#birthday week fic

[biillys]

did you see that? yeah, i saw that! that was at least seven feet! i don't know what it was, but it almost gave me a heart attack.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BILLY!

[starlost-mochi-x]

General fluff headcanons with skz

(If not all then just with Chan and Hyunjin!!) ♥️

hihi sweet anon i'm sorry this took so astronomically long ... it's here now tho oops . i got hit with writer's block and lost motivation sigh ... hyunjin version is dropping later tonight, and i might continue the headcanon series if people request for the other members :] we'll see tho <3

bang chan - skz fluff headcanons

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: chan headcanons

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort, general fluff headcanons, chan is just a silly lil thing

a/n: i hate writer's block . divider from @aewinse

masterlist

...

first of all

lots of physical affection

like, lots

anywhere he can get you, anywhere he can find you, he's coiling his arms around your waist or around your shoulders, leaning over your shoulder to nosily look at whatever it is you're doing

sometimes, if he wants attention, and is in a whiny mood, he'll drape himself over you and let his weight sag onto your body from behind

which usually results in a panicked squeal from you, a chuckle from chan, and therefore the two of you sprawled in a heap on the floor

from there, you're not getting up

say goodbye to whatever it was you were doing because chan will happily lie on top of you for as long as he pleases

unless you urgently need to get up, like to turn off the stove or go to the bathroom, chan will keep you in his arms for a very long time

the fact that your legs go numb after a while because of his weight is also an advantage in chan's eyes

he can literally just lift you up and place you on the bed or the couch to cuddle with him like a little plush toy

albeit a very whiny one

when he's feeling a little more playful, and in need of your affection, he'll come up behind you and suddenly throw you over his shoulder

the world goes upside down and before you know it, you're cozied up with a giggly chan

he loves taking naps with you fr

we all know this man does not sleep like at all but somehow having you near him helps a lot

he always finds that your warmth makes him feel relaxed and cozy, and he doesn't have to worry about what comes next because it's just you and him, right now

even if he doesn't manage to get to sleep, he's content with just peacefully watching you sleep, and likes to stroke your hair or talk to you softly

even though you can't hear him

chan also loves to cook for you !!

he's always bugging minho to teach him new recipes so he can cook really good food for you

eventually minho just sends him a list of recipe blogs and websites and you usually come home to something hot on the stove

chan's super busy, so on the days he can't be there to cook for you, he'll prepare food beforehand and freeze several containers so you don't have to cook

he gets to take care of you, and you get to eat well

win win

you always save half the portion of your food so that when chan comes home, he can eat quickly before slipping into bed next to your sleeping figure

he doesn't like it much when you do that, since he wants you to eat well without having to worry about him

you do it anyway, knowing that chan often doesn't have the energy or time to make food for himself after a tiring day at the company

also !!

he likes inviting you to his solo studio sessions, usually late at night or during his free time at the company

sits you on his lap without fear because he always locks the door beforehand

"can't have the kids walking in on us,"

or so he says

he just wants you all to himself

you trace the veins on his hands and forearms while he mixes beats and adds elements to his tracks

hums softly into your ear while you lay your head against his chest

and when you get tired, he'll lift you carefully and place you on the studio couch, draping his thick, cologne-scented leather jacket over you

also i just know he smells so good okay

like

i'm thinking like spicy, smoky sort of scent

but not like bushfire smoky or whatever

like a soft, subtle, masculine smell

more woodsy and leather-like

ughhh

he always pulls up these fragrance websites on his phone, maybe from fendi or another fashion house

he'll let you sit on his lap and choose whichever you think will suit him best

and he always buys the ones you choose, wearing your three favourites on alternate weeks so you have an excuse to be close to him

you just want to smell him

don't tell him that though kekeke

chan also loves buying you stuff though you always tell him not to

on your bad days especially, when you get home, there'll be a little care package on the bed in a pretty box tied with a ribbon

he always puts your favourite snacks, sweets, skincare products, and little gifts inside because he knows it makes you feel so much better

also always adds two facemasks so you can both do them when chan comes home

obviously you get first pick tho

chan also likes buying you little things from tour that remind you of him, or things that match the vibe of the songs they performed

when he came back from the maniac tour it was an oversized hoodie with green and purple accents, just like the theme of maniac

when he travelled to seoul for the five-star tour, he came back with a pair of black leather combat boots

and they had these little silver stars studded all over the sides, and thick silver zips

you wear both items as often as you can, trying to incorporate chan's little gifts into your everyday life

you feel bad sometimes because he keeps buying you stuff and you don't want to be a bother, but chan firmly insists on it

"baby, you're never a bother,"

please step on me ugh

aHem

moving on

in return, you always take chan's insta posts and some of his bubble pics too

he always lets you choose which ones he should post, though over time they get less and less thirty bc chan is yours and not stay's

as much as you and chan love the fans, there are some select photos you would much rather keep to yourself

it's more special that way in your opinion

chan likes to take pretty photos of you too

you get like really shy though, and chan can't have that

so he just sits you opposite him, takes your wrists in one hand, and snaps a shit ton of photos of you with the other

there's no way to get out of it

he keeps all his photos of you in a special folder on his phone, and his favourites pictures of you in a locked, password-protected folder

like your anniversary pictures, and other special memories he doesn't want other people to see

the kids nag him to show them the photos but chan never relents, wanting to keep those special memories private

your camera roll is much the same

you're also the number one supplier of bang chan blackmail material

the boys, especially minho and felix, always come to you for blackmail material and stupid photos of chan that he hates

you think they're cute but chan violently disagrees

anyways

chan honestly doesn't mind you having his less-than-favourite photos on your phone

as long as you're happy <3

a/n: reblogs and comments appreciated

[itischeese]

He's so small when you put him up against all he's lost.... Happy (late) birthday, Kakashi!

[reddamselette]

valgrace except leo schemes with everyone and their mother to throw jason a bonfire party with close friends and family. they sit snuggled close to each other, curled into one another’s side as everyone shares stories about and first impressions about the son of jupiter.

annabeth mentioned how she threatened him with her dagger at first, piper and their mist filled memories, thalia with baby jason antics that had her hair turn gray at a young age.

after the night ended and they all go their separate ways, leo and jason snuck out somewhere else to share a kiss under the stars.

leo's first impression of jason was how beautiful he really is and seeing him made him believe in love at first sight.

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: idia shroud celebrates your birthday!!

COMMENTS: a birthday present for @twstchatterbox the MOON to my SUN the DYNAMIC to my DUO the BLACK CAT to my GOLDEN RETRIEVER!!!! i love you lots and lots i am so glad we are friends i am squeezing you so tight from the other side of the world.

i wanted to keep this a surprise and i HOPE I SURPRISED YOU i hope you didnt see this coming sjdjdsjdj you have given me so many gifts from your doodles of me to your doodles of US to all the interests you've shared with me to looking out for me all this time AND EVEN STAYING UP LATE TO TALK TO ME?? I AM SO SORRY FOR YOUR SLEEP SCHEDULE

i hope you have the best birthday ever you deserve so much so take this awkward gamer boy. you know your lore. i know your lore. i tried to incorporate it and im sure only you will understand it but thats the point isnt it?

THIS IS GOING ON TOO LONG. I SHOULD HAVE MADE THIS A SEPARATE POST. ANYWAYS. GO READ IT I LOVE YOU

You cross your arms over your chest, amused as the blue package floats silently over to you. It stops right in front of you and a flickering screen loads from a small projector propped on the top of the box.

accept quest?

yes. no.

It’s ridiculous of him to put a no option. You press the yes option and a cheerful jingle rings from the speakers as the package drops at your feet. Bending over, you scoop it into your arms, a delicate smile on your face. You can feel quite a few gazes on your back but you opt to ignore them, walking out of your dorm and towards the source of your gift.

Ever since the events of winter break, you’d become far more accustomed to the halls of Ignihyde. The students seem to have grown more accustomed to you in turn, although some still scamper away from you.

There was only so much that could be done, you think. Besides, your presence here was not because of them. You were here for their Housewarden.

As you reached his door, you wasted no time reaching out to knock. Each tap of your knuckles against his door was crisp and loud, just in case he was wearing his headphones. The corners of your lips lift into a smile as you hear him shuffling around, no doubt checking up on his room to make sure it’s just the normal amount of messy but not too messy lest you get suspicious that he’s a slob or that he cleaned just for you.

You already know he did, though.

“Are you going to keep me waiting?” you call out teasingly, tapping your foot on the polished floors.

The door creaks open slowly, and the soft pink glow of Idia's hair lights up his face. Your heart takes a tumble in your chest.

“Hi.” you breathe, “I wanted to open your gift with you.”

Idia squeaks and opens the door to let you inside, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Um, okay. Thanks.” he says, mumbling each word as if he isn’t sure what he’s saying at all, “You, uh, didn’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.” you refute, and you both understand what would have come after that.

So let me do this.

“Okay.” he jams his hands into his pocket and shrugs, always so awkward around you but so obvious, “I hope you like it.”

“I’ll love it.” you reassure him.

After all, a heart as kind as Idia Shroud’s wouldn’t pick anything but the best.

