#but i realized i really like when horror has a familiar scenery

[prontaentrega]

i tried watching nightmare on elm street after watching a lot of argie horror movies and i developed a deep distaste for any horror happening in the united states suburbia i cant stand that shit anymore. put those beasts in the argentine countryside

[hoseokslefteyebrow]

The Anomaly || JJK

Chapter 4: Homesick

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

wordcount : 2k

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

Masterlist | Next

You find yourself seated in a familiar spot. The scenery is the same as back at home, the sun setting on the sight of Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. There have been a lot of days where you and your best friends have lost track of time talking to one another late at night in this very spot. 

You're worried,mind running with scenarios of how home would be doing. How is your own world? Are you having this human body - cursed spirit issue too? The one you had been fighting was quite tough- were your classmates alright? Was your best friend alright? Or had everyone written you off as dead? Considering you disappeared right after a battle, it wouldn't surprise you. You're not sure. Your eyes sadden, losing yourself in your thoughts. You refuse to believe that everyone believes you're dead, that they've given up on you just like that.

You glance down at your bracelet. It's ordinary, crafted from simple wood. It matches your best friend's bracelet back at home. You wonder if his works. It's filled with water, imbued with your cursed energy. That way, he could always find you when he needed you, and you could always find him when you needed him. You doubt it works. You can't feel your connection to it currently, your cursed energy with you and you alone. 

" Are you okay? That last mission seemed to be quite rough on you. "

You glance up, only noticing Yuuji standing there now. Had he been standing there for long? 

" Ah, sorry, I didn't notice you. I'm alright. I've just got homesickness at the moment. "

He hums, noticing your sad eyes as he sits down beside you. 

" The way you stood up for Nobara was badass. It was cute too though. Are you two close in your universe? " 

He's calm, watching the scenery with you. Your presence is somewhat comforting. New, yet so oddly familiar. 

You hum. 

" Yeah, we are. I was so happy to learn that another girl would be joining our class. We hit it off right after meeting in the city for the first time, when we went to pick her up. I think that got Sukuna a little jealous. "

You're smiling fondly at the memory, meanwhile Yuuji has to remind himself that you're talking about a different Sukuna, not the one he's harboring. 

" Ah, he's your best friend right? "

You hum. 

" My one and only. "

" What about us? "

You turn to him, blinking. 

" What about us? "

" Are we close? You've mentioned that we used to be close when we were younger. "

" Ah, yeah. We were inseparable as kids. Until you grew more athletic and developed a love for horror. I'm a whimp- I don't like horror at all. It makes me downright unable to sleep. Sukuna would laugh at me when I came over to sleep over one random night, because of my fears. I wanted to prove him wrong, so I watched a horror movie with the three of you. It backfired, and I was unable to sleep. Sukuna ended up feeling guilty enough to watch Pokemon movies with me all night. We grew closer after that. I realized that I too was one of the people he has a weak spot for. In my universe, you're one of those people too. "

Yuuji blinks, not having expected that at all. 

" Sukuna as my twin.. The idea of that leaves a really bad taste in my mouth. "

You laugh softly. 

" I think it's weird you share a body with him in this universe- and that he had 20 fingers. And that you swallow them for breakfast, basically. "

Yuuji laughs, agreeing with you. A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You lean your head on his shoulder for a moment. Back home, you were touchy with your friends, often linking arms with Nobara, or straight up pulling Sukuna along to where ever you pleased. He always pretended to hate it, but you know him better than that. 

Yuuji doesn't seem to mind, instead relishing the comforting gesture. 

Yet, you can't help yourself from asking him the next question. You need answers. 

" You've mention that you've... Killed, instead of exorcised before.... "

You're careful in your words, allowing him to stop you if he wants to. When he doesn't, you continue to carefully speak. 

" I just wondered... Do you maybe know why? - As in why they were in a human's body? "

Yuuji shakes his head, eyes on the floor. 

" I don't. There's a curse who's strong enough to transfigure people though. I know you're afraid too, but if we don't figure out how to send you home soon, you might have to fight more human-cursed spirits. "

You nod at his words, your eyes downcast on the floor. 

" I don't like it either. I hope we manage to kill patchface and these cursed spirit people before anything too rash happens though. "

You hum, about to reply when-

" It's because of you! You took me in, and now the severed parts of my soul have awakened. "

Your eyes widen, head raising to stare at the mouth and eye that has sprouted on Yuuji's cheek. What the fuck was this?-

" To help lots of people, was it? Brat! People are gonna die because you live! "

" Hey, don't tell that to Fushiguro. Don't you dare. "

Yuuji's stoic, different. It's obvious he doesn't like Sukuna. 

You don't like this Sukuna either. You can tell he's nothing like your Sukuna. 

" And what are you looking at?! "

" You're an eye and a mouth on my friend's cheek. "

You deadpan the obvious as you blankly stare at him. 

He cackles, Yuuji slaps his hand over him, trying to shut him up. 

