?"

"Meredith's awake, which is a total relief. I don't want to get my hopes up or anything, but I have a feeling she'll be coming home soon."

"And she's your sister-in-law, right?" The brunette smiled in affirmation, pouring batter into the machine. "They're great kids, even better in person than on a computer screen."

"It's a little surreal to see you in person," Amelia joked, pulling a plate out of the cabinet. "I got used to the slight distortion from the camera and the occasional freezing when you'd talk. Now your mouth moves in sync with your words. Could you hand me a spatula?  The drawer to your right. Thanks," she placed a waffle onto the plate. Her hands ran through her hair, pressing lightly against her temples. "It's so oddly quiet. You guys really tired the kids out."

"We'd love to do it again sometime. I can't imagine having a newborn while also having to parent your nieces and nephew, all during a pandemic."

"One day at a time," Amelia mumbled. "But, whenever you want to take them, they're all yours. They need some sort of grandparent experience anyway."

"Do they not know their grandparents?"

"Nope," she shook her head. "Both of Meredith's parents are dead, and so is my dad and my mom's across the country. She hasn't visited since my brother's funeral, which was about five years ago. God, I didn't realize it's been that long."

"We'll be surrogate grandparents. Whenever we come to steal Scout, we'll happily take them along. Someone needs to spoil them."

"Oh, trust me, Link does that enough. I constantly have to remind him that donuts and candy aren't for right before dinner," she laughed, plating more waffles.

"Am I allowed to ask if you two are planning on getting married? Link won't tell me anything," Maureen sighed, running her hand across the countertop.

"We've kinda put that on the back burner. We're not in any sort of rush to get married, as much as Zola would like, so we're waiting until things settle down and we feel better about everything going on." Amelia unplugged the waffle maker and washed her hands in the sink. "Why?"

"I always wanted a daughter. And, I know that marriage is really just a legal thing, but it still makes it official." A blush crept onto Amelia's face, and she smiled widely, looking down for a moment. "Sorry, I should've asked; are you comfortable with me calling you my daughter or daughter-in-law? I get a little excited sometimes and don't watch what I'm saying."

"Of course," they both grinned. "You've honestly been more of a mother than my own, so I am more than okay with that." Maureen pulled Amelia into a tight hug.

"I'm not going to freak out right now," she whispered, pulling back. "I'm delighted to have you in the family. And, seeing you with Link makes me think that we didn't totally screw up his view of love or his life."

"Link is pretty much the best person I know. So, I think you did a fine job raising him, for whatever that's worth." Amelia beamed as she looked at the woman in front of her.

"I think you're just as amazing, for whatever that's worth," Maureen rubbed her daughter-in-law's shoulder lightly before grabbing a plate of waffles. "I'm dying to go eat these."

"We can go eat on the couch. Just don't tell Meredith," Amelia mused, grabbing two plates and carrying one to Link.

"Thank you," he whispered, sitting up from the couch. "Did you have a good time with my mom?" Amelia turned to him with a grin on her face and laid her head against his shoulder.

"I really did."

"Remember when you were terrified to meet them?" She rolled her eyes and stuck her fork into a waffle.

"Keep talking, and I'll bring my mother out here. That'll make you shut up." His face fell, and she laughed, shoving a forkful into her mouth. "I'm joking."

"Yeah, until she shows up on our doorstep one day."

"You'd be fine. She'd love you, meeting under normal circumstances where you're not pretending to be my husband, Owen." He shook his head in amusement. "After all, you're probably the sanest of anyone I've introduced to her."

"Probably," he whispered, picking up his own fork. "Very reassuring." Amelia nudged his arm as a laugh fell from her mouth.

"It's pretty hard not to love you."

"Even harder to not love you."

[myjjbaby]

okay so a jj request where the reader has been keeping it a secret from jj that she’s epileptic (they’re dating) and then one night when they’re at a party and jj gets into a fight and she gets really overwhelmingly stressed from trying to get him to stop that it triggers a seizure, maybe like only kie knows she’s epileptic or something?? idk i totally get it if u aren’t comfortable writing this i just love ur writing and yeah ((:

i didn’t know

author’s note - guess who’s back, back again!! here’s a request surrounding mental illness and I just want to note that I am in no way intending to romanticize epilepsy or seizures, I just think that someone could really benefit from having a story that might fit with them and including a form of comfort through writing. big thanks to @jjmaybanx for her help because she helped me figure out a way to best portray what I wanted to get across.

synopsis - requested by anon! you kept a really big secret and it all crumbles away along with your so called perfect day.

warnings - epilepsy, seizing, underage drinking, fighting, overall angst for 1.6k. if any of these topics are possibly triggering to you please don’t read and if you have any concerns including me feel free to reach out.

Today was a perfect day. The sunrise was peeking through the window of John B’s spare room when you woke up, your blue eyed boy wrapped around you. You spent the better half of the morning admiring his peaceful features, blushing when he caught your stare.

“Morning, baby,” he smothered your cheek with an open mouth kiss, giggles erupting as he wrapped you in his arms, “you liking your view.”

You hummed lightly in agreement and continued to stare lovingly at your boyfriend. He traced your face with calloused fingers, brushing along the bridge of your nose as he watched you flush. JJ pulled you into his chest and your head rested comfortably on his collarbone while he kissed your hair.

“C ‘mon lovebirds, time to catch the waves.”

JJ groaned at John B, throwing an empty beer can at the door.

“Fuck off, let me hold my girl. It’s too early, the waves probably suck anyway.”

“JJ, it’s half past noon. Let’s go,” the brunette threw a muscle tank and a red baseball cap at your boyfriend, “Kie and Pope are already in the van.”

You smiled before trying to slip out of his grip and climb off the navy sheets. JJ caught your wrist in his warm hand, pulling you back into his familiar hold.

“J, we’ve gotta get up.”

He shook his head, curls tickling the underside of your jaw. Not long after, the two of you were packed into the back of the rusty Volkswagen with your boards trapped to the top.

JJ held you in his lap, kissing your neck when you threw your head back with laughter. His hands slipped under the gray fabric top you stole from him and prodded at the bikini strings. You slapped his hand away but he just smirked and continued twirling the purple straps between his fingertips.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” John B’s voice broke through the lively chatter, “let me present to you the finest Outer Banks waves ever.”

And he wasn’t wrong, the ocean was still wild from the surge of the hurricane a few days ago and the curl of each wave crashed beautifully. The Pogues climbed out of the beat up van before unstrapping all of the surfboards, John B and JJ running ahead with loud cheers being carried by the wind. You giggled as you carried your board alongside Kie, stopping just short of the sea. Looking over at the tanned girl, you sent her a wink and a bump to her hip before gliding off after your boys.

“You left a couple waves for me?”

“Of course,” the blonde reached his hand out to squeeze yours, “always do.”

The water was cool, relaxing her muscles, and JJ smiled, watching you absorb the sunshine. You all stayed out on the waves until your fingers were pruned and your eyes couldn’t stay open from the amount of salt water splashed on you.

Drifting back to shore, JJ was quick to grab your hand and bring it up to his face for a kiss. You felt content when John B drove the group to the Boneyard, a metal keg placed between you and Pope. The first kegger of the summer to end a perfect day.

A filled red solo cup quickly found its way into your hand and the bonfire burnt brightly as everyone showed up. Your fellow resident of the Cut, the Kooks from Figure Eight, and those clueless Tourons. You noticed your boyfriend’s grip pulling you back into his chest, successfully stumbling you away from the drunk idiots who couldn’t take a hint when JJ glared at them.

“Bub, ignore them.”

“I can’t.”

You chuckled when he clenched his jaw with jealousy.

“You have no reason to worry,” he hummed, features softening when they set on you, “I’m all yours, J.”

The night seemed to carry on without a hitch until a smooth hand slipped its way over your thigh. The soft skin contrasted the familiar roughness of JJ’s touch. You slipped your body away from the stranger’s eager touch.

“Where you going, girly?”

“Away from you.”

“I think you should stay right here wi-“”

His vulgar suggestion was cut off by a ring covered fist that you could recognize anywhere. JJ pushed you behind him as he overshadowed the clueless drunk boy. You could feel the blonde’s anger coming off him in waves, hand clenching and ripping his arm away when you went to hold him back. Your boyfriend was blinded by anger and his protectiveness over you.

“Stay the fuck away from my girl, you hear that?”

“What’s your problem?”

Wrong move, dumbass. JJ’s back was tense with bottled emotions, his breathing labored as he watched the Touron stand up.

“My problem? You thinking it’s okay to grab my girlfriend or any girl like that, that’s my problem.”

Like a fuse run out, JJ lunged at the stranger as a harsh gasp escaped your throat.

“J!”

He was seeing red, too absorbed by his anger to notice your cries or fastened breathing. Kiara, however, noticed when your hand lifted to your shirt, grasping the fabric as strangled heaves pressed out of your body.

“Y/N? Y/N! Hey, hey, c ‘mon, don’t give out on me,” she watched as you stumbled into a dune, collapsing to the sand, “Y/N? You still with me?”

Kie watched as your gaze fogged over as if you were in a daze. She quickly moved the rocks and driftwood from near you and shouted for Pope or John B’s attention, the two boys rushing to your side.

“Pope, start timing. We’re about five seconds in right now.”

“Timing? That’d only happen if Y/N was having a sei- shit, okay.”

“John B, help me roll her onto her side.”

The two best friends turned you over as your arms began to tremble.

“Eleven Mississippi, twelve Mississippi…”

John B watched on helplessly before realizing JJ wasn’t by your side. Running back into the crowd and pushing through the circle formed around the fight, the brunette grabbed your boyfriend and tugged him towards you.

“Baby? Hey, hey, baby? Kiara? what’s happening?”