[mangostarjam]

birthday boy — kaiju no. 8, hoshina soshiro x f!reader, established relationship aka they're happily married, smut mentioned but not described, reader is called "wife" and "darling" and "sweetheart", fluff, birthday fic, 1.7k words

"Quit smiling so much, bowl cut," Narumi Gen snaps. "You're giving me the creeps. Who called you out here, anyway? This is First Division territory!"

Hoshina Soshiro sheathes his blades as officers begin to scatter from the area. His smirk grows. "We're right on the border, so my wife called me."

And there it is — a telltale pink rising on the Captain's cheeks, hands spasming on his bayonet as he tries to come up with something that doesn't betray his jealousy. Not that Soshiro cares — not today, anyway, not when his wife woke him up with a soft, sweet kiss before making him cum so hard he went a little boneless.

Still, it never hurts to rub it in.

"She knows I'm the best at neutralizin' these small fry kaiju," Soshiro says lightly, "and y'know my wife — she deserves the best."

Gen's jaw ticks. "Oh yeah? Well, your wife still thinks I'm the best Numbers Weapons user!"

Both men subconsciously straighten when their earpieces click and you sigh loudly over comms. "Seriously?" you ask, but Soshiro can hear the smile in your voice. "Shouldn't you guys be working?"

"Aw, sweetheart, we're done here," Soshiro says, glancing around quickly. The scene is secure, the kaiju are all neutralized, and officers from the First Division are handling the rest. There's only one thing left.

Soshiro spots a drone hovering nearby and waves a hand at it. He can feel the camera focusing on him, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Gen watching with a frown. He shoots the camera a cheeky grin. "I think it's time I get back to my wife. See ya, Captain."

You groan loudly over comms and Soshiro laughs, shoulders shaking as he waves goodbye to the First Division and heads back to his car. Gen scoffs just as loudly and begins barking out orders, because he is a good captain underneath it all, and Soshiro should really get out of their territory before he ends up with more paperwork on his desk.

You're waiting for him in his office, perched on the edge of his chair with a familiar jacket covering your body. "The troublemaker returns," you announce, sweeping your arms out as if the office contains an audience and not just the two of you.

Soshiro laughs and steps into your embrace, squeezing you to him as you giggle. You're warm — and soft — and you smell like laundry detergent and sunshine and the faintest whiff of freshly brewed coffee. "Didja borrow my shampoo again, my dear?"

"It was my shampoo first," you scrunch your nose at him playfully. He snorts. Resists the urge to kiss your cheek — and then gives in a moment later, lips brushing soft along your skin. Your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. "Need help with your combat suit?"

Soshiro's fond smile goes a little sharp. "Are ya offerin'?"

"Yes, you menace," you stretch a little to give him a kiss. Soshiro's heart thunks painfully in his ribcage as the warm metal of your ring sweeps across his cheek. "Here, let me."

Soshiro stands still as you begin unzipping his combat suit. He keeps his gloved hands on your hips, muscles relaxing out of the subtle, constant strain of the suit as it releases his body little by little. You're taking your time — fingers dancing along his shoulders and pecs, palms smoothing down his biceps and nails catching just barely along the edge of his compression shirt.

He always keeps a spare set of uniforms in his office, so he's not the least bit surprised when you drag the zipper further down, your touch featherlight along the tense muscles of his abdomen. You suck in a breath and it's gratifying, always, to catch your gaze and the heat in your blown pupils.

You keep your eyes on his and nearly go cross eyed when he tips forward, purple strands tangling with your hair. Your thumbs trace idly along his hip bones. "Who's the menace now?"

"Still you."

Soshiro laughs quietly, nerves thrumming in his fingertips as his heart threatens to overflow. "I think you're a pretty good contender."

"Hmm, I dunno," you mutter, tugging the zipper a little further. Soshiro's briefs waistband is in view now, but you just lick your lips. "You're the one who insisted on returning the favor this morning, even though it's your birthday."

"Can't help it," he sneaks a kiss to your jaw, presses his lips against your fluttering pulse. "That was a great birthday gift — my pretty lil' wife, cumming all over my cock 'cause she knows it belongs to her."

Your face warms and Soshiro grins. Kisses your cheek. Catches your hand in his and rubs his thumb along your matching ring. "Alright, Vice Captain, you should really get changed," you say, and immediately Soshiro's expression falls. "Wh-what?"

"That's illegal," Soshiro says. He can feel himself pouting, but it's fine. Nobody's around to see except you. "I'm your husband!"

"Oops," you say. Your eyebrow raises and you tug the zipper the rest of the way down. Soshiro sucks in a breath. "Want me to make it up to you, birthday boy?"

He's achingly hard, nerves shivering with the release of the suit and anticipation, but you've gotten in trouble before for shenanigans on duty and he knows better. He does.

Really.

You smile into the kiss, lips moving comfortably against his own. Soshiro sighs into your pretty little gasp, teeth nipping at your lip before he pulls back completely. "Soshiro…?"

That's really not fair. "The captain'll understand, won't she?" Soshiro mutters. You giggle and he can't help it — he kisses you again.

You tug at his gloves wordlessly, too caught up in kissing him back for any finesse. With the removal of his gloves, the sleeves of his combat suit slide off, and the rest of it follows until it pools on the floor. You slip your fingers under the edge of his briefs as he tugs you close, his own hands now free to roam appreciatively over your body beneath your borrowed jacket.

"Does my husband have plans to take his boots off?" you ask teasingly, tilting your head as he sucks another mark into the soft skin of your neck. "We don't have much time before your next meeting."

Soshiro groans into your shoulder when you touch him, eyes flashing hot as your lips part in silent awe. "Are ya still stretched out from this mornin'?"

"I might've been — ah, touching myself, just a little bit, while I was waiting for you to get — Soshiro!"

Your laughter fills the air and Soshiro engraves it into his memory, takes every gasp and moan and the wet, warm heat of you and etches it into his bones. It never gets old — just better, with age and familiarity and the silly inside jokes layered upon your shared history. With the boundless love echoing through both of you, the promises and the choice to keep choosing each other through it all.

Soshiro chokes on a surprised laugh when you mumble something about how your tits must look like mont blanc desserts from how much attention he paid them. "Aw, darlin', are ya jealous? I swear I love ya more."

You lift a shaky hand from your face and manage to shoot him a look. "You're not denying it."

He kisses you, but you're both smiling too much, so he pulls back slightly to brush your noses together. "Didn't ya say somethin' about bein' late?"

"We won't be late," you say. Soshiro raises an eyebrow and you shrug demurely. "What can I say? I know my husband."

The loud bark of his laughter makes you grin, and he finally pulls out to get the two of you cleaned up and presentable. You had the foresight to stash a change of panties for yourself among his things, but he leaves his jacket on you, opting instead to wear your lab coat even though it strains over his shoulders.

"Sexy," you snort, tugging him closer by his belt loops. He steps into the space between your legs and hums as you reach up to run your fingers through his hair. "You look like you ran a marathon."

"Someone was a lil too distracted to care about my poor hair," Soshiro says lightly. You roll your eyes fondly. "But it's alright," he sighs, "at least I match my wife."

"Not quite yet," you mutter, gaze flicking to the mark you had managed to leave on his skin, sitting just beneath the edge of his turtleneck. "But it's fine," you smile sweetly, "I've got time."

"Is that a promise, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you slide your arms around his waist and he steps obligingly closer, letting you press your ear to his chest. The sigh you release makes his lips twitch with a pleased, fond smile. "The captain granted us the day off tomorrow, since you had to go help the First Division today. So you can party as long as you want tonight, and we'll still have all day tomorrow for me to make sure we match."

"Party?"

"Don't play dumb, Soshiro," you say. "You know I wouldn't have let you mark me up so visibly if we were going to a real meeting."

"I dunno," Soshiro hums, hugging you a little tighter. "I thought it was just my birthday present."

You lean back slightly to look at him. Sitting on his desk puts you at a bit of a disadvantage, but he thinks you look cute like this, with your soft gaze and the pretty tilt of your lips.

And to think — he'll have more of this. Years and years together, getting to see you smile and hearing the bright sound of your laugh. All the time he spends with you more than makes up for the reality and danger of your jobs, but it also means he cherishes each second with you in a way that he never takes for granted.

"What is it?" you ask. Soshiro's grip tightens slightly. Your confusion melts into understanding and you reach up to cup his face in your hands. "We're right here, Soshiro."

"I know." He kisses you softly. You sweep your thumbs along his cheekbones, so tenderly his heart aches.

"Happy birthday, my love."

[merumis]

by the time kuroo turns 23, he's the richest he's ever been.

you both know it's not much. you're still renters, but he could afford to pay your half of it if he wanted; could cover your end of the groceries (the ones from the budget stores, aldi, trader joe's) if you asked; more than half your furniture is thrifted, and you have more diy decor than you'd like to admit, but there's a check for 375 dollars made out to his grandmother sitting on your coffee table. he sends one every month.

when you both stumble into your apartment—a little drunk, kuroo half-an-edible in, both just starting to come back down—that little check shouldn't be the first thing your eyes land on. but they do, and you peel yourself off of kuroo to look at it. you lean over the coffee table and squint, your hair falling around your face as you scrutinize his little signature.

"when you gonna send this off?" you ask. when you turn your head to look at kuroo, it feels a little wobbly—like if you turned fast enough, your head would keep spinning without your body following.

he's setting down a whole slew of things on your counter: gifted bottles of wine that have red bows tied around their necks; three gift bags with tissue paper threatening to spill out of them; a pair of sunglasses that you don't think he started the night with. he spreads his hands out on the counter when they're finally free—stretching out his neck and his shoulders with a few soft pops as his palms slip across the granite.

"tomorrow," he replies, and then laughs. "felt weird to send a check out on my birthday."

you hum and walk over to him—on the other side of the island, so you can look at him while you grab one of his hands, lightly playing with one of his fingers.

"happy birthday," you say, "by the way." you bob your head to the last three words and you catch the way the right side of his mouth curves upwards—exposing just the tip of his canine. he glances back then, turning towards your stove. you follow his line of sight and find 12:16 blinking back at you.

"think you're a little late."

you lean over the counter to swat at his chest, and he laughs—maybe a little harder than deserved.

"you know i wasn't," you say, and kuroo shrugs.

"whatever you say," he replies, all dragged out and a little stupid.

he's wearing a sweater that he bought with his first big paycheck. he'd passed it four times in the mall before he went in, just to get a closer look. he winced at the price tag and you told him you'd venmo him for half—he wouldn't accept it, so you bought him lunch later and ate it in his car while a little brown paper bag sat in his backseat.

it's soft, you know. you reach out mindlessly, pinching the material between your forefinger and your thumb. he lets you, though visibly amused as you rub the cotton against the pads of your fingers.

"did you ever think you'd get here?" you ask him.

"where? to twenty-three?"

"no," you groan, elongating the 'o' sound as you drop your head down. you still feel a little floaty. "like, here," you add. it's not very descriptive. "yuppie-ville, making money, whatever."

he laughs, "yuppie-ville?"

"there's a plant store two blocks down."

"yeah," he says, "yeah, okay." he takes in a breath. you're still holding his sweater, so you can feel the way his chest swells. it pushes against your fingers for a moment, until he expels the breath with a solid no.

you hum a little question in reply.

"no, i didn't think i'd get here." he chews at the side of his mouth for a second, and you watch the way his eyes narrow at nothing, focusing somewhere behind you. "i thought i'd be back home by now. probably working dad's hardware store."

"i thought he sold last year?" he glances down to you, a grin inching its way into his eyes.

"he'd find a way to get me back there."

and though you know he didn't expect to be here yet, and you know this is probably the last thing he's thinking about—you keep watching the way he melts into the counter. and then your eyes flick up to his hair, that smells like the expensive shampoo he decided to splurge on last week, and then down to his arm—where you know he has a new tattoo hiding. it's a silly flash he got from an apprentice he likes—a whale that wraps around the side of his bicep.

"you look good," you say, without really thinking, but you're watching the way his hair has started to curl and you keep glancing down at his hands and you're still holding his sweater because he's still letting you. "here," you continue, "you look good here."

you might live in yuppie-ville, but when you first moved in, you were both surrounded by boxes and exhausted, so kuroo ordered you a pizza while you laid on the floor, and now he walks to work whenever he can because he likes to peak into the store windows on his way over. he still wears the t-shirts he got for free in college, and he switches between the fancy cologne you bought him in august and the cheap one he loves from two birthdays ago.

he wraps his fingers around your wrist.

"you're drunk," he says. a little heat finds its way into your cheeks, but you shrug.

"and you're high," you reply, he laughs.

"barely."

you've been at three of his birthdays now, and though you always love watching him at the party—where he's loud and maybe a little annoying, walking the room and hugging people you think you remember stories about—you find you always prefer the wind-down. they come earlier every year and this one, you note, might be your favorite yet.

you don't want to say he's getting old because, frankly, he's not. but you found a grey hair at the nape of his neck the other day, and you kept it your little secret. you couldn't find it the next night, combing your fingers through his hair while he slept on your chest, but you know its there. you think you could chalk it up to stress, or maybe the fact that the first pictures of his dad going grey start at twenty-one, but in a weird way it rounds him out for you; bridges the gap between the kuroo you hooked up with halloween parties and the one who mops your floors every sunday.

"we should go to bed," he says, finally, after you've both been holding onto each other over this island counter for far too long.

there's a part of you that wants to protest—that wants to watch him for a little longer; put on a record and stare at him and maybe finish the other half of his edible before bed. you think about combing through his hair, resting his head in your lap, memorizing the bump that lives right in the middle of his nose bridge. you think you could fall asleep on that big fluffy rug you bought—that might be the only full-price item in this apartment—and let the sun shining through your balcony door be your first order to wake up in the morning.

and then you think about ending the day in bed. the sheets kuroo bought you as a gift just because, the soft nightlight you found in the clearance section of a department store that changes colors when you tap it. you think about crawling under the covers and curling into his chest and the feeling of one of his old t-shirts swallowing you whole.

"okay," you say. "birthday boy's last wish, or whatever."

kuroo laughs as he pulls you towards your room.

"don't call me that again."

[qsoap]

"my elusive star-boy, i'll follow you to the ends of the universe" inspired by this fic by @starfallforest!!! [nsfw warning btw!! the fic is amazing i love it sm :(]

[flownwrong]

chaotic ckr c6d squee propaganda (?) post

This, started half a year ago for @ds30below, was initially a general c6d short reviews post but kinda skewed majorly towards CKR's repertoire and wasn't too review-y. So I gave up on making sense and on including the non-CKR works. I don't know who the audience for this is, because I never give basic details for people who don't know about this stuff but say too much for those who do. I giffed what I could and tried to avoid what I know a lot about but haven't actually seen. Here goes.

Frank's Cock (1993)

Not much to say. It's only 8 minutes, it's beautiful and you should see it if you haven't. I won't spoil the subject, but you can likely guess. Watch it, cry a little. Then go watch some more of Mike Hoolboom's stuff, the vimeo link above is from his channel.

Two X-Files episodes (1994 – 1995)

Well, I haven't actually seen X-files since I was about fifteen and watched the like two seasons, and I remember none of it. I rewatched the two early episodes CKR appears in and they were fun. I did not watch the, the movie or whatever where he's doing the evil gay thing. But really, this one is on the list so I can show you this self-indulgent gif of him being Very Long:

Double Happiness (1994)

You shouldn't watch this one for CKR. I mean, you absolutely should see him here, looking like he's barely out of his teens and playing up the insecure act and having devastating chemistry with devastatingly beautiful Sandra Oh, but this is not why it's great. And it's really, really great. It's touching and funny and sincere. If you wanna have some feels about complicated family relationships and identity and growing up (at any point in life), you'll find them here.

Curtis's Charm (1995)

Don't regret watching it, can't recommend. Not gonna lie, I was emotionally affected. But I usually am by things as in-your-face bleak as this. Mostly, it's trying very hard to be smarter than it is, I think.

However: CKR's One Wild Curl is everything to me (see above, on the right. It was, like, actually curly. I was rendered speechless). And like two seconds of Hugh Dillon made me do a double-take, lol. Incredibly weird knowing this was shot like half a year before HCL began shooting. Feels like it must've been a decade earlier.

Hard Core Logo (1996)

I could make three separate posts about this one, so of course I have no idea what to say.

This one, you should watch for CKR, actually, he's something, but so is every single other aspect of this film. I wouldn't change a thing about it. It hits you like a 16 wheeler. Perfectly cast, unimaginably beautiful, hysterical and melancholy and disgusting and compelling.

Related recs:

A wonderfully fun article/retrospective/interview for its 20th anniversary a while back.

You should also absolutely read Hard Core Roadshow if you enjoyed the film. It's a book documenting the whole thing from conception to release. It touched me for its own sake, not just a backstage glance, full of love for the craft and the people and carrying this tangible bittersweetness about the heightened and fleeting nature of this kind of work.

(here, I feel compelled to include a quote from another c6d-related interview on Slings & Arrows, which I read after the book and went like man, it's really a universal experience isn't it.

Coyne: <...> But I also think, and this is my experience, what we were all experiencing, because we were all talking about our lives, our life in the arts — there’s something very melancholy about doing something you love, because it will never be good enough, it will always break your heart.

McKinney: Or it will be fleeting.

Coyne: It’ll be fleeting. You come together with people you feel passionately connected to and two weeks later they’re tearing down the sets.)

Quotes from the article and the book respectively include:

McDonald: So there was a kind of mutual dependency society with Hugh telling Callum, “Don’t worry, man, I got your back, I’ll tell you how high or low to wear your guitar, I’ll tell you how you should dress, I’ll tell you what you should drink…” and Callum was like, “I’ll tell you what hitting your mark is, I’ll tell you why they pull out fucking tape measures, I’ll tell you why you have to do it again, I’ll tell you about not overlapping dialogue..” and you know they clung to each other, like the other one was gonna fucking save them.

And:

A final gathering at the back of the tour bus with Bruce, Callum, Hugh, Bernie. We listen to the tape of HCL songs, all the way through, one last time. And we belt the words out. Bernie sings loudest, performing for Salerno's camera. Hugh and Callum sit back, looks of sadness. I get the sense that if they could do it, they'd chuck their lives and be Joe Dick and Billy Tallent forever. Callum leans to Bruce and says exactly what everyone else is thinking: "I don't want it to end."

There's much more to both texts than *gestures* the whatever those two had, but it certainly doesn't hurt.