“She didn’t- she didn’t tell you,” Kie searched JJ’s panicked gaze for some kind of recognition.

“Tell me what? Kiara? What the fuck is happening?”

“She’s having a seizure! She’s epileptic! The fight must’ve overwhelmed her and triggered a seizure.”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know,” he mumbled to himself shuffling closer to your frozen body. JJ stared back at Kie before turning to your disoriented figure laying out of the sand. He fell to his knees beside you, grabbing your face to try and comfort you.

“JJ, don’t touch her!”

“What? Why?”

“You can’t just grab her when she’s like this. You need to cool off and wait for it to end.”

“I- I didn’t- I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

Harsh sobs were pulled from his chest as he gripped his hair tightly. JJ had never felt so useless watching you, the girl he loved, struggling and he didn’t even know how to help you.

“W- Wh- What just, what just h- happened?”

Kie sighed when she watched you slowly come out of your stunned state. You glanced around bewildered not knowing where you were or how you got there.

“You had a seizure, Y/N. There was a fight and it just stressed you out,” she watched the panic cross your face again, “hey, it’s okay. Everyone is okay. You’re okay.”

You quickly scanned the group in front of you until your eyes landed on tear filled blue ones. You breathed in a short gasp seeing your boyfriend so torn up in front of you.

“JJ?”

He slowly inched towards you until he pulled you onto his lap like countless times before, but this time felt different.

“Could we have a minute?”

JJ glanced up at his friends before they all nodded and stepped away, clearing the infamous beach of the wandering partygoers. You didn’t dare look back up at the blonde boy, hating the pained look you knew would greet you if you did.

“I- I’m so sorry,” you fiddled with your fingers until he slowly gripped your own, pulling you deeper into his frame.

“Y/N, this isn’t something you can just keep from me.”

“I know, I know and I really am sorry. It was unfair of me to keep something like this from you. I just wanted to be normal.”

JJ nodded slightly, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head.

“I felt so hopeless. I didn’t know what the hell was happening and when I tried to help I just made it worse.”

“That’s my fault,” he vigorously shook his head, “yes, it is. I love you and should’ve told you.”

You sat in silence, JJ’s legs slotted between yours, his chin resting on top of your head. You leaned back and pressed your lips to his temple and the blue eyed boy returned the gesture with a soft smile. The silence was peaceful and perfect until JJ shifted to look down at you.

“Do you think I could get away with using the internet at work?”

“What? Why?”

“Hurricane knocked the towers down and I need to do some research, so I can take care of you.”

“I love you, J.”

“Love you too, baby.”

[astranne]

what would’ve happened if oikawa torū went to shiratorizawa

yeahh,,, the title already says what this headcanon is about :))

sorry for the late update, but my personal life is kinda shitty now and i just couldn’t get things done

So,,, i only watched the anime and i have no idea when the whole shit between Oikawa and Ushijima started, but I think it was in Middle School and got only worse when they went to High School

But since Oikawa joined Aoba Seijoh it makes no freaking sense when he suddenly goes to Shiratorizawa

So, I think that Oikawa always admired Ushijima and lowkey wants to set for him one day (even when he denies this)

Despite being obvious to many things, Ushijima is smart when it’s related to Volleyball (idk if this is true,,, just lemme be) 

In the future he’s known as the ‘left-handed cannon’ (or so I think) and many think he’s a brute who just smashes the ball

But he’s not. He wants to make his father proud and his father wouldn’t be proud of a dumb son who just smashes mindlessly some balls

Since he’s young, he reads anything related to Volleyball. Analyses, strategies, the best teams, anything. 

Ushijima has always been a silent boy, he lets his actions speak. This gives him the opportunity to observe people around him

Because of this, he’s able to spot talent and good players in the mass of still young children 

So he notices Oikawa and Iwaizumi. The two have known each other since childhood, they have a trust in each other not many have and especially,,, Iwazumi keeps Oikawa in check. Without Iwaizumi, Oikawa would be a beast and destroy everyone in his way, despite his cheery face

When Ushijima applies to Shiratorizawa he states that he will only play for them if they get Oikawa and Iwaizumi too 

Coach Washijō is first rather pissed at this cheeky little brat called Ushijima Wakatoshi, but then goes to a match to see these two 

He immediately notices that Oikawa is the best setter in the whole prefecture, since he knows exactly how to use all his teammates with their best. And his ace, Iwaizumi helps him with it

The coach talks to both of them and at first Oikawa is irritated, especially when he sees Ushijima with the coach 

(The two already have a rivalry, so naturally Oikawa is pissed) 

When then Ushijima tells him to come to Shiratorizawa, because he will lose with another team, Oikawa fucking wants to punch this little asshole

But then he stops for a second and takes a second look

Ushijima never meant to offend him, he just stated the obvious since he doesn’t know differently. Oikawa knows bluntness, hell, Iwaizumi is bluntness in person, but Ushijima takes it to another level

“You really don’t know how to talk with people, do you Ushiwaka?” And Ushijima blinks and answers calmly, but also confused: “But we are talking?” 

And Oikawa understands. Ushijima never wanted to offend him, to hurt him, he just told him what would the best way for him since he knows that Oikawa is a very good volleyball player and setter. 

“Are you brats finally finished? Ushijima won’t play for Shiratorizawa if you two don’t come and I won’t let other schools take such good players from me.”

(Iwaizumi is also slightly confused, why he’s invited too, but then the Coach snarks at him. “Why wouldn’t I invite you too? You keep Shiratorizawa’s setter in check. Furthermore, do you know how good two players are, especially a setter and an ace, who know each other for years?”)

After this day, Ushijima is somewhat friends with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Ushijima is maybe socially awkward, but the three never really have any drama, maybe some misunderstandings, but with the time, the three get to know each other better

Listen,,, we all know Tendou is Ushijima’s best friend,,, but now Ushijima is friend with Oikawa,,, Tendou and Oikawa,,, the chaos,,, the pain they cause their own teammates and their so called ‘enemies’ 

(Tendou totally teaches Oikawa to look/smile like he’s crazy, just to scare some setters or other teams)

Their fellow first years don’t really know of whom they should be terrified. Oikawa, that scarry cheery setter, his best friend Iwaizumi, who has clearly some aggression problems, Tendou, uhm- that crazy middle blocker or freaking Ushijima, who’s just tall, but so silent and looks so freaking powerful. 

Since Oikawa is the better setter then Semi, Semi focuses on his pinch serves, but the two often train together as setters

Ushijima becomes of course the ace of the team, but Iwaizumi becomes a starter too. Since the two also train together, Iwaizumi becomes a even better spiker

All in one, the four are terrifying group and take Shiratorizawa further than anyone before

After their first nationals, Shiratorizawa ranks 4th, after loosing against Inarizaki 

Shiratorizawa trains harder than before, Oikawa becomes obsessed with winning the nationals and takes his obsesssion to a new level. (Iwaizumi totally screams/beats some sense into him) 

Anywhore,,, the team wants to win and they walz every team to the ground and somehow manage to win the Spring Nationals 

But they still aren’t satisfied, since it was a hard win and they almost lost to Itachiyama

Call them petty and proud (cause that’s what they are) but they want to be the real winners. Everybody knows of Itachiyama or Inarizaki, but not everybody knows about Shiratirizawa, even when they are a proud powerhouse and ranked rather high the previous years. They want to win the nationals and show everybody that they are the best 

After the nationals, Ushijima and Oikawa are invited to the All Japan Camp (or whatever it’s called) while Tendou and Iwaizumi go to the Youth Camp (totally to go spying :))

Since Shiratorizawa won the nationals, everybody knows now of the brilliant setter, who seems to be either a freaking genius or a monster, since he fits in every team, no matter what and can take out 100% and better out of them. And the left handed ace, who breaks through (almost) every wall 

Ushijima and Oikawa are a terrifying force on the court and the U-19 coaches want the on the team. They are almost insulted when both say no, but understand that they want to wait for a year

“We are still first years, we only played a year together. I am honored, really and I am sure Oikawa is too, but Shiratorizawa needs to win the nationals again. Please ask us again in a year.”

(The coaches are still a little bit mad, but then Oikawa comes with an absolute mad man plan.)

“But if we could train with the team, starting this year, then I’m sure Japan would be even more fearsome in the internationals and actually win them.”

“Oikawa, you should spend less time with Tendou, you start acting like him.” “What’s wrong with that?!” “You are scaring the coaches.”

When Oikawa and Ushijima tell their Coach about it, he screams at them for a full hour and let’s them run to their next practice match, ‘for being cheeky little asshole brats, with no respect’

Tendou is so proud of Oikawa, while Iwaizumi just wants to bang his head against the wall (he will never leave Oikawa alone with anyone, never again)

Anyway,,, some timeskip ‘cause I’m impatient

Shiratorizawa wins the nationals again and this time,,, more clear and without 5 sets, but four

Many of Shiratorizawa are ranked in the national volleyball list. Ushijima as number one ace, Iwaizumi number 5 (after Ushijima needed to sit out for a game, cause he hurt himself and Iwaizumi played in his position) Oikawa is setter number one, Shirabu is setter number 6 (uhm- well Shiratorizawa doesn’t like to talk about it, but Oikawa started a,,, uhm- fight with Asumu Miya, bitching about who would be the better setter and the coach took him out for some sets) Tendou is middle blocker number one and proudly carries the name ‘guess monster’

So, naturally, everybody expected them to win the Spring Nationals (which they did, but yeah) 

Anywhore,,,, Ushijima and Oikawa had some trainings with the U-19 team, but ‘really’ started in their second year. Since they still/need to train with their team, their timetable is packed 

Japan maybe doesn’t win in the internationals but they rank high, 5th place which is better than the last years (i have no idea about this,, but yeahh-)

Let me set one thing clear,,, Oikawa still has fangirls. But they are from Shiratorizawa,,, and after he won the nationals, he seems to have a freaking army of these girls. And when he and Ushijima rank high in the internationals,,, well- his fans were very enthusiastic

Listen. Shiratirozawa has clearly more class than Aoba Johsei,,, fight me but it’s true (they are a freaking private school) so his fans,,, are less crazy about him, but also support his team. Which means that every member of the Shiratorizawa Volleyball team has some fangirls. And after winning the nationals their fanbase only grows

Anywhore,,, they win both nationals (they have to play against Inarizaki both times and both times Inarizaki wins two sets) (annoying brat twins, Oikawa would say) so everybody knows that winning the nationals gets more difficult

In their third year, Iwaizumi takes Goshiki under his wing (Ushijima helps too), while Oikawa and Semi train more with Shirabu. Since they go after a year, Shiratorizawa still needs a master setter and a perfect ace

The Coach doesn’t like to admit it, but his method to make just one player perfect and the axle of the team, is not perfect. There is a reason why Oikawa is the captain and Ushijima the vice-captain of the team. Shiratorizawa still can be an intense force in this way

Now

Karasuno doesn’t play against Aoba Johsei in their first selection of the nationals, they play against Shiratorizawa and still loose

But

They can take one set, but then Oikawa went full beast modus since he really doesn’t want Kageyama to win. After all, there is a reason why he plays for Japan, together with Ushijima

After the game, Ushijima asks Kageyama, why he didn’t come to Shiratorizawa, since his talent is wasted with Karasuno, especially when he has been taught by Oikawa. Kageyama admits that he wanted to go to Shiratorizawa, but he failed the exams. Ushijima blinks and says: “You should’ve studied harder. Shiratorizawa is an elite school, they expect good grades. But... you will take Karasuno far, especially with your number ten. You control him good, especially since he’s practically a waste on the court.”

Karasuno was offended as hell, especially Hinata, until Iwaizumi sighs and apologizes. 

“Ushijima isn’t good with words, what he means... number ten. Work on your technique. If you train good and hard, you and Kageyama will be an incredible force on the court. But don’t get to high hopes. As long Shittykawa and Ushijima are part of the team, nobody else, than Shiratorizawa, will go to the nationals. He’s fucking obsessed with it... but he also has to show a good performance, both of them, since they are in the U-19 Japan team.”

(So,, maybe Karasuno manages to make it into the nationals in the third year :), but that doesn’t matter anymoreee) 

Anywhore,,, they still manage to win both nationals (of course) but not without some drama. Oikawa picks a fight with the Miya twins, but behind their back, he bullies their way into the U-19 team (after the first nationals) Nobody knows about it, until they get an invite for the team. 

Listen. At first, Osamu wanted to stop with volleyball after High School, but then he and his brother get invited to the U-19 team and he,,, suddenly gains a new passion for volleyball. Atsumu naturally notices and they both start to train harder. They create new attacks, especially after Oikawa taunts them that some little first years of Karasuno have too some freak quick attack which is similar to their own. (They totally sneak to some games of Karasuno and spy on them) Osamu doesn’t want a little shit of a raven (uhm- Hinata) to be quicker and better than him, especially when this little number ten is a freaking middle blocker. 

So, Osamu takes notes of Date Tech (and other powerhouses with strong blocks) and Atsumu trains with him (all this happens while Oikawa gackles evily) 

U-19 Japan suddenly plays with two setters on the court and with two strong wing spikers. The other countries were slightly surprised, since it’s rather uncommon to play with two setters, especially international

(Some coaches/teams are totally freaked out by the twin freak attack (as everybody calls it) (you know which one? the one Kageyama and Hinata stop) especially since they can pull it from everywhere) 

Also,,, after the Miya twins joined the team, the tension between them and Oikawa suddenly vanished, after he stopped being so creepy with them (they also saw how Ushijima punched Oikawa without looking and said: “Stop being rude. I will tell Iwaizumi.” When Oikawa starts to whine like a freaking child, Ushijima just scolds him like a parent and forbid him to spend more time with Tendou

So,,, the four totally go along and actually bond, after Ushijima forces them to sit down and talks (as his teammates suggsested after someone fought) (Ushijima ust being a freaking bean- I can’t-)

Anyway

They finally win the internationals and many teams want now the four, but also their teams (Shiratorizawa and Inarizaki) but Iwaizumi doesn’t want to go professional, as well Tendou (which many say is a waste of talent, but oh well-) 

In their last nationals, Inarizaki and Shiratorizawa play against each other again and yeahh,,, I’m unsure,,, should Shiratorizawa or Inarizaki win? It’s a close win, that’s for sure,,, but... the twins train together with Ushijima and Oikawa, and they know now how Shiratorizawa plays, the same goes for Shiratorizawa

Anywhore,,,

I know that after the time-skip, Oikawa plays for Argentina, but after my time-skip, Oikawa plays for Japan, together with the twins and Ushijima. I also want them all in the Schweiden Alders,,, just because I can :)

Also,,, it would be funny how Ushijima and Hinata would play against each other, as well Kageyama and Oikawa :) 

finally finished :D 

again, i’m sorry for the late update. i didn’t edit it, i will do this some time later

[tussive]

Since I'm talking about fortified wines and I have tried all 5 on bumwine.com, my thoughts on all of them, also ranked best to worst.

This got kinda long, so adding a cut so as not to spam everyone with my rambling.

1. MD 20/20

(Sorry for the lame joke. I found it on Etsy looking for a regular picture and it made me laugh so fuck you I'm using it.)

My favorite of the five. Sickly sweet and in bright fluorescent colors, you immediately know this isn't something you should ingest. As mentioned, Blue Raspberry is the most popular flavor among people I've talked to about MD 20/20. Other flavors are varying levels of good but none are so bad they're undrinkable. All of the flavors except Red Grape Wine are 13% alcohol (Red being 18%) which is lower than the other options but it also helps make them very drinkable. Also, for a depressing morning treat, mix Orange Jubilee MD with champagne. It's like a mimosa, but for when there's nothing to celebrate.

2. Cisco

So I have only had this once and only the strawberry flavor. Supposedly these were once pretty common but I've only found them at a single Valero outside of Richmond. He quit carrying it shortly after I found it also. (Really cool guy who ran it though. I had my IL license still in VA and he was from Chicago so we bullshitted for a bit and then he was also really friendly from then on. Also only place near me that carried Luckies.) But, this shit is delicious, maybe even better than Mad Dog. Also at 18%, it's a good bit stronger. The limited distribution is my main complaint here.

3. Thunderbird

Thunderbird is a white wine that comes in at 17.5%. Looking at the bottle, the sickly yellow color may turn you off from wanting to try it, but it actually tastes a lot better than it looks. Supposedly there was an old radio jingle that went "What's the word? / Thunderbird / How's it sold? / Good and cold / What's the jive? / Bird's alive / What's the price? / Thirty twice." which is pretty fun imo. This also comes in a large 50oz jug, which is really more Thunderbird than one person should probably ingest in their life, but is also a fun way to spend the night if you aren't concerned about your well-being. The American Classic.

4. Night Train Express

Basically just the red alternative to Thunderbird, it is also 17.5% alcohol but unlike T-Bird, this shit is mad gross. To be totally fair, I do prefer white wine to reds, but I do enjoy red wine as well. This is still drinkable, but it's easier if you already have a buzz going. I used to get one of each and drink the Thunderbird first and then the Night Train Express. Made it much more bearable.

5. Wild Irish Rose

Which brings us to the final wine, Wild Irish Rose. Bottled by the same company as Cisco, it is a crime that this shit is widely available and Cisco is not. Apparently there is a white and rosė flavor based on a google search I just made, but I've only ever seen Red and the absolute worst shit I've ever put in my mouth, Wild Fruit with Ginseng. The Red is 18% alcohol but is significantly worse than Night Train. And then there is Wild Fruit with Ginseng. Despite being a lower 14% alcohol, it tastes significantly more like an industrial solvent. It also made me feel sick for much longer than I would consider normal for cheap alcohol, still not fully well two days after. I am willing to ingest some gross shit for a buzz, cough syrup, cotton soaked in menthol and lavender, urine, just eating powder out of bags and nothing else even comes close to tasting as bad as this and it isn't even like a nice drunk. Fuck Wild Irish Rose. I bought the Wild Fruit one on my 21st birthday to drink and spent the next two days feeling like shit. Happy birthday to me.

Edit: While looking for an image to use I made the upsetting discovery they have yet another flavor now, Wild Grape. What an awful thing to stumble upon.

Honorable Mention: Real Sangria

This is not a fortified wine and is only listed as being 7-10% alcohol on the label, but it's cheap as shit, easy to drink and also the name is Real Sangria. C'mon, how can you not wanna get trashed on that? It fills all the same holes as the others do and you're friends/family may not be as concerned about your alcoholism compared with drinking Mad Dog or Thunderbird. Honestly this is nice enough I've even given it to other people and they actually were able to drink it.

So, those are my thoughts on cheap wine to get fucked up with. Idk why I bothered to type this all out, or why anyone else would possibly read this, but here u go. <3

[closer-stars]

Precious - Seonghwa

Member: Seonghwa Genre: Drama? Thriller? Requested: Yes @s1ardusk Word count: 1.343 for once it’s kinda short Content: a bit of sleep paralysis a bit of fallen angel stuff. sorry seonghwa. Note: idk what prompted this but i ended up revisiting an old interest of mine. did a bit of research again just to make sure i was in the right direction of sorts. all of these are just loosely inspired by books i read growing up also. To add, Sleep Paralysis Sucks. Caz, I am so sorry this went in a totally unexpected direction. @yeochikin thank u for beta-reading this prior to me posting this ><

Seonghwa wakes up, disoriented and surprised from the unexpected slumber. His eyes roam the room, looking for some sign as to what time it is. Instead, he notices something in the corner of the room, still dimly lit from which he assumes is Hongjoong’s laptop. He can’t hear anything from him but the music that still plays from his phone. As he tries to reach for his phone, hidden somewhere in the sheets, he can’t seem to lift a finger, much less drag his hand to where his phone could be. Is this a dream? He asks himself. He tries to will himself into moving his fingers or toes only for this to fall short. What’s going on? His own voice was useless, he couldn’t call Hongjoong for help. His eyes could move but not his own body-- Is this some sort of sick nightmare from the stress? 