And Xeriscape is the best HCL fic I've read. Granted, I read very few because it's not a source that creates in me a craving for fic. But this one perfectly matches the film's fucked up beauty with its language while also adding a quieter, more fraught layer of humanity that we only get glimpses of in canon and that perfectly fits John. 10/10, would recommend.

Anyway. Watch it. Read it. If you haven't. Otherwise, come scream with meeee! And go reblog my gifs or something. Idk.

Letters From Home (1996)

Mike Hoolboom strikes again, with another short. This goes into the "don't watch it for CKR, watch it because it's great" box. Yes, you will cry.

For Those Who Hunt The Wounded Down (1996)

Another bleak one! It sucked to watch, I mean, on purpose. There were a couple of very effective scenes. I really enjoyed the opening. They say the book is decent too, I haven't checked that out.

Actually, let's just switch back from coherent thought to undignified staring at his mouth with this one. What the fuck is that cigarette thing. I couldn't help myself.

Last Night (1998)

These gifs are not representative of the whole movie. There is more happening than CKR kissing or hugging people. He's also doing more than just kissing and hugging. It's all very... impressive.

Guess who's also here again? Sandra Oh! And say hi to Don McKellar, who is an absolute champion for writing/directing/starring. You'll be seeing more of him.

Another one for the "watch it for its own sake" box. Seriously, that late 90s indie stuff is banger after banger. It's so beautiful! Look at those colours! Look at those shots! It's very uneasy and charming and melanchioly and itself in the best way.

Twitch City (1998 – 2000)

Don McKellar is back to murder you with discomfort! Bruce McDonald lends a hand. Molly Parker is also here. And Daniel McIvor, who'd go on to direct, for example, Wilby Wonderful. It's a party. If you watched some stuff from above (or below) on this list, most faces and names will be familiar to you, tbh (another Hugh Dillon double-take happens).

If you liked Spaced, you'll love this. You might also love it because it commits to its weirdness with an admirable resolve and is genuinely hilarious. (Honestly, CKR's outfits alone warrant a watch.) The idiosyncrasy is definitely Don McKellar's doing 200%. It couldn't be more different from Last Night, but if you've seen one, you'll recognise the other.

Battlestar Galactica (2003 – 2009)

I don't think a person should be allowed to look this pretty in the sweaty-and-dying makeup in that light (this sentence probably looks very weird to those not under the CKR magic spell).

I don't know what to say about BSG because I really, really enjoyed early it initially, but by the middle of S2 it got... well, whatever that was. If you know you know, if you don't, still give it a go. You might get invested enough to suffer through it all, as I have been, slowly.

The unfortunate thing is that CKR got to be there mostly in the "what the fuck" years and not the "wow that's so cool" years. That, as you might be aware, is a pattern with him. But! When he was here, he was so genuinely, wonderfully creepy not in the typecast-baddy way, but in this slow, half-absent way, which really worked. You can also see him tortured a little, as a treat!! <3

Also, a wild John Pyper-Ferguson appears! If you're looking at him thinking you know him from somewhere but not immediately remembering, you'll figure it out, I believe in you. I was very happy to see him.

Wilby Wonderful (2004)

Another win for the put CKR in more good shit team!!! Guess who's here again? Sandra Oh! Also, Paul Gross. Don't watch it for him either though haha.

Another one for whoever wants to look at pushing against the weight of others' (or your own) expectations and growing into who you are or reconsidering who you are or finding meaningful connections with others even when you're kind of a mess and they are too.

Not nearly the first time CKR's gotten to play a queer character, but man, this one really is the heart of the in-universe community, and, through that, of the film. A rare chance to see him so far out of the prickly persona! He's just so solid and calm and there for others in this one and, and soft, ough. It's awesome.

By the way, if any of you have the commentary track or know someone who has, please drop me a line here or on discord (emotionalrisotto), I really wanna hear that.

Supernatural (2005)

I love Supernatural a lot. It was a formative experiences (albeit a very late one) and I owe a lot of my favourite stuff about fandom-ing to the buddies I met through it. I can't believe I'm telling you this (because who hasn't seen it, not because I'm reccing it), but you should really try it if you haven't. It's pretty rad.

I had no idea who this guy was when I saw that episode (the second ever one!), though. I simply cannot fathom what @nigeltde-fic felt when she first saw it. I think I personally got very lucky she didn't combust on the spot. It would've been unfortunate.

On a sillier note, CKR's character has weird tension with both Sam and Dean in this episode, which is par for the course. I personally think they should've... no, I shan't say it. You can probably imagine.

Californication (2008 – 2013)

I haven't actually seen it, lol (and I suspect I won't enjoy it, but I'm very curious and also CKR looks really really good).

The real reason for this one on the list is to share a fic rec. Really, it's a due South F/K fic featuring Lew Ashby. It's ridiculously hot and very satisfying in its romantic resolution, too (but then, I'm kind of big on selfcest. And consensual voyeurism. And pretend relationships when done like this. And sublimated yearning. Erm.)

Shattered (2010 – 2011)

I wish this never happened. I badly, badly wish this never happened. I can't turn back time, but I can warn those luckier than me: do not go there. Yes, even for this dude. You'll sleep better not knowing just what it is he was the EP on. And the only important part — the mascara — can be seen above (yes, the show does look that bad, it's not just the gifs).

Just kidding — I watched it, didn't I? You'll have fun hating it! Just prepare for industrial grade cringe, lower your expectations (No, lower. No, still lower than that. And just a bit more.) and you'll have a great time!

Star trek: Discovery (2024)

Or, as I call it, Star Trek: The Mediocre Show. Discovery S5 was... what it was, but it was a wonderful viewing experience — mostly thanks to the gang (@kittkatk and @feroxargentea especially!)

What a joy it is, to follow a show week by week, yelling and laughing and discussing the whole time. And giffing, too. I was very happy to contribute to the Disco fandom from my own little obsessive corner, and I was glad to see people adoring Rayner, haha.

He's a pretty neat character — very much a stereotype, yes, but with CKR's usual twist of odd vulnerability and weirdness. Also, I loved the ears. I miss the ears. The ears were great.

I even wrote a fic! Although it's not within my usual range to write for canons and universes I don't know well — and back then, I'd only seen S5 of Disco. It was a lot of suffering, and a lot of fun.

Closing thoughts

I'd really love the dude to get a better agent. And possibly better taste, but I realise that's a tougher ask. Seriously, it's been too long since he was in something majorly cool. I'm grateful to him, at least, for not making terrible music on the side. And I still have a lot of his back catalogue to get through, some of it even good, so there will be more insanity. Until then!

[magicalrocketships]

It is my beloved @andwegogreen's birthday, and as such, here is a little birthday gift ♥️♥️

It is an unconnected story from this verse (Max/girl!Daniel), set after the 2025 FIA gala.

1.3k of Max eating Daniel out ->

When Daniel wakes up and checks her phone, she finds that–rather than the red carpet pictures of her and Max going into the FIA gala last night–the internet is full of another set of pictures instead. They're from later in the night, when they were trying to leave to come back to the hotel. She hadn't known they were being taken. Max hadn't either. He would have said. He would have shielded her from the camera if he'd known. He always does.

The pictures show her sitting on the carpeted stairs away from the ballroom, with Max a couple of steps below. He has her feet in his lap, and he's carefully focused on undoing the buckle on the thin, delicate ankle straps of her high heels. Then he's taking off her shoes, opening the little bag they'd left in the cloakroom at the start of the evening, helping her on with her checkerboard socks, and after that, her leopard print Vans trainers. He laces them up carefully. Slips her extremely expensive, boringly uncomfortable high heels into the bag her trainers came out of, and hooks the bag over his wrist. 

The last picture is of him kissing the inside of her wrist as he helps her to her feet. 

The comments section is a fire pit. Daniel thinks the pictures are lovely. 

She saves each of the pictures and closes the comments without reading any of them. It's better that way. 

She locks her phone, rolls over, and snuffles her face into the side of Max's chest. He's still almost entirely asleep, but his hand goes around her shoulders, holding her close. Neither of them had showered last night when they'd got back to the hotel, so he smells sleep-warm and a little stale. She does too, probably. Her dress– pink, with little capped sleeves, a flared waist, and absolutely no back, designed entirely to show off her tattooed back piece of cascading white flowers– is discarded on the floor next to the chair she'd attempted to throw it over when they got in last night. It's on top of Max's suit jacket, his trousers, crumpled up tie and discarded shirt. They'd eaten fried chicken and chips in their underwear on the hotel sofa before bed, Daniel's bush curling around the edges of her high waisted knickers, Max eating one-handed as he petted her cunt through her underwear. He'd promised to eat her out before they went to sleep, but Daniel remembers leaning her head on his shoulder as he finished eating, and nothing after that. 

Max had obviously carried her to bed. She's still in her knickers. She licks at his ribcage, little kisses until she can close her mouth over his nipple and kiss him there. He groans a little, starting to wake up. 

She kisses up his throat, under his jaw, over the patchy stubble until she can lick her way into his mouth. He's awake enough to kiss back. 

"Hello," Max says, as she kisses his cheek and shuffles down until she can rest her face against his shoulder. 

"Hello," Daniel says. "Did I fall asleep before you got to eat me out last night?"

Max isn't as quick to wake up as Daniel is. He rubs his eyes. Yawns. "Yes, Daniel," he says finally. "You were snoring very loudly. I couldn’t wake you up at all."