With his own body and voice being useless, his eyes and ears have become alert to compensate. He tries to look for something, anything, to get him to wake up. Nothing in their room seems helpful in his current predicament. He could already feel cold sweat run down the back of his neck. He starts to make out a vague figure standing at the corner of his room. Now Seonghwa doesn’t consider himself a believer of the supernatural, much less an avid follower of any faith but this figure that stands in the corner is making him think otherwise. His eyes, wide and unmoving, stare at the being until its shape starts to make sense. A woman? There’s no way a stalker managed to break into their dorm unnoticed now could there? He tries to move again but his muscles just feel like they’re cramping rather than anything.

In under different circumstances, he would’ve found the smile the woman wears beautiful, heavenly even. In this case, it was hell. She wears a smile of pride and glee, she knows he can see her and he can’t do anything. She also knows that his dear roommate is unaware of his predicament which makes this better. The stranger looks around the room, taking in the odd haven. She has never seen a room as small as this, but she supposes it was passable to the two boys. Gray eyes roam the vicinity, her movements made her look like she was gliding across the floor. If this is the man that her family warns their kind of, surely there would be a sign of his bloodline in this room?

His inability to move makes his blood run cold. It’s not until he spots what looked like wings, folded against her back that he realizes what’s going on. His own orbs stay glued to the soot like wings, streaks of red found underneath the feathers, only highlighted by Hongjoong’s laptop. How does his own friend manage to be unaware of the being in the room? Judging by the size, he knew those wings could easily take up space in the living room when outstretched. More questions lay in his mind, none of them only giving birth to more questions rather than answers. What was she looking for? He wants to yell, get her out of their dorms, to wake up. 

“Oh, sweetheart. You are awake.” He hears her voice in his mind. Soft and rich like velvet, anyone could fall for such a voice. It takes strength to tear his eyes from her wings to look at her properly, she was now standing in front of his bed. He doesn’t know if he’ll remember this but he drinks in her appearance like it would heal him of his injuries, like it would wake him up into the reality he knows of. She glows with a translucent like material over her skin, a light that could fool the innocent. Her height could rival that of the models in the most prestigious brands. Her hair, too dark to be considered natural, even real. A shade that could only be achieved with hair dye but why does hers look so natural? She didn’t look human but she carried features that humans have. She reminds him of the beings that loom over the cathedrals he’s seen throughout the tours. That’s when it hits him. 

Was she one of the beings that had willfully chosen their own desires. If she wasn’t one of the Originals, she was definitely a descendant. What was her kind doing here? More importantly, why is she in his room? He’s been told stories of her kind growing up, not once did he think they were rooted in truth.

Her eyes, pale enough to pass as normal, gaze down at the male who seems to now know who-- or rather, what she is. Her smile, sinful as her desires, grows on her lips. She dips down to the eye level of the frozen male as her fingers brush through his raven hair that has fallen over his eyes. Once her finger dips to his chin, she tips his face up to look at him properly. Surely her kind had their eyes on the wrong person? This male had features that bear the same ethereal calmness her kind had but no sign that branded their sin, much less a sign that bears the immunity of the being that had cast their downfall. She looks around once more, looking for any information about this male. It nearly proves futile until she sees a banner that carries his face with his name. “Park Seonghwa? A lovely name to match your face.” She purrs, shooting the male a wink as she brushes through his features. 

“What- what are you doing? Why are you winking?” He wants to ask but it only rings clear in his mind and perhaps hers that she laughs softly, delighted by his fear. It’s been a while since she’s felt that kind of emotion because of her existence. For once, Seonghwa hates how her voice reminds him of honey. She says nothing and approaches their dresser, to resume her search. Before she could do anything, there was a knock on their door. Even if she knew that this Seonghwa’s roommate could not see her, she was not informed of others that live under the same roof. It was better to stay undetected. She takes quick strides to the window, opening it just wide enough for her entire form to slip out. 

“Don’t think this is the last time, precious.” Deft fingers manage to close the window just in time for the door to open. With that, Seonghwa finally manages to regain feeling in his body. 

“Hyung..?” It was San. “The others are asking if you guys want to join game night.” He asks softly, noting the dimly lit room as he opens the door a little wider. He couldn’t help but think that this light was better than what he saw earlier. The younger’s presence being his safety in more ways than one at this point. 

 Hongjoong finally removes his headphones and looks at the time. “Hm, a round couldn’t hurt-- you’re up?” The male shifts his attention to the eldest who struggles to push himself up to a sitting position. He yanks out his earphones, putting them back in its case as he searches for his phone. 

“Huh? Yeah. Weird dream.” Seonghwa mumbles, disoriented still as he rubs his dry eyes. He squints at the bright glare of his phone once he finds it. 10:10 PM. A disgruntled groan slips from his parched lips and he pushes himself to stand up. “I’ll join you guys. I can’t go back to sleep.” 

As the two leave the room first, he looks around for a few moments. A sign that what had transpired was indeed real and not a dream. Just as he is about to approach the dresser, he hears San call for him from the living room. The search will have to wait, he supposes. He shuts the door behind him as he leaves. 

He doesn’t catch the feather that rests on the table.

[dashielldeveron]

Viper VIII: Inter Vivos

*author slaps bumper sticker across ass that reads I BREAK FOR QUARANTINE* 

Summary: You have a thought that only Steve Urkel and black-out drunks can have: did I do that?

Warnings: swears, the law. Murder/death. Stupid internet comments.

Show (3719) Comments on “There is Nothing New Under the Sun, But You Are New in Your Conglomeration.”

skellingtonbabey: thanks for putting all of the *gestures vaguely* into historical context. no one’s ever bothered to explain this shit to me, especially in such simple and thorough language. it’s like every other resource i try to learn from is stylistically designed to make me more confused.

readyplayer69: Just because it’s from the 60s and is racist doesn’t mean that it doesn’t have intrinsic value based on the goal towards which it was working. You’re a fucking lunatic. I have a degree in political science, so I know what the fuck I’m about. Though some of the protests may have excluded the minorities you’re talking about, it doesn’t mean that they weren’t ultimately working towards good fucking policies for everyone involved. It’s not like they were doing anything important then anyway; white people had to be the mouthpiece for…Read More

volcanolesbian: bro have u seen the incels freaking out over this???? it got linked in their cursed forum and they SO BADLY wanted u 2 hate women now. like you can regress from being a feminist once you’ve woken up. they’re giving u shit bc you called out the racist terrorists who were active in their community lmao. i can post screenshots if u want. But bruv it’s like they haven’t read anything you’ve written before lol

mozARTsexandviolins: I get when you say that ingenuity spawns ideals for the greater good, but don’t you think tradition has its place? How do we know if the new can spawn the greater good? How do we judge ourselves? Who watches the watchers?

simpleplan2eatthedirt: cool cool nice nice.  protesting is awesome, but be sure to get out there to fucking VOTE, people!!! Here’s a link to register to vote.

EaterJohn: Hello. It is nice to hear from you again, Epiales. Always a treat. Very insightful commentary on modern and past protests. I didn’t know about all of the revolutions in Europe 1848. I’ve send this to my co, and it’s already sparked a good conversation about who we are as a protesting people as we stand in history. Again, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering when the next article in your “Aeneid Autopsies: Current Crimes Reflected in Ancient Times” series was going to be released? It’s my…Read More

horneyvulcanbasterd: @mozARTsexandviolins Is that a Star Trek reference? Bc if so the answer’s Starfleet Command lol

MrsKatsukiBakagou: epiales. you have watered my crops and harvested my fields. thank you for the food.

mightiestavengereatmyass: eat shit and die, commie scum. your just a hired propagandaist for the fucking alt-left, aren’t you? You have no right to be running your collum in a real newspaper or on this fucking website. sending u anthrax in the mail would be too cool a death for you. I hope your so-called terrorist groupsfind out where you live and fucking murder you in the middle of the night. fukcs like you are the reason the country is going to shit the police have a total constitutional right int aht jurisdiction to enter. They had a no knock…Read More

fuckyouit’sjanuary: @readyplayer69 [image attached] [image description: blonde woman with caption reading, “I can tolerate racism, but I draw the line at looting the local target]

saltnpepa!!diner707: Hi. I’m trying to cite this piece in an essay, but your publisher isn’t listed on your website. Would you suggest using the NYT as the source in my bib? If it helps, this is due new week; idk if this will run in the NYT by then. Thanks

“I’m sending someone on a grocery run this morning,” said Tom, thumbs tapping away on his phone, “Do you need anything? Want anything?”

You glanced up from your laptop, closing it as much as you could without the light dimming. “I think I’m good, unless you used the last of the shredded cheese at some point.”

“Shredded…cheese,” he said under his breath, typing, “You mentioned capri-suns the other day.”

“Yeah, but I can tolerate the nasty, new flavour. No rush. Here’s a wild idea,” you said, and you waited until he looked up from his phone, a couple of ungelled curls falling over his forehead. “What if—now, don’t dismiss me as crazy; hear me out—what if we went to the store ourselves?”

“Again, no.” Tom grasping his coffee by the round of the mug, despite there being a perfectly functional handle. “Stop pressing me for it.”