Daniel grins. She's a snorer when she's not curled up on her front. Max seems to find it relatively cute, which is a hundred percent an improvement on her last boyfriend, who'd called her an embarrassment. She doesn't think about him anymore. "So you put me to bed."

"I did," Max agrees. His hand slips down to cup her pussy. "Without getting to eat you out."

"Tragic," Daniel says solemnly. She rolls her hips up to grind against his hand. "If only there was something you could do to fix that."

"There is nothing," Max says, frowning. "It is very sad, Daniel. No more pussy licking."

God, she loves him. She kisses him on both cheeks. Lets him roll her over onto her back. She pulls her knickers up so that they're sitting higher on her hips and more curls escape around the edges of her underwear. She hasn't waxed in ages. She'd be happy if she never had to have a bare pussy again, and Max seems extremely supportive of her decision, given how hard he always gets and how often he likes to bury his face in her cunt. 

He strokes the tip of his finger up the centre line of her underwear. He kisses her big nipples, first one, then the other. She parts her legs and he presses the tip of his finger a little deeper in. 

"You're very wet, Daniel," he tells her, still touching. She always is. She gets hopelessly wet for him. Always has. "You've leaked all through your knickers."

God. She stifles a moan. He touches her again, over her knickers, stroking her until she can't wait any longer. She wants his mouth on her. Wants his face wet with her. Wants to come with his tongue pressed to her clit. 

He helps her off with the knickers, and then settles himself between her legs. She pulls her knees up, spreads her legs a little wider. He parts her with his thumbs, stroking her wet curls out of the way. 

"Your cunt is very beautiful," he tells her, like he hasn't spent literally hours of his life staring at it before today. He touches her with the pad of his thumb. "It is beautiful here, and it is beautiful here–" her clit, and she trembles, and makes a noise, "–and where you are so wet here, Daniel, and how I can just touch you inside here. So very lovely." He leans in and kisses the inside of her thighs, first one, then the other, and then proceeds to kiss her everywhere he's just touched. By the time he gets his mouth on her clit, she's making noises that would probably have had the people in the next room calling hotel reception, except this is a suite and in a suite this big, nobody can hear your boyfriend taking you to fucking pieces. 

He stops licking her to tilt his chin up and meet her gaze. He's wet from nose to chin. He's wet with her, god. God. 

"Very lovely, my Daniel." He beams. "Nobody's cunt is as good as yours."

God. She's barely going to last any time at all. It's okay, though, because Max likes eating her out so much he's imposed a two orgasms for her to every one for him ratio. They don't always stick to it but it's enough to make her feel like she's queen of the fucking world. 

He tucks the tips of two fingers inside of her, and crooks them a little so that she cries out. With his other hand he pets her bush. She wriggles under his touch, almost frantic. He kisses her tummy, her curls, her cunt. He takes her to pieces with gentle, fierce familiarity. 

When she comes, she does so noisily, desperately, happily. She trembles through the comedown and he touches her the whole time, mouth pressed to the inside of her thigh. 

Afterwards, he lays down beside her and lets his erection press against her thigh. She tucks herself around him, shivering until his arms wrap around her and hold her tight. 

"Do you want to fuck?" she asks. Max being hard doesn't always mean he wants to. Sometimes he likes to wait. Sometimes he likes to not fuck at all. Sometimes he likes to jerk off or have her touch him until he comes. She's happy either way. So long as he is. 

"Not yet. Later," he says. He kisses the inside of her wrist. "I love you."

She loves him back. When she tells him, his smile makes his eyes crinkle.

Later on, after they've dozed a bit, she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and lets him carry her into the bathroom, into the shower, into the rest of their day.

She kisses him, and he smiles against her mouth. 

[starlost-mochi-x]

𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩 ⊹ 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: chan's been busy, so you decide to surprise him.

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort, extreme softness, reader is a sweetheart, chan is also a sweetheart (but what's new), i cried writing this oops

a/n: happy birthday, channie ♡ (seungmin in the background) "chan you're half 56-"

The evening sun casts a golden glow across the rooftop of the studio, its last rays spilling over the horizon, tinting the sky in hues of pink and orange. The city below was alive with the hum of traffic and distant chatter, but up here, it felt like another world — quiet, intimate, serene.

Just the two of you.

Chan leans against the railing, a soft breeze ruffling his hair. He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a playful smile. “I still can’t believe you managed to pull this off,” he says, his voice a mix of surprise and affection.

You smile, shrugging your shoulders casually. “Well, you’ve been working non-stop for weeks. I figured you deserved a break.”

It had taken weeks of secret planning, coordinating with the studio staff, and a few sneaky conversations with his members to set up this surprise. You’d transformed the usually empty rooftop into a small, cozy haven. It had taken a while, with several near-accidents (mainly involving a certain Han Jisung trying to hang up the lights, but you appreciated the help nonetheless).

Fairy lights twinkled above, casting a warm glow over the space. A small picnic setup was laid out with Chan’s favorite snacks, and in the centre was a guitar, propped against a chair.

He steps closer, his eyes scanning the space, clearly touched by the effort. “This is amazing,” he whispers, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining subconsciously.

“I wanted to do something special,” you admit, looking up at him. “You give so much of yourself to your music, your fans, and your members… you deserve a moment just for you.”

Chan chuckles softly, cheeks dusted pink, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You know, you didn’t have to go this far for me.”

“Of course I did,” you reply. “You work hard every single day. I see it, and I know how much it means to you, but I also know how much you need to breathe sometimes.”

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes soft as they gazed into yours. “I don’t think I thank you enough for always being there.”

You squeeze his hand softly, gazing at him. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to be happy.”

Chan pulls you into a gentle embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head. “You make me happier than you know,” he whispers. His voice, though quiet, carries the weight of his sincerity.

After a few moments, he pulls back slightly, his eyes twinkling with a familiar spark of adorable mischief. “Alright, what else do you have planned? I can tell there’s more.”

You grin, stepping back and gesturing toward the guitar. “I thought you might want to play something. You’ve been working on so much music, but I haven’t heard you play in ages.”

Chan’s eyes light up, and he reaches for the guitar, settling onto one of the cushions you’d laid out. He strums the strings lightly, testing the sound before looking up at you with a grin. “Anything you want to hear?”

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “How about something new? Something you haven’t shown anyone yet.”

He chuckles, his fingers already moving over the strings, creating a soft, melodic, lilting tune. “Alright, but this is still a work in progress.”

The melody that followed was gentle, the kind that made you close your eyes and lose yourself in the moment. His voice, smooth and filled with emotion, carried through the quiet evening, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. As he played, the world seemed to shrink, leaving just the two of you and the music, hung in the air, making the twinkling lights seem brighter with the shining, incandescent melody.

When the song came to an end, you open your eyes to find Chan watching you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What did you think?”

You sigh, completely in awe. “It was beautiful. You always manage to create something so… real.”

He blushes slightly at the compliment, setting the guitar aside and reaching for your hand again. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for all of it. This- everything… it’s so perfect.”

You lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder as the golden hour fades into twilight. “You’re welcome,” you whisper. “But it’s only perfect because you’re here.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching the stars begin to twinkle in the sky. Your hand, the one that isn't holding Chan's moves to your pocket, slipping inside to brush against something. You glance at Chan to see if he's noticed, but he's too busy looking at the twinkling fairy lights, the golden shine reflected in his dark eyes.

He looks so beautiful.

Your voice comes out a hushed, almost reverent whisper.

"Chan?"

He hums, dragging his gaze away from the lights and onto your face. His eyes seem to shine even brighter, and he smiles, making an all-too familiar warmth settle in the pit of your stomach. You inhale.

"Do you remember when we first came up here?"

He nods, recalling the memory. You know it's one of his favourites.

"I was getting stressed from all the schedules we had planned. I was supposed to fly out to Shanghai for the fanmeeting and concert the next day... I got so close to honestly just crying, and you came up onto the roof after Felix snitched to you about where I was."

You smile ruefully, remembering it all too well. Chan continues.

"I remember you told me that it would all be okay, and you gave me this," he shows you his hand, a silver ring with a movable chain running through the middle. "You said that you noticed I was fidgeting a lot recently because of the stress, so you got me this to help me stop messing with my hands."

He spins the little chain twice with a smile before continuing.

"I remember flying out the next day, sitting on the plane, watching the ground fall away, taking me away. From home, from you. But you told me before I left that the ring was a little part of you, that I could take with me while we weren't physically together," Chan's eyes are suspiciously bright. He takes a shaky breath, smiling.

"I never took it off, even when I slept. The stylists kept getting frustrated with me because I refused to take it off, even when it didn't match what I was wearing. But I kept it on, during the fanmeeting, the concert, the activities with the Kids, everywhere, all the time. Minho used to say to me during the trip, "Hyung, did she glue the ring to your finger?"."

Chan laughs then, and so do you. He had pretty much kept it on all the time.

"Even when I returned, I kept wearing it. It stopped being a part of you and became a part of us. I felt wrong without it, and during the recent events where the stylists insisted I take it off, I wore it on a chain."

You giggle, leaning into him. "I remember you ran to hug me after the concert and the chain hit my cheek. I wondered what you were doing, wearing it all the time."

Chan huffs a small laugh, exhaling. "It's a part of me now. Forever."

Your smile fades, replaced with a soft, affectionate look.