“I’m not asking to go to a damn Broadway play. I’m asking to go to the closest 7-11,” you said, jiggling your leg and then making a conscious decision to stop fidgeting, instead scooting your chair closer under the table so that the arms slid underneath.

Tom hummed, his eyes not leaving his phone screen, but when you didn’t continue, he raised an eyebrow as he scowled at you. “Broadway is shut down because of the bomb threat.”

“Fuck off; you know what I meant.”

“Viper,” said Tom, and he locked his phone to set it on his napkin. “Do you want to get assassinated?”

“The term assassination implies I’m getting murdered for political reasons instead of the copious other crimes you’ve had me commit. So, I invite it.” Put your hands on the table where he can see them; it makes you seem more trustworthy. “Does 7-11 have an open carry policy?”

“If it’s any consolation, the renovated office should be waiting for you when you return.”

“It’s not.” You lifted your mug to your lips. “Working from here only makes me feel like a damn bureaucrat. Like I have no stake in the matter. I don’t want to become detached from everything; I might make a callous decision and send people where they can’t come back.”

“Keep watching yourself. If you stay on guard,” said Tom, running his middle finger around the rim of his mug, “then you won’t stray from me.”

“I’m useless here.”

“Then maybe you should become accustomed to the idea of being useless.”

Swallowing, you stared down into your tea. “There’s only so much I can get done through answering emails. Not to mention I hate answering emails. That’s how you get more emails.”

“Harrison has been telling me that your schematics have been more thorough since you’ve been holed up in here.” Tom tipped his mug all the way back to get the last of his coffee. “You’re still being just as productive, if not more methodical.”

“Did you mean obsessive? I have—I’ve had too much time to think. I’d rather not be alone with my thoughts, if I can help it.”

***

You could only read so much before losing your mind. You could only deal with so many of the same exact problems over and over again for lower level soldiers. You could only chart so many stars. You could only read so much fanfiction (if your identity thief were tracking your phone, he’d probably be baffled as to why you kept reading fic for fandoms you weren’t even a part of due to the desire for new ideas).

You could only give Glory Pham so many excuses as to why you’re not with her in person at the Museum of Natural History.

Sucking in through your teeth, you hovered your fingers above the keyboard.

Dear Ms. Pham,

Glad to hear John Mulaney’s signed on. Next step would be to ensure de Blasio doesn’t directly interact with him, given their history. Perhaps I should proof his set beforehand?

Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that I cannot attend the briefing in person yet again. I am currently indisposed, seeing as I am currently in hiding at my hot boss’s house, due to how dead I might be should I leave it (thus the basis of its appeal). Not to mention that if you criticise my blazer choices again, I shall peel the skin off your perfectly made-up face. Get fucked; getting your eyeliner tattooed on was a hell of a decision.

You shook your head, backspaced the last few lines, and stretched towards the wicker end table to grab your glass of pink lemonade, and you stole a glance at Tom’s work as you did so. A couple of files spread across his white wicker lounger (two blue files [socials of the family], two green [recent bids], a yellow [Manhattan locations], and a brown [requests from politicians, upper East side]). The pink sticky-notes had your and his written exchanges and edits on certain papers, and his laptop was open, the screen dimmed, while he copied something into a notebook with his cell phone held between his shoulder and his ear, just listening to the computerised voice.

He had joined you on the back porch to work remotely, claiming he couldn’t go into the city today due to the absence of news on Zendaya—if any information arose, he’d said he wanted your diagnosis immediately.

You wiped your forehead with your sleeve as a sweat drop slinked behind Tom’s ear. Even Tessa wouldn’t run in the heat; she’d curled up by the porch railing, her tail slapping against her water bowl. In an experiment to see if she wanted to spend some time outside, you’d slid the glass door open for Trout, to which she turned around to retreat to the bedroom.

Not all of the clothes you’d ordered had arrived yet, so you were stuck wearing autumnal clothes with long sleeves. To exacerbate matters, you were constantly moving—jiggling your leg, tapping your fingers—you couldn’t sit still for very long anymore; you had taken to pacing the porch when you couldn’t concentrate on the stars.

(Once, Tom had come out at night to check on you, wiping the sleep out of his eyes and sitting in silence with you. He’d made you go to bed after a while, claiming you’d run yourself into the ground if you kept this restlessness up.)

When your phone beeped, the both of you jolted at the sound. Tom hung up on the robotic voice as you scrambled to your phone, and he bent your way. “Is it Zendaya?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you shook your head. “No. Looks like it’s a jailbreak.”

Tom sighed, his shoulders heaving as he eased back in his seat. “Where from?”

“I don’t even care,” you said, letting your phone fall to your lap. You slumped back in your chair, shielding your eyes from the sun with your arm. But you straightened yourself again and checked. “From Central. They don’t even know who’s all escaped yet.”

“It’d be too much of a gift if New York City would fucking relax for five minutes.”

“It seems like it’s in more uproar than usual lately,” you said, sipping through the reusable straw of your pink lemonade. “Do you suppose it’s our fault?”

Tom took a moment to pluck his damp t-shirt away from his chest. “I don’t think we’re instigating. If anything, we’re simply reacting to chaos.” He stood up and stretched, raising his arms above his head—his biceps strained at the sleeves, and the hem rose above his v-lines. “Unless you’re doing something I don’t know about.”

Ah, casual suspicion. “You’ve caught me,” you said as he approached Tessa and crouched next to her, “I’ve been running a koi smuggling gig on the side.”

“Why koi?” He held out his hand for Tessa to sniff, and she readily accepted his hand for pats. “Are they hard to get?”

“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging, “but I’ve been wondering if they’d be able to survive in your grist mill pond. You look through that water straight to the bottom, nothing living in your way. Just rocks and old equipment.”

Tom sat against the porch railing with a jittery Tessa partially in his lap. “Should we get some?”

“Oh, fuck off, Tom,” you said, grinning, a sweat drop falling onto your mousepad as you shook your head, “You can’t entertain every little pipedream I have.”

“Watch me. What do you want for Christmas?”

You ducked your head, biting your lip. “Promise me something.”

“Provided it’s not my head on a stake, I will,” he said, scratching Tessa behind her ears and cringing a bit when she stretched to lick his face.

“Then we’re going in person to the pre-opening fundraising gala for the Gawain Diamond.”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “Viper.”

“Bitch, I got John Mulaney to sign on to do the opening monologue, and he’s probably gonna roast de Blasio again. I’m not missing that.”

Your phone blared an alert again, and both of you held your breath as you unlocked it.

“Got a list of prisoners who escaped. Small group. Delores, Larson, Duncan, Mays, Selvin,” you said, “There’s more, but I don’t know them. Tell us something important, by God. Anyway, we’re going. I didn’t say I was going alone, did I? You’ll be there. I’ll be safe, and you’ll be safe.”

His jaw shifting to the side, Tom stilled his hand on Tessa’s back, and then he lifted it to flick sweat off his neck. “How many of us maximum can you get in?”

“It’s a fundraiser for idiotic rich people; if there are too many people without a name, they’ll be noticed.”

“It can’t be just us.”

“Why? Afraid you can’t protect me on your own?”

“Now, don’t start that.” Tom herded Tessa off his lap and onto her outside bed. “I’m not falling for it.”

“Yes, yes, I’m fully aware you’re capable of ripping me in half,” you said, draining your pink lemonade, the airy suction coming through your straw (almost loud enough that you couldn’t hear Tom’s sputtering over it—almost—and his phone beeping). “Want me to get that?”

“Bring it here,” he said, and you snatched it while he sat on the railing, dangling his legs off the side.

“It’s,” you said, eyebrows shooting to your hairline as you read the little notification, “It’s a tweet from Zendaya.” You tossed it to him to unlock and leant on the railing next to him, arm grazing his thigh with a heightened awareness of how close you were to his sweaty, sweaty abdomen. No! No time to thirst. Friend time.

Tom unlocked his phone and held it at your eye level, turning it horizontally as he pulled up the tweet.

ZENDAYA (@ZendayaMedias): Felt cute. Might delete later.

[video]

Tom pulled up the clip, waiting for it to load. “Why didn’t she post it to instagram, then?”

“The finer details of social media are an enigma. Do I look like I know,” you said, and his thumb hovered over the play button.

He cranked the volume up before pressing play, having to try twice due to how slippery his fingers were. “I wonder if Haz has seen this yet.”

A vertical shot of a murky, grey sky from the bow of a boat and dark ocean as far as the camera can see. It pans across the starboard side, and this boat is the only one in sight.

Only the sound of waves striking the boat.

The camera tilts down. Zendaya’s writhing on the deck, furiously straining against rope bonds that line up the entirety of her arms and up her calves; she’s yelling furiously at the person behind the camera through duct tape.

Scuffed, black boots roll Z to the starboard gunwale. She’s still fighting, still shouting.

The camera trucks to the right; before, the pair of cinderblocks attached to her feet were concealed. It returns to her face. A glove grabs part of her hair to show the weights tied into it. She bucks up to headbutt the camera; he avoids it.

Tom clenched his free hand on his thigh. “We’re running another scan for that black-stubble bell jackass from her instagram; did we have any fucking leads at all? What’s his fucking motivation? So he slept with her, allegedly; did she say no to a second time? Doesn’t fucking merit—”

The boot kicks the cinderblocks off the boat, and the camera tilts down to follow the trail of bubbles.

It’s quiet.

But then the camera pans to portside, where the guy in the picture with Zendaya is similarly tied up, but he’s openly weeping and shaking his head. He’s got something drawn on his forehead in black marker. The cameraman steps closer to focus on it: it’s a circle with an upward curve resting on top of it.

He’s still wearing the bell necklace.

Then the cameraman backs away and raises a gloved hand, in which a gun is aimed at the other’s forehead.