"Channie, I did all this tonight because I wanted you to have a break. But I also did this because I need you to know how much I love you. You mean so much to me, and you're always spoiling me and doing things for me, so I wanted to give back. I know that love isn't grand gestures or fairy lights or guitar music, but you deserve this. So much.

And I'm glad you played the song for me. It was so beautiful, it felt like I was floating up into the air, I felt so free and at peace. I know you always say that music is the way to capture emotions, but no song could ever capture how I feel for you, or how much I love you. Music helps us to express our emotions and fond memories, but no melody, harmony, or tune could ever express how much you mean to me. And it's frustrating because I want you to know, I want you to be able to feel it-"

"I do feel it," Chan interrupts, grabbing your hand and gazing into your eyes with a soft smile. "During the hectic last-minute dance practices with Hyunjin, where you cheer me on, or during late night conversations, our chaotic dates, or all-nighter studio producing sessions. I feel your love wherever I go, because it's always with me. It chases me like a light and spills into everything that I do."

You smile, squeezing his hand again, and continuing a little quieter. "I've been by your side through everything, Chan. The moments of joy, the quiet sadness, the doubt, the excitement. I've seen it all. I've been right next to you through it all, and you always tell me that I'm your biggest supporter, your best friend, and more than you ever thought you deserved. But you do deserve it, Chan. All of it. I always try to make moments like this perfect for you, but the truth is, any moment with you already is. Whether we’re laughing, or even just sitting in silence… I realised that I've been searching for something, and all along, it was right in front of me.

When you're working away at producing with me on your lap, when we're running through the streets at night holding hands, taking photos of each other at ridiculous angles, and fighting over the last chip, it's perfect. Even during the rare moments when we disagree, or get frustrated with each other, that's perfect too. Because no matter what either of us feels, or what we're going through or facing, I know I can turn around, and you'll always be there. And you know I'd do the same for you, in a heartbeat. Always.

Channie, I know you always say that I'm a part of you, and so is that ring you never take off, and the chain too. I know my happiness and sadness and doubt and fear and love and affection is exactly what you feel, too. The members always joke and poke fun about how we're glued to the hip and can't go a day without each other, but for once, they couldn't be more right."

You let out a shaky exhale, eyes meeting Chan's.

"I know you love that silver ring, Channie, but I want to replace it."

You smile softly and reach up to wipe away a glittering tear from your cheek. With a startled realisation that Chan is also crying, you smile softly before reaching across to do the same for him, your voice soft.

"Bang Christopher Chan, will you marry me?"

a/n: happy chan week, everyone. i hope someone does this one day for him, he deserves it all ♡

[corviiids]

   Joker shouldn’t make a habit of knifing without looking, but he can’t help it. Akechi’s dispassionate expression as he watches himself dissolve into sludge under Ren’s blade is much more interesting than said sludge. Joker wipes off his dagger, sheathes it, and says, “Is it weird watching me kill you?”

   “It’s a novelty,” says Akechi.

   Another novelty: Ren’s never seen Crow dressed as Akechi before. It’s incredibly odd to watch him hop and flicker between hiding spots looking for all intents and purposes like he’s about to head to school. It’s odder still because the polite smart-casualwear doesn’t at all match the antipathy Akechi’s wearing on his face. Whenever they’d spent time together, Akechi had always worn a pleasantly interested smile; but that pretty face, too, was not what Ren had been pining after.

--

chapter 9 of "as you like it" aka akechi palace au. 11.8k, the long trek to the treasure, the philosophy of taking a heart.

happy fourth birthday to this fic!!! 🥹

[inhuman-obey-me]

Belated collab piece for Solomon's Birthday 2023!

Art by Mod Cosmos

Writing by Mod Chaos

His Immortal Soul

Can also be read on AO3 here Word Count: 3.8k Description: "Madness, where is its soul? Madness, all alone." A series of reflections on Solomon, shining souls, and what it means to be human.

Iarabal

With an impressive 72 pacts at his command, the Witty Sorcerer Solomon is said to have a most delectable and enticing soul. Demons clamor for the chance at a piece of it; there are rumors that even Death herself longs to claim it. It shines with the wisdom he was once gifted, and it is finely aged with the polish of immortality. The soul of a man who controls so many demons without succumbing to their allurement is a delicacy indeed.

Humans with the power to resist demons have nicely polished souls, like jewels. The more noble a soul, the shinier, and the more demons both long to claim it and are repelled by it.

At least, that's how it should be. That’s how it usually works. It’s what Iarabal had expected, when he'd heard that the infamous sorcerer himself would be coming to RAD as an exchange student under the Demon Prince's bizarre plan. Of course, no one had dared actually touch him once he arrived -- his pacts are with some of the most powerful demons in the realm, and the idea of treason aside, none would want to additionally face the wrath of those such as Asmodeus or Barbatos. And that’s all before even getting to the sorcerer himself, a man so powerful and conniving that he’d managed to gain the power of those many demons while offering away little to nothing of himself in exchange.

So Solomon’s soul, by all rights, is quite beyond reach to any average demon such as himself.

But Iarabal had planned to look upon it, at least, and savor the fantasy of devouring it. Flames lick at the insides of his belly in anticipation, and he salivates at the thought, even if he knows he will never get a taste. A demon can dream, can’t he?

Yet, as he lays eyes upon the sorcerer, something feels not quite right. It sparkles, yes -- even more dazzlingly than the demon had imagined, it sparkles. But there is something wild and incomprehensible about it, like funhouse mirrors warping the refractions of a million diamonds. The longer he looks, the more it seems to expand and stretch, and he is trapped in it, as though a cavern of crystal is closing itself around him. His appetite is fading rapidly, and a growing sense of something almost like dread builds in his stomach in its place.

Is Solomon so noble, to be able to repel him this way? Is this the strength of how powerfully his soul shines?

The demon isn’t sure. This doesn’t feel the same as any other time a human’s soul has repelled him. He feels like he’s losing his mind entirely, and the longer he stares, the worse it seems to get. Then again, he’s never looked upon a human so powerful as this, so who can say?

Iarabal averts his gaze. He doesn’t want to look upon it anymore.

The sorcerer’s soul is, he thinks to himself, better left alone.

Lucifer

There is something very, very strange about that sorcerer, Lucifer thinks.

Solomon has, as always, asked him for a pact again today. “Come on, this is basically just how we greet each other, isn’t it?” the human explains away blithely when the demon rejects him, with a smile that doesn’t match the seriousness of what he asks.

Of course, it’s not the pact-seeking that makes Solomon so strange, even if he is singularly annoying in his persistence about it. Plenty of humans have sought similar with the infamous fallen angel. He’s not even the only among them to try to use trickery or magic to force the demon’s hand.

No, Solomon is strange because, of all those humans, he is the most alarmingly devious, wicked human ever to have such a beautiful soul.

“Someone pure, genuine, and worthy of respect. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but demons are most attracted to the souls of people like that,” Lucifer had once told you.

The sorcerer as he knows him is none of those things. Lucifer is very familiar with the immortal’s reputation and history, and none of it could be described as pure. Rather than genuine, the man is unforthcoming at best and outright deceptive at worst. Any respect he has earned usually comes mostly from raw power, and most of that comes from the sheer number of pacts he’s accumulated, along with the Ring of Wisdom that Michael gifted him so very long ago. And then there’s the matter of his many past transgressions against demonkind...

Yet, despite this, Solomon’s soul sparkles brilliantly every time Lucifer sees him. It’s shocking how radiant it is, in fact. He’s hardly ever seen anything like it. The way it shines speaks to a level of purity and nobility of spirit beyond almost any other. And he smiles that carefree, nonchalant smile, an expression that would almost seem like he’s exactly what his soul says he is, even as he tries to solicit a pact from the demon, day after day, year after year.

But Lucifer knows better. Solomon is not pure or genuine. He is not as innocent as he plays at being. He is a dangerous person, and he is not to be trifled with.

The dissonance is unsettling, and for that, Lucifer does not trust him.

Granted, if a demon were to choose any human to make a pact with, Solomon would certainly be at the top of most any demon’s list. It’s true that a pact with that most powerful human sorcerer ever to live can lend one a certain degree of status in the Devildom. He has a reputation for only bothering with demons whose power he deems interesting enough to be worthwhile. And those who do forge such agreements with him revel in the amount of raw magic that he channels through them, when they are called upon.

Any other demon might have given in and made that pact a long time ago already. Rather, many already had – Lucifer’s own younger brother among them, to his chagrin.

But the Avatar of Pride is decidedly not looking for a human with whom to form a pact. He has had little interest in forging a pact with any human, ever. He’s made one exception recently, for you, and it’s his only one since becoming a demon. He doesn’t intend to make another. And certainly not with that particular human.

So, time after time, Solomon asks him again. And, time after time, Lucifer remains ever firm in his refusal.

Thirteen

It’s a real shame, Thirteen thinks.

The sight of his soul, the first time, is still clear in her memories. The way it sparkled when the moonlight hit him -- she doesn’t think she’ll ever forget it. It was bright, and brilliant, like the rainbows refracted off of the most incredible diamond, but also so much more than even that. No image could ever capture it; no words would ever be enough to describe it. Candy had thought she was delusional when she’d tried to tell her about it afterwards. But it was no delusion. His soul really was just that incredible.

It was like nothing she’d ever seen before, and nothing she’d seen since – at least, not until very recently.

And, to Thirteen’s disappointment, it doesn’t sparkle that way anymore.

That isn’t to say she doesn’t want it anymore, of course. It’s still one of the most captivatingly stunning souls she’s ever come across, and she’s not going to give up on having it. She’s been this patient thus far; she’ll keep trying, however long it might take.

Still...it really is a shame.

She misses the way Solomon used to be. These days, he’s so serious, even as he hides it behind a demeanor so cheerful it borders on idiocy.

Back then, he was different. He’d been more innocent by far, for one thing. She remembers the sight of that child hidden away in the basement, staring up at her through the lattice of that half-underground window. His life hadn’t been exactly easy up to that point, but his world back then had been so much smaller. He hadn’t been caught up in all these otherworldly conflicts, concerned with balances of power and the fate of humanity caught between them. No, back at that time, his magic still felt like a miracle to him, and even if it hadn’t been nearly so impressive back then, he’d had a simple sense of wonder and pride at each little feat he managed to perform.

His soul had been so perfectly pure back then, unclouded, unshaded. There had been such honest terror in the shriek he’d let out, and it had been so cute from that little kid that she couldn’t help but tease him a little, even as she’d tried to reassure him that she wasn’t his enemy.

She’d meant it then, and she means it still. Even as she tries time after time to capture his soul, and for all the many ways he’s annoyed her century after century, she holds no actual ill will towards the sorcerer. In a way, frustrating as it is to have her traps constantly fail against him, it’s a fun game of sorts for her too. He’s more than worthy as a target. She’s been waiting for the day his name shows up in the reaper’s list, but at this point, would taking his soul without a challenge even be satisfying?

So he entertains her tricks, and she plays at capturing him, and in the times in between, he calls her a friend -- one of his only friends, perhaps. He trusts her, with a strength of heart that only someone with such a brilliantly polished soul could.

She is not his enemy.

Someday, though. Someday, she’ll claim that sparkling soul of his. Even if it takes until the end of eternity, she’ll never give up on it.

For that man’s soul, it’s worth it. That’s just how valuable it is.

Barbatos

It was a delicious expression on Solomon’s face, that first day the two of them met -- shock, fear, desperation, shame. A delectable mix of all humanity’s basest, heaviest emotions.

To his great disappointment, Barbatos has never seen it again.

The reaper, among their cohorts, blames him for how the sorcerer’s soul changed, so many lifetimes ago; he is well aware of that. And he does not deny it -- it's true that Solomon is no longer the same as he once was. That may well be because of his influence.

Perhaps he did spoil him, back then, this fascinating human that he’d decided to take in and save from the encroaching grip of mortality. It had come about by a simple curiosity, mixed with a knowledge that few others had the privilege of being able to see. This human, a mere mortal on the verge of death, had been powerful enough to summon a demon as fabled as him without yet having a pact or bond in any way, and Barbatos could already foretell that this reckless earthly soul would someday have a pact with him who freely manipulated time at will. He knew this sorcerer would have quite the sway on the fate of the three worlds someday, and he was terribly interested in knowing how such a frail being would accomplish such a thing.

So Barbatos had taken Solomon to the Fountain of Knowledge, assigned him its guardianship, cared for him until he’d regained his health, and then made the pact he knew they were meant to have. He did show Solomon a wide expanse of alternate worlds and times, of futures and histories that the human could not have even dreamed. All of it was still nothing compared to what Barbatos himself has seen of the infinite. But it was far, far more than any human should have any right to know.

If that’s why Solomon is the way he is now, so be it.

But Barbatos isn’t so certain that’s exactly the case.

He knows who Solomon is, more deeply than probably anyone else the sorcerer has ever known. Few things can be kept secret from a demon who can see across all of time and space. He has seen Solomon at his best, at his worst, and most times in between. He has held both deep affection for and deep grudges against the man.

At the end of all of it, Solomon is who he is. He is exactly who he has always been meant to be. Barbatos has never tried to turn him into anything else.

One of the reasons Solomon’s soul shines so brightly, in his opinion, is probably that insatiable curiosity that he has. The sorcerer does not settle for things as they are; he wants to see things as they could be -- good or bad.

Solomon was the one to ask Barbatos to show him those deepest of horrors, dredged out of the abyss of possibility. “I’ve read through the books in the Fountain of Knowledge,” he’d announced, “almost every one of them. But knowing those things from books isn’t the same as knowing them. I need to see it, experience it, for myself, so I can be prepared for anything. Will you do that for me, Barbatos?”

Barbatos had simply obliged. He is, after all, the one who had brought Solomon to that place, so very long ago. It had been no surprise that the sorcerer had gone on to research what was available there, especially considering how long it took to restore him to health. He wasn’t going to deny the human’s request after already giving him that much.

And as the man himself had said, he would need to be prepared. He did need it, if he was going to fulfill the futures Barbatos had foreseen for him -- futures where Solomon would work towards pursuing the goals he has been so dogged about for an eternity now.

But that is simply who Solomon is. He wouldn’t have been satisfied with Barbatos keeping him sheltered and uninvolved, powerless in that perpetual battle between the other realms. He knew what he was asking for, and he wanted it anyway. He’s never regretted that request to Barbatos, and the demon doesn’t regret granting it.

So maybe Thirteen is right. Maybe it is Barbatos’s fault that Solomon’s soul is the way it is now. Maybe he did show the man too much, maddened his soul, corrupted him somehow. He is a demon, after all.

But Solomon doesn’t seem to mind, so neither does he.

Solomon

The sorcerer, like any human, has never been able to see his own soul.

He has, however, heard plenty said about it, by the many unearthly beings he calls company. Fascinated lesser demons have noted to him over the centuries that it is quite impressive, greed dripping from their tongues in hopes of taking it for their own.

Asmodeus, on the other hand, has never been particularly interested, occasionally quipping that if souls are like gems, he’s “not interested in lab-grown,” before ribbing the sorcerer over whether it’s even actually a human soul anymore.

Thirteen has lamented many a time how his soul doesn’t sparkle the same way it used to, a remark he usually just shrugs off. After all, what can he say in response? He has no control over the exact way that it sparkles, nor any particular interest in doing so specially for his reaper friend’s appeal anyway.

Barbatos, for his part, is quite neutral about it. “Your soul is hardly the most interesting thing about you,” the butler tells him.

Solomon is inclined to agree. Even if he can’t see souls in the same way they can, what does it matter? He knows who he is. He knows who he has been, where he came from, and what he has become. It is inescapable, in fact, even as his reflection in the mirror shows none of that change.

A reflection that, unchangingly, shows him what he has always been -- human.

They say he doesn’t really count as a human, that he can hardly even be considered human anymore at this point. And it hurts a little, he has to admit. He is still just as human as he has ever been, in his opinion, and it is only the others’ own condescending pity of humans that makes them think otherwise. They think he is not human because he has power, and no human could be so powerful. Despite his best efforts to show the potential of humans, they simply discount his own humanity instead.

His soul is proof. It’s not right. For being such a shining soul, the nobility of his heart is warped. It’s tainted by some strange shade, maddened by some unnatural force.

But he would say that unnatural force comes from the very ones who deny him his humanity. For thousands upon thousands of years, has his mission not been noble? Defending humanity’s right to be an equal, independent existence against the heavenly and demonic realms which seek to exert their influence is certainly a noble goal which has given him quite the strength of soul to resist them. Is it his fault that it required him to become so cunning and guarded to achieve that goal?

Any human who could see and experience what he has would be the same, he thinks -- if only any other human could indeed. It is, perhaps, the very loneliness of it that twists him further. He wouldn’t wish those struggles upon anyone, not truly, but he has long felt the weight of carrying this burden alone.

Then, you came along.

Falling in love with you is a little like seeing his younger self for the first time.

You are you, of course. You are not him, not a past version of him, not a thing simply to project onto. He knows that, and he would never try to make you someone you are not. But you are familiar in ways that feel almost nostalgic.

You still have an innocence, like he used to have. Not that you’re naive -- you know well enough how to handle those brothers by now, and you have certainly gained that ability to resist demons as Lucifer once instructed you to. But unlike most, you had a unique chance to earn the respect of those around you; the brothers have a true affection and camaraderie with you that most humans never have the chance to get. The Celestial Realm, too, first came to know of your existence as powerful before they really knew you.

They recognize you as an equal. And that gives you a chance to seek the same mission he has had all this time, from a more even starting point -- at least, if you want to. Or to seek anything else you’d like.

You have that kind of spirit, that he believes in whatever path you choose. Even without the power to see souls as they sparkle, he can see there is something special in you. Something he wants to protect, something he wants to nurture and see grow.

Something that he needs to protect, if the forces who twisted him are now threatening to involve you too.

You

Of course Solomon is a little weird, you think. He’s a human who has existed in this world of demons, magic, angels, sorcerers, witches, and everything else, for longer than any human rightfully should have existed at all.

But at this point, aren’t you a little weird, too?

You laugh it off the first few times they say it -- that it’s debatable whether he even counts as human anymore. It’s true, you think. An immortal, powerful sorcerer who has seen everything you’ve ever learned about history and more, with a reputation of being more demonic than most demons themselves? Yeah, you’ve never met any human quite like him.