The bullet goes through the circle, and the bell rattles as he’s kicked off. Fewer bubbles.

Then the camera tilts up to show off the boat’s surroundings: a black and barren ocean, as far as the eye can see.

When the video started to loop, Tom switched his screen off, his phone hanging loosely in his grip. You released of his thigh once you noticed you’d grabbed onto him, and the evidence of your touch faded as the fabric relaxed.

His eyes glossed over at the blank screen, and his mouth opened before closing again, running his tongue over his lower lip. Tom brought a fist to his mouth and furrowed his brow, his hand hardly concealing the growing tremble of his jaw.

You took a step away from him, rubbing your arms as you ducked your head. “I’m going back inside,” you said, hoping Trout felt like being clutched to your chest, “I’m cold.”

***

The next morning, your mouth felt heavy and dry. You sneaked out as the sun was rising to go hide in the woods surrounding Tom’s house, but you talked yourself out of it. He would make too much of a fuss if he couldn’t find you—but you could delay the inevitable conversation even further. Both of you had separated and kept to yourselves the rest of the evening. Kept quiet.

So you rounded the outside of the house. You’re not camping out in a fucking copse. When you reached the pond, you scanned it for a dry place to hide, but nothing really held any appeal, save for the rounded platform where the mill wheel used to spin, its spoke notches overflowing with moss. You managed to get to it after scrambling alongside the stones for a few minutes, and though it didn’t look like you could get down the same way, you settled against the wall, scraping some moss out of the notches so that your feet could rest more comfortably in them.

(Dr. Prine called ten minutes after you sent her the email. “Did you send me the correct article?”

“Yeah,” you said, rubbing your face wash onto your cheeks, “Considering it’s the only one I have ready, and I can’t bring myself to write anything. I tried. I just fucking can’t.”

“I don’t think you want this published at this point in your life.”

“I don’t fucking care. Whoever’s using my pen name probably knows who the fuck I am in general. Just publish it.”

“Honey,” said Dr. Prine, her voice softening (and fumbling, like she was holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder), “You should probably rethink this. It’s going to connect Epiales you back to Viper you. Get some sleep; eat breakfast. Call me back then.”

“It’s an appropriate article for the political climate.”

“Not for your personal life.”

“I don’t fucking care,” you said between splashing water on your face, “I don’t. It’s a good fucking article, and hopefully, it can affect people for the upcoming election. Fuck self-preservation. Send it to the Times already.”

“Did I dial the wrong number?”

“Hilarious, Dr. Prine. I know it’s not the smartest thing for me to do, but I can’t—absolutely can’t—write anything. I don’t know for how long, but for now, at least.” You blotted your face dry. “I’ve got to meet standard deadlines if I’m keeping my column. It’s really only dangerous if Tom reads it and makes the connection, and his brain is offline right now.”

And so Aeneid Autopsies: Current Crimes Reflected in Ancient Times, chapter twelve, “The Political Tradition as Mob Rule,” would be published on Saturday. It’s a little too in the know about the mafia, but hey, you had written it on a whim a month ago, and you were known for your extensive research, anyway. It most likely shouldn’t be too different from your other exposés, though they weren’t on topics that were deliberately misleading the public by what information was out there.

The more you thought about it, it was almost like you wanted to reveal yourself, wanted to get stabbed while you were sleeping, because there’s an overwhelming question rolling around in your brain like a mis-weighted shooter marble: is this—)

“It’s not your fault.”

With crossed arms, Tom leant against the stone wall, his leg bent back for his bare foot to rest flat against it. He glanced sideways at you, sitting on your mill wheel perch almost halfway across the pond, but closer to the far side than to him.

He’s got major bedhead, his curls just fucking flopping about out of his part, and even from where you are, his face burned red amidst wet tracks trailing down it. Still, thank God for little mercies—his biceps were fucking straining the sleeves of his white t-shirt, and those idiotic, blessed grey sweatpants were low on his hips.

You lifted your head from your knees but still clutched them to your chest. “You’re not going out, then?”

“Of course not,” Tom said, and he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Can’t be crying during a meeting, yeah?”

“Been boxing?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Not really.”

He ran his tongue over his lower lip and sighed, and then he slid his hands into his pockets, his eyes glossing over while he watched the moss you’d picked off float in the pond.

You’re not going to fucking cry. Tom came out here for a reason. He has a purpose. All you have to do is wait.

Eventually, he said, “You’re avoiding what I said.”

You tilted your head.

“Listen, I know you’re beating yourself up about it. It’s not your fault this happened. None of this is your fault. Hey.” Tom tapped the wall, the travelling reverberations making you look up at him. “Whoever’s doing this is doing it of their own volition and not because of you. You hold no culpability for this.”

“Bruh,” you said, “One of your best friends is dead, and you’re comforting me? I thought I was the masochist.”

Tom scowled, his brow furrowing. “Viper—”

“I can’t interact with someone without putting them in danger, at a disturbingly high rate. You want me to enumerate where I’ve stuck my nose in not my business and people have gotten killed? Senator Hernandez, Isadora,” you began, holding up two fingers, “The nine men guarding Isadora, Maccabruno, Polson—”

“Don’t you dare do that to yourself.” Tom took a step forward, his foot almost curving into the pond. “You didn’t use the knife. You didn’t pull any triggers.”

“Yeah, but I sent them there. And a good many of them went because it was their job.” You sneered and propped your chin on your knees again.

“And it’s part of your job—”

“Yeah, whatever. Your friend is dead, and I have no home. I’ve stopped contacting the few people in my circle on the chance that they get dragged into this—Grace, Adrien—he’s the lights specialist guy, in case you don’t remember—I’ve got to email Glory, but that can’t be helped. And Dr. Prine only—fuck,” you said, dragging your hands down your face. “I don’t want anything to fucking happen to Dr. Prine. Or your family, for that matter.”

“Everyone not involved in the business is currently in hiding upstate,” said Tom, eyes narrowed as he glared at you. “If you like, I can ensure the same—”

“Stop acting so damn calm, Tom.” You let your legs dangle off the platform, hands clenching the edges. “I don’t have any strings left to pull. And fucking hell, I know that it would be extremely and absurdly conceited of me to believe that this series of crimes is aimed specifically at me, because how deluded, how arrogant could I get—but goddammit, this stuff feels a little too personalised. It feels like this person knows me.”

Tom clicked his tongue. “Don’t you think it’s worth something that Glory Pham has been left alone? He knows how to get into Crosscreek, yet Glory hasn’t been touched. Is that not worthwhile?”

Your eyes watered, but you ducked your head so that he couldn’t see—but you released a dry sob (Fuck! Now is not the time for crying! Now is the time for being badass! Frown, or something!).

Tom spoke so quietly you almost didn’t catch it. “Do you want to leave?”

God, no. But it would make you feel like less of a burden. “Let me find an apartment first.”

“No, not like that. Hey, V. Look at me,” he said, and he tapped on the wall again.

You wouldn’t. Not like this. Not when your nose was running and when you didn’t have a plan.

“Please look at me, Viper.”

Glowering, you raised your head, lifting your chin higher than normal to seem confident, and oh, God—his eyes were wide and gentle; he’s leaning as far as he can over the pond, still unable to reach you.

“What I meant was if you wanted to leave the mob.”

It rang through your head like a distant cathedral bell, chiming through a deserted town—but then you were farther, out on the mountains, still listening to faint clanging.

“You’d have to kill me,” you said, shaking your head, “Don’t you remember?”

“Fuck,” Tom was saying, sucking in through his teeth, and after glancing at the water, he started jogging around the pond.

“I swore. I bled. And then even after that—then you knighted me.” You inhaled sharply when he reached the stones you’d climbed. “I’ve let you down.”

“Viper, get the fuck down from there and come here,” he said, and he withdrew, winching, when he stepped on a sharp edge.

“We shouldn’t have met,” you said, looking over your shoulder at him, and Tom froze, his hand partially gripping a hole in the stone wall. “I shouldn’t have taken the job. I should have gone to a different city. I should have—”

“Wasted your life away in the shadows? Just shut up and get down here.”

“Ah! The fuck?” You swatted his hand away when it grazed the platform, and when he climbed up another step, you pushed yourself off the platform and into the pond.

The first thing that struck you was how quiet everything was once the bubbles dissipated, and then you noticed how clear the water was, even from within it—glancing down, you could easily see your feet treading water above the broken grist mill wheels that had sunken to the bottom.

Before you could take it in to feel the emptiness in your chest, bubbles filled your vision again—and then his hands were grappling for you, grasping at your clothes, and pulling you towards the surface.

“I wasn’t fucking drowning,” you said, sliding a hand back through your hair, while Tom shook his head to flick off excess water. “I was fine without—”

“I know you weren’t.” Tom gripped your waist tightly enough to be painful, and he slid his other hand up between your shoulder blades. “I know. You wouldn’t die on me, and I’m not letting anyone else lay their hands on you. C’mon, arms around.”

He guided your arms around his waist, and once you had a good grip (hands sliding up his back), he kicked off to swim to the stone wall, backing you into it. Your toes skimmed the bottom of the pond, but Tom kept your head above the water, his thumbs circling your hipbones through your wet clothes.

Tom closed his eyes, his eyelashes heavy with water droplets. “There’s no solution to this where you die, got it?”

“Shucks.”

“I mean it. Talk to me. Tell me what you can.” Tom let out a breath slowly, and he bent to rest his forehead on your shoulder. “Please,” he said once you tensed up, his breath hot through your wet shirt, “Won’t you let me in?”

(Fuck fuck fuck fuck his chest is flush against yours; he’s so warm, so damn warm all over, and the water’s chill only makes you want to cling to him more, fuck.)

“You won’t like me,” you said, tentatively lifting a hand to curl your fingers into his hair, pulling slightly, “I’m not whom I’ve presented to you. I don’t have it under control.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Tom turned his head towards you; his lips almost grazed your neck (you relish their warmth anyway). “You wouldn’t be human, otherwise.”

“I don’t know an awful lot. Some days it seems like all I do is guesswork.” You grimaced but kept the slim distance from Tom’s mouth. If he wanted to, he would. “I’m lost completely on whoever the fake Epiales is. I keep looking for a pattern in everything, even—even so far back as to—”

You stuttered. Tom had pressed his lips to the base of your neck.

“There’s no consistency,” he said, nuzzling his nose against the spot where your neck met shoulder, “but there’s got to be a larger plan. I get it. The whole case is like a hydra, and we’re chopping blindly at the heads.”

(Oh, my God, he kissed you? He kiss the neck? He?)

“Oh! I forgot to tell you.” Tom pulled away to look you in the eye, and your mouth hung open of its own accord—come back! “I made myself watch the video again.” His jaw shifted. “To see if I missed anything, and I did. This time, I recognised the symbol on the guy’s forehead.” Tom lightly traced it onto your forehead with his middle finger. “It’s a zodiac symbol. It’s the one for Taurus.”

You nodded, still not really thinking at full capacity. “Great. Another piece of evidence that I won’t be able to make fucking sense of. Goddammit. I’m so useless. Goddammit,” you said, dropping your hand from his hair into the water with a splash. “Tom, I don’t talk to my mother much anymore. She doesn’t know where or who I am, and to be honest, I don’t know who I am, either. I don’t know where the truth is.”

You nearly slapped him when you cupped his cheek, like you were desperate, like you had to be touching him, skin on skin, that instant. It’d be nice if he would close his eyes and lean into your touch, maybe kiss your palm, but Tom simply stared at you in shock, eyes wide, brows raised, mouth pinched.

Don’t tell him, you whore. You built this fucking kingdom with its walls and bastions so that you would be safe when the outer defences crumbled. You’ve set aside parts of yourself into neat little boxes so that you can throw any of them away at any time and escaped unscathed. Don’t you fucking dare screw that up. Tom doesn’t know about Epiales so that you can expose and destroy him if you’re on his chopping block; it’s insurance for when everything falls.

Bitch, since when do you want to be honest and raw and vulnerable around anyone?

You can’t let him in.

“You’re still a woman of honour,” Tom said, and—oh, God, oh, fuck—he’s easing his hands down your body, his chest pressed against yours again, and he’s sliding them down your thighs to hook underneath your knees, and he’s hitched you up against the wall, the definition of his muscles real and palpable through the wet clothes, warm, warm, warm—

“I should apologise,” you said, turning your head to the side while he steered your legs around his waist, “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.”

“You can’t?” Tom shifted you upwards, and that’s it; your heat is directly against him; you can feel every pull and tensing of his tendons, and if he keeps moving the way he is, then you’ll—

“I’m so sorry for making this about me when Z was closer to you. We shouldn’t waste time on me; we need to be searching, arranging a funeral if we can’t find anything.” You scrunched your eyes shut.

“You’re deflecting.” Tom let out a shuddery sigh. “I’ve lost too many people. Don’t make me lose you when you’re right in front of me,” he said, and he pressed his lips right below your ear.

You flinched away on impulse but tried to relax into him, blinking profusely.

Tom pushed against you (not localised enough to qualify as a thrust), and he cleared his throat before pulling away from your neck. “Listen, please. Please.” He shifted your weight to one hand and gripped your chin with his freed one. His eyes flickered to your mouth before he moved to rest his hand on your cheek. “You’re invaluable. Irreplaceable. You are no burden and are not at fault.” He clenched his jaw. “But I know you’re keeping something from me, and I will make the answer fall from your lips soon.”

Your own chin was shaking, and he was too close. If you put aside separate-self-as-insurance for a moment, let’s consider Tom did find out about Epiales. Would he control you through it? Would he use you to influence those he couldn’t reach? Would he grab hold of Dr. Prine? He might squeeze your life and time through his fist, and your freedom would be gone. Epiales was your freedom, your space to create and connect.

He was too close.

“You’ve got to promise not to hate me,” you said, and when he raised an eyebrow, you made your decision to lean in.

“No,” he said, and—and your lips met his cheek.

He’d turned his head.

After all that, he’s going to turn his head?

“No,” he said again, taking your chin again and leading you away, back to leaning against the stone wall, “I don’t want our first kiss connected to the memory of mourning. I can wait a bit longer.”

Tom released your legs, letting them sink. “You once told me that if you let yourself be vulnerable, you didn’t want an audience. I think,” he said, frowning, “I think you still see me as an outsider. As a member of that audience. And again, you said that you didn’t want it if it weren’t real.” He stepped away from you entirely, and he started wading towards the edge of the pond. “I’m going to hold you to the same standard. I’ll wait until you’re ready to be real with me.”

Tom slinked out of the pond, flicking away what excess water he could, and he squinted into the sun on the horizon. He shook his head, water flying, and he glanced back at you and scoffed. “Easy, sweetheart. No need to wear your heart on your sleeve now.”

His voice trailed off as he rounded the corner towards the door.

The sun is rising, and you feel rather cold.

***

inter vivos: between the living

***

taglist: @hollandroos @madmadmilk @parkerroos @parsleysbaby @z-ukos @pparkerwrites @lunamyangel @stealth-spiderr @presidentbttrflyfreak @paradoxparker @bi-writes @astronomyparkers @infamous-webhead @laurfangirl424 @softspideys @gryffinpuffs @plethoraofpuppies @laucontrerasv @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @spiderboytotherescue @cassiopeiaskies

[vampire-named-gampire]

Carry On Countdown - Day 22

Wow, watch me use the @carryon-countdown to plug my skating fic lmao

I don’t know if this counts, since Angelina is an OC and actually, Baz would totally make friends with/practically adopt a 17yo Russian girl, so I don’t know how unlikely it is, but it’s here. And also, I just really want to share more of On thin ice content, but the fic itself isn’t ready to be published yet so have this instead. 

For context, Baz used to train in Russia aged 16-20, and now both him and Simon train in Montreal (no, idk why I chose Montreal out of all places but that’s how it is.) Also I think Gelya is the Russian diminutive/nickname used for the name Angelina, but I’m not sure. The fic is still in the works, so this scene is bound to change/expand (I did omit it a bit when writing because spoilers) but anyway, I’ll stop rambling now. 

Prompt: Unlikely friends Word count: 1950 Rating: This scene is G, although the whole fic will be T or M 

SIMON

The ride from the airport to the hotel is awful. Baz must’ve suspected this, because he made me sit in the front.

“Go on,” he said teasingly. “The only skater who has motion sickness.”

I have to say, sitting in the front almost didn’t make a difference. I may not know how to drive, but even I know you’re not supposed to drive like that. When the cab drops us off in front of the hotel, I don’t even bother hiding my relief. Baz laughs.

“I never want to experience this again,” I say, knowing full well that this is my life for the next week. The hotel might be close to the venue, but it’s still far enough for it to be a driving distance. I can only hope buses are less deadly than cabs.

“You know, Moscow traffic is actually tame compared to the rest of Russia,” Baz smirks, handing me my bags.

“Well then I never want to see the rest of Russia,” I mutter, slinging my duffel bag over my shoulder and stepping through the automated hotel doors. Baz scoffs and follows me.

This hotel is fancy – much fancier than the hotels we usually stay at. Baz doesn’t seem phased by it at all, the posh bastard. I bet the hotels he stays at when he’s on vacation are at least twice as posh.

He does, however, seem phased when someone yells “Basil!” across the lobby. Before either of us can register what’s going on, a small figure in a red jacket runs towards us at full speed and crashes into Baz, making him emit a surprised oof sound.

The moment I realize the figure is actually Angelina Nuriyeva is the moment she starts speaking in fast Russian. I don’t understand a thing, but Baz seems to, because he laughs and hugs her back.

I knew Baz and Angelina were friends, but I didn’t think they were this close. I mean, they’re the exact polar opposites; Angelina is an actual sunshine (she’s always hugging and smiling at everyone) and Baz is… Baz. (He’s a big softie, I know that, but he goes through great efforts to appear cold and closed off.)

But here he is, ruffling Angelina’s hair and telling her something in Russian. (I’m suddenly met with the realisation that being in Moscow means I’ll get to hear a lot more of Baz’s Russian. I am very much not complaining at this prospect, even if I don’t understand a thing of what they’re saying.)

Angelina is nodding along and she pulls out her phone to show him something, but that’s when Baz stops her, suddenly speaking in English.

“Wait, I think in the interest of Snow, we should switch to English. He already looks lost enough as it is,” he says.

“No, no, I’m fine, by all means…” I start, but I’m soon cut off by Angelina.

“Yes, of course! I’m sorry, Simon! Come here, it’s so good to see you,” she says and hugs me. (This is what I mean when I say Angelina is a sunshine.)

“Good to see you too,” I nod.

“I was just about to show Basil how his houseplants are doing. Do you want to see too?” she asks.

“Houseplants?” I don’t bother hiding the surprise in my voice. Since when does Baz like houseplants? His flat in Montreal doesn’t have any, spare the tiny cactus on the windowsill.

“I had a lot of houseplants when I still lived here, but I couldn’t take them with me on the plane when I moved, so Gelya took them in her care,” he explains, as if he’s reading my mind.

“Georgy is doing amazing but Ilya went a bit floppy. I changed his earth so now I’m hoping he gets better,” Angelina says, showing Baz a picture of two houseplants, side by side, one of them (Ilya?) looking slightly wilted.

“When it goes floppy, we say it wilts, and we don’t say earth, we say soil,” Baz corrects her. If I was Angelina, I’d probably be annoyed right now, but she just smiles at him.