The longer it goes on, though, the more that opinion changes.

With the brothers affectionately surrounding you, chattering away amongst themselves, they make that remark again, and a small part of you starts to wonder what exactly they mean by it.

What’s so inhuman about him?

He may be deviously clever, but is it really so strange to think that humans might have their schemes sometimes? It’s rampant throughout the human world.

His age is beyond comprehension, but it turns out that plenty of human witches bargain with demons to extend their lives. You’ve started considering it too, if you’re being honest.

He is powerful, the most powerful human ever to live -- except, so are you now.

You start thinking, more and more, that the two of you aren’t actually quite so unalike.

If they think he’s not human anymore, how long until they think the same of you?

So you mention it to him one day, just as a passing comment, during your training together. You didn’t mean much by it, but he frowns, and he ends training for the day, and he takes you to a café, just so you can chat about it a little more. And you didn’t mean to complain, but you end up talking about it and all your other worries and stresses over this whole exchange student turned sorcerer deal for what turns into hours.

He's vague, and evasive about any follow-up questions, but he tells you a little about some of his worries too.

You realize you didn’t really know him all that well before. You start to get to know him better.

When you start talking to him after that, really talking and having real conversations, it’s refreshing in a way. You tell him mundane little stories about your life before all of this -- about your parents, your friends, old anecdotes of how you grew up. You tell him about the things you used to do and your worries about how you’ve become so disconnected from all of that now. And he understands. He listens with a knowing sort of care that none of the others quite have. They do listen to you, of course, but everyday human life is as abstract to them as this world used to be to you. Human life, compared to their own realms, seems so small and inconsequential.

Not to Solomon, though.

As you talk to him, you realize, without a shadow of a doubt, that he remembers. The human world has changed over time, and so has he, but he still remembers what it was like. He still sees things as a human does, no matter how long he’s been surrounded by all this. He asks you all about the human world nowadays, like a house he used to live in, where new owners have come in, and the walls have been repainted, and none of the furniture is arranged how it was before.

Even so, it still feels like home to him. And talking about it feels like home to you.

You don’t really know what they all mean, when the others talk about souls being sparkly or polishing yourself so yours becomes shiny.

Apparently, you sparkle. Apparently, so does he.

But does it matter? Does it matter how all these otherworldly beings judge the worth of a human soul?

What you know is this:

You are human. And so is he.

[kings-highway]

happy birthday to sawamura daichi

(happy early birthday to azumane asahi)

okay the question is, is it:

A) Daichi who follows Asahi around saying "back when I was your age" and describing what he did 4 and a half hours ago, or generally making a menace of himself being born "a whole year before you"

or is it B) Asahi that consistently over-formalizes his language towards Daichi because he "respects the elderly," or intentionally makes up slang and tells him he wouldn't "understand the youth,"

or is it C) Suga pretending he isn't annoyed that neither of them care that he's actually the oldest

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 119

Part 1 Part 118

“We’ve still got five days,” Eddie whines.

Steve looks up from where he’s sprawled in the little space between the coffee table and couch, lifting himself by the elbows to peer over its surface. Eddie’s got the front door swung wide. Steve can barely spot Barbara’s red hair past Eddie’s raised arm, the curve of her shoulder, the strap of her backpack.

“It’s Wednesday,” Barbara replies, ducking under Eddie’s arm. Carol follows her lead, finger-waving tauntingly as she comes in. She’s so short that she doesn’t even have to bend down to make it through.

Eddie stomps his foot, but closes the door, leaning his head against it to whine into the cheap wood.

“The sword of Damocles swings ever downward,” Eddie says, knocking his forehead into the wood three times.

Steve watches helplessly charmed by the dramatic display. Steve of a year ago would kick his ass for smiling at such a nerdy display, and the Carol of a year ago would be in the ass-kicking line right behind him.

The carol of now, though just laughs and drops her purse onto Steve’s stomach, knocking him back down under its weight.

“Okay, drama queen,” she says, not even looking over at Steve at his pained groan, far too busy rolling her eyes at Eddie.

“Good morning, Carol,” Steve grumbles, grabbing her purse to curl around it and placing his head on it. It’s a little lumpy but works serviceably as a pillow.

“Let’s get to work.”

Steve groans and buries his face into Carol’s bag, hoping something will slither out and strangle him. Nothing does, so he sits down and gets to work, a reluctant Eddie leaning into his side.

This, it turns out, is only the start.

Wednesday’s weekly study group becomes a bi-weekly, much to Eddie’s chagrin. He still shows up every Monday in the library, feet dragging, and homework undone. Steve’s fine settling in with some of his favorite people every week and having them hammer details into his head. He wants to pass, and he wants Eddie with him. Always.

Steve falls headfirst into normalcy. He grabs it with both fists and clings.

But, sometimes, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end and won’t settle no matter how hard he tries to pat it back down. He can feel something behind him, just out of view, watching, as it drifts ever closer.

There’s never anything there when he turns around.

So, he studies, and he works, and he lives.

Whatever it is will catch up to him eventually; they always do. But for now, he’s got a paper to revise, Nancy’s red pen bleeding through all the pages. He’s got math problems to stumble through, and finals looming just around the corner.

“You know, Will would totally teach us morse code,” Eddie says, as they pass a joint back and forth, cuddled together in bed.

Steve coughs, the high hitting his throat first, then ballooning into his head until it feels three sizes too big. “What the fuck?” Steve croaks out, passing the spliff back to Eddie for him to finish off and stub out. “You think he knows it?”

Steve rubs his cheek against the fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt. It’s worn down with numerous washes, buttery-soft against his skin. Steve wants to swaddle his whole body in it, wants to hug Eddie so tightly that their two bodies become one and they can both were the shirt at the same time.

Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, bringing his wash day ever closer as he spreads the oils from his palms into Steve’s scalp. It’s worth it for the way his nails scratch against his skin.

“Totally, Angel,” Eddie says, blowing the last of the smoke out of his lungs and depositing the remnants of the joint into the waiting ashtray at his bedside. “I bet all those nerds know it.”

Steve can’t help the little laugh that rumbles through him at Eddie of all people calling someone else a nerd. Eddie whacks the back of Steve’s head in retaliation and then keeps petting him.

“But why do we want it?” Steve asks, continuing when Eddie hums questioningly. “Morse code.”

Instead of answering, Eddie pulls on the ties that bind repeatedly. Quick, then long, then quick again. Eddie tugs at his hair until Steve’s neck is craned back enough to meet his eyes. His eyebrow’s raised, and his bangs are all fucked up. Steve stares into his eyes and tries to meld their minds because he's got no idea what this pointed silence is supposed to be telling him.

Seeming to catch onto this, Eddie rolls his eyes and pushes Steve’s head back into him to continue stroking him like a cat. “That was morse code, babe.” Steve closes his eyes, trying to think while Eddie begins repetitively tugging on Steve again. “It’s a call for help.”

Steve hums. “In case something goes wrong?”

Eddie’s fingers still momentarily before picking back up their gentle stroking. “I was thinking more like cheating on finals.” He doesn’t repeat the company line all the adults have been reiterating like they’re getting paid for it – the Upside-Down is gone. You’re all safe now. They know better. “Might get us out of a few of these study groups.” He says, ‘study groups’ like what he really means is ‘torture sessions.’

Steve rubs his face against the shirt again, wiping away a little of the drool that had gathered in the corner of his mouth. “You don’t think we’re smart enough to graduate high school, but we’re supposed to learn a whole language in a matter of months.”

Eddie groans, wrapping his arms around Steve and pulling him in tight. “We could learn simple things,” he whines. “Yes, no, better luck next time?” He rocks Steve back and forth until Steve braces his hands against the mattress, feeling seasick. “Then we can make homoerotic eye contact from across the classroom and cheat to our heart’s content!”

Steve snorts, rolling off of Eddie and onto his side of the bed. “We don’t share any classes.”

“Stop picking holes in my plan!” Eddie whines, shoving Steve hard enough that he tumbles off the side of the bed. Eddie’s worried face peers over the edge of the bed a few seconds later. “You okay, Stevie?” he asks, as if he wasn’t the one to shove him off.

Steve glares up at him, rubbing the back of his head. “I can see into the future,” he replies, looking deeply into Eddie’s excited, gullible eyes.

“Three seconds again?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Three months, this time, and do you know what I see?” he asks, not waiting long enough to receive a reply before continuing. “One of us having to repeat Senior Year for a third time because they were too lazy to study.”

Eddie’s dimples pop. Steve’s fingers itch to touch, so he does, unwieldy limbs stretching until he’s got both pointer finger stuck directly into both the little divots. It’s a perfect fit, like Eddie’s the glass slipper and Steve’s fingers are fucking Cinderella’s stupid feet.

“How many guesses do I get?” Eddie asks, smile only growing.

Steve, having lost the plot of the conversation three miles back, squeezes Eddie’s face until his cheeks balloon out enough to force his lips into a pucker. He looks so squashed and stupid that Steve has no choice but to use every one of us flagging abdominal muscles to hoist himself up and plant a wet kiss onto Eddie’s mouth.

“Just one,” he murmurs, lips still pressed together.

The high from the weed and the high from kissing Eddie Munson senseless meld together and last long into the night.

No one ever gets around to learning Morse code.

Part 120

[stimtfil]

HAPPY KYLE DAY GUYS