“Thank you. It’s so much harder to learn English now that there’s no one here to practice with me,” she sighs.

“You know you can call me any time and we can practice,” Baz offers.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I stop them both. There is so much new information I have to process. “You had houseplants? And you named them Russian names? And you taught her English?” (That would actually explain why Angelina’s English is so good.)

“Yes, Snow, are you keeping up?”

“And when he gave them up, he wrote me a whole notebook on how to take care of them,” Angelina chimes in. “And another notebook with English grammar.”

Maybe I do have trouble keeping up. Who is this Baz? (And why is he so attractive?)

“I never thought of you as a houseplant kind of bloke,” I shrug. “You don’t have any houseplants in Montreal.”

“I’m still mourning the loss of my old children.” Baz deadpans before turning back to Angelina. “Show me Alyosha. He was always my favourite.”

-

BAZ

Unsurprisingly, the jet-lag catches up with me right when it’s time to go to bed. I don’t know why I was naïve enough to believe I won’t need melatonin when dealing with an eight-hour time difference. I better take it now, before it’s too late.

I sigh and throw the covers back before picking up my phone to check the time. However, a text message notification from Snow grabs my attention before I can do that.

Is he nervous again? It would make sense, since this is a big competition for him. Would I be able to sneak into his room and sneak out the next morning unnoticed? I doubt that. There are only athletes staying on our floor, the coaches, press and competition staff are all on different floors, and I doubt the athletes would pay us much attention, but it’s still risky.

I’d much rather risk a few weird looks than have Simon spiral into panic two days before a major competition, though. I decide I’ll go to his room if that’s what he needs.

Maybe I should check why he’s even texting me before I devise any plans.

SS: do u have melatonine? SS: jet lag

I sigh in relief. He’s not having a mental breakdown. He’s just jet-lagged. (Which is a bit strange for Snow, but I suppose even his circadian rhythm can take a blow from time to time.)

BP: It’s spelled melatonin and yes, I have it. You can come get it if you still need it BP: Room 254

SS: yes ik where u r SS: I’ll b right over

I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for Snow to knock on my door. He’s staying a few corridors down, in room 273, so it takes him a few minutes. I jump up when I hear his knock.

He’s standing in front of my door, wearing joggers, a hoodie and those damned glasses of his again. His hair is messed up, like he’s been tossing and turning too.

“I thought you didn’t get jet-lagged,” I say, stepping aside to let him in. He settles on the edge my bed while I rummage my luggage for melatonin supplements.

“I don’t get sleep jet-lagged, but I do get food jet-lagged,” he says.

“What does that even mean, Snow?”

“It means it’s lunchtime in Canada right now and I’m so hungry I can’t sleep.”

I bite back a laugh. He’s an idiot. (An adorable one but an idiot nonetheless.) “You don’t need melatonin, Snow, you need this,” I say, throwing a granola bar at him. He startles, but manages to catch it.

“You’re just giving this to me?” he asks, audibly surprised. (Which is ridiculous. He gives me food all the time and here he is, questioning my generosity over a fucking granola bar.)

“No, Snow, pay up. Fifty rubbles.”

“I don’t have any Russian money,” he laughs, tearing the wrapping open. He’s going to get crumbs all over my bed, but I don’t shoo him away. Instead, I finally find the melatonin supplements and take one with some water. “Do you still want one?” I ask.

“Do you have any more granola bars?”

I laugh and pass him another one before sitting down next to him on the bed.

“Are you nervous?” I ask, just to make sure he’s really okay.

“Right now? I’m just hungry,” he says, tearing open the second granola bar.

“Right,” I nod.

“Baz. Are you doing that thing where you’re worrying about me again?”

“A bit,” I admit.

“Stop,” he says like I can just turn it off like a tap. (I wish I could.) We sit in silence for a while, me thinking about how much easier my life would be if I just stopped worrying about Simon Snow and him chewing through his granola bar. “I didn’t know you and Angelina were such good friends,” he finally says.

“We trained together for four years,” I shrug, but it’s not just that. The training environment in Russia was intense. It’s a bloodbath to even get on the national team there, so of course it’s intense, but I think every other skater the rink was looking at me sideways because I was an outlier. I wasn’t Russian, I didn’t speak Russian and I think they felt like I didn’t belong there. (I know now that I really didn’t.) They eventually accepted me and by the time I left Russia, even the ones who refused to speak during my first year there were sad to see me go.

But Gelya was nice to me from the start. She was only thirteen at the time and didn’t speak any English, but she clapped for me when I did something well and cheered me on when I was having a bad day. (Thanks to her, davai was one of the first Russian words I learned.) She brought me homemade pyraniki on special occasions and when I got injured and had to go back to England to have surgery, she sent me get well soon cards all the way from Russia and she made the entire rink sign them.

That’s just who she is. She’s this nice to everyone and it didn’t matter to her if I was Russian or English, I was just another person at her rink who she could bring biscuits to. Over the four years that I’ve lived there, she became like a little sister to me.

“Baz?” Snow’s voice snaps me from my thoughts. “You seem tired. I’m going to go.”

I have half a mind not to ask him to stay here. (We both know we can’t do that.) “Okay,” I say instead. He stands up and throws the granola wrappers in the bin. I stand up too, to walk him to the door (I have manners), but he waves at me to sit back down.

“It’s fine,” he says.

“Will you be able to sleep?”

“If my hunger doesn’t get to me again, yes,” he laughs. He’s already by the door.

“Wait.” I stand up and grab the last granola bar from my bag, offering it to him. “Just in case,” I explain. I want him to stay here, to make sure he sleeps well and doesn’t spend the night worrying about the competition, but I can’t do that, so this is the least I can do.

“Thanks,” he smiles, tucking it in his pocket. Then he hugs me briefly and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

And he’s out the door.

[agent-cupcake]

can i ask what kind of person the reader in the story w claude is supposed to be? im pretty sure this was just me misreading stuff but at first i kind of got the image that they're like a competent assassin kind of person (like really unlike how it usually is in reader inserts) but then they were so devoted to claude and in the second part at first i assumed they were like, smart or cunning enough to keep up with yuri at least but then they seemed shy around him and there were also implications that claude manipulated either the reader or the reader and yuri as well but i didn't fully pick up on that and still cant really see it? which btw isnt bcus of the way u wrote it at all, im pretty sure its deadass just me being socially inept but like idk the readers personality to me seems pretty hard to nail down, esp because initially i thought they were maybe just more vulnerable around claude but when yuri showed up later on they also seemed kind of 'weak' around him so i think i might've just gotten a wrong first impression, or was this on purpose? u dont have to answer this ofc if u don't want to!! i think its really just me being kind of dumb but im kinda having a hard time with it lol

No!!! You’re not dumb at all! I will willingly admit that you’re right in saying the reader’s personality is dreadfully inconsistent, that’s on me 100%.. you don’t need to put yourself down to feed my ego, what you’re saying is a totally valid critique!

So now that I’ve so graciously accepted your adorable criticism, I am going to make excuses... Sorry... Anyway, the best one I can muster to explain the inconsistency for that is that I wrote the first part last... January? I think. I was working on it last Christmas. I mentioned it in an ask before, but Alethia was very specifically a one-shot, I had no follow-up plans and honestly, I didn’t even mentally structure any ideas about what could happen afterwards. Generally, that’s how I write because I don’t think even a half step in front of myself. So, because of that, when I was writing Dolos, I didn’t really go in with the intention of writing with the same character because that “character” was never meant to exist outside that particular story, I was using a reactionary stand-in to suit the story I concocted and some vague ideas I had about how what Claude did would have affected her. 

If I wanna start pulling some even cheaper excuses, I can try and say that Claude’s horrible breach of trust made her far more insecure than she would have been beforehand. Trust issues, insecurity, emotionally unstable... Basically, just a lot more vulnerable. He kinda destroyed something she saw as the measure of her self worth and weaponized her loyalty and affection for him, destabilizing two key components of how she defined herself. Yuri’s arrival made it worse because he and Claude are pretty similar. My thought process was that if there was one other person that would have seemed like a threat to her at that moment, it would be Yuri. Both positively and negatively, Yuri represented the flip side of what Claude was to her, so that’s kind of why I played up her nervousness/insecurity/doubt around him? But you’re still right because I don’t really know if that’s how the character from Alethia would have reacted, that’s the character I found interesting for this story. 

As far as the manipulation game, the idea was that Claude also viewed Yuri as the flip side of himself. Or, like, his alternative counterpart. Yuri’s the one who wears eye makeup and listens to alt pop punk music. Their dialogue in the DLC when they’re standing in Abyss together is one of my favorites because they’re both sneaky secretive sneaks who have a weakness for friendship monologues, drawing a pretty easy parallel between them. The reason I retconned that reader had carried a small torch (a match, if you will) for Yuri when they first met, before she and Claude were a Thing, was to set up the dynamic of possible interest. Not so much jealousy, but a precedent that the reader would already have a weakness for Yuri that Claude knew about. The whole situation was convoluted, I know, but basically, Claude was all-in betting on the fact that reader would fall prey to Yuri’s charms only to get fucked up guilt about it because, surprise, surprise, he’s not above weaponizing her emotions against her. You know, again.

Ultimately, I wouldn’t say most of the things I do with insert characters is on purpose, I create a personality to fit within the story I want to write without much interest in how they would exist independently. I will be the first to admit that it’s cheap and kind of lazy, so I’m sorry for confusing you. But... at the same time... I’m probably not going to stop. 

To me, reader insert fanfiction is like the dark rides at Disneyworld. But, like, with more dicks and fewer scary animatronics. 

I hope this cleared things up for you, or at least does a good job explaining why you’re not dumb, I’m just a hack fraud