" That's enough out of you. "

It doesn't stop him, Sukuna's mouth appearing on the back of Yuuji's hand. 

" You don't belong here! You should die! "

" That's rich, coming from someone who's a mouth on a hand now. I'd say you should die. "

While you're busy mocking him, Sukuna has an unsettling realization. He's met you before. You're not from here, and you're definitely not supposed to be here. You were a sorcerer he was forced to face back in the Heian era. Your reverse curse technique was strong, strong enough to be used as a weapon. Your domain too, was one he hated. He absolutely hates you. He needs you dead before he can carry out his plans of regaining powers. Facing both Gojo Satoru and you would set him at a huge disadvantage. One that not even his current plans could face. 

However, there's no need to rush in killing you though. It appears that you don't even know your potential just yet, your body protected with regular cursed energy. 

Yuuji scoffs, slapping a hand on his own to stop Sukuna from spouting nonsense. Thankfully, he disappears. 

" Soo, that's your Sukuna. "

" Yeah, sorry about that. "

" It's fine. I don't take things randomly appearing mouths say to heart. "

Your smile eases Yuuji's worries, his previous guilt gone, replaced by a warm feeling. The two of you sit in silence a little longer, enjoying each other's company and watching the sun set on Jujutsu Tech. 

-

A few days pass, and you find yourself and your classmates in Tokyo's shopping district. 

" Aren't you buying way too much? " 

Yuuji releases a puff of stress, holding the many bags Nobara has shoved in his arms.

You're walking a few paces up front with her, your arms linked together. You have bought some stuff too, considering that was why you were here in the first place. There was no answer on when you could return to your own universe, no one has any idea how just yet. Your financials are finally properly supported by Jujutsu Tech, and you've entered the shopping district. You're only really buying stuff you need, though that is still quite a bit, leaving you with three bags. 

You're only holding one. For some reason ( an unspoken one, everyone was surprised when he offered), Megumi was carrying your other two bags. You've promised you'll buy him a crepe as a thank you, but he's brushed you off, telling you it was fine and that you should save the money. 

" Half of that is yours, you know? "

You blink at her, that's not true. 

" This bag is all that's mine! "

Just as Yuuji raises his bag to show her, one threatens to fall out of his arms. He manages to catch it. 

" Drop one and you're dead. " 

" Ah, Yuuji, do you maybe want me to carry some bags? "

" No Y/N, Itadori is a strong guy. He's fine. "

" I don't think being strong is part of the issue Nobara-"

And then.... One of the clothes she bought slips out of the open bag, on the floor. 

Everyone's eyes widen. 

You raise your hands, attempting to stop Nobara, but as expected, she's already punching him. Megumi tugs on the back of your uniform, holding his own high in embarrassment as Nobara scolds Yuuji. 

" Come. Let's pretend we don't know them. " 

He's already walking a few steps away with you, arm around your shoulders, When his phone rings. 

He takes his arm off you, taking out his phone. 

" It's Gojo sensei. " 

You're not sure why he's informing you. Maybe because you know him as well. 

Their conversation ends soon enough, and he turns around, facing Yuuji and Nobara again. 

" What? "

Finally, Nobara releases Yuuji. 

" Gojo sensei is calling us. "

" Huh, why? "

Nobara's pouting, you guess that she wanted to spend the whole day lingering around Tokyo's shopping district. 

" It's a mission, 'a top secret one'. "

You snort, the words familiar. 

" Ah, so this Gojo sensei is the same as the one back in my universe. "

" Does your Gojo sensei say that often as well? "

You grin at Nobara, nodding. 

" Last time he called us for a 'top secret mission' was because he wanted to get crepes and didn't want to go alone. "

You smile fondly at the memory. Eventually, it had only been Yuuji, Nobara, Megumi and you. Sukuna wasn't around, because he was simply god knows where. You hadn't felt bothered enough to find out back then. Your best friend had been offended that you had gone without him. You only found him hours after the place closed. As a peace offering, you spent your money on expensive fruits (strawberries) and chocolate, dipping strawberries in chocolate late at night. 

Nobara laughs at your words. Some people are apparently the same no matter the universe. 

" Why not go? Gojo sensei still said it is top secret after all. It must be big. "

You smile at Yuuji softly. He was so cute sometimes. 

" Yeah well, Y/N is right. He does say it all the time. "

Yuuji hums at Megumi's words. 

" Yeah, so what? "

All four of you exchange smiles, and make your way back to the busstop. This time, you link arms with Megumi, simply because he's the closest. He shoots you a surprised glance, but his expression softens, features softening into a smile. 

This Megumi was so different of your own. This one is nice to you. 

The Anomaly Taglist:

@luxylucylou @kalulakunundrum @strxbxrrylover @aethersslave

[accipio]

Hawke's father taught him early on that the Fade is not always a churning maelstrom of demons and hostile magic like in the tales. It's more dangerous than that. It often appears exactly as the dreamer expects it to be, a mirror held up to the waking world and warped by the mind that beholds it. An incautious mage may mistake this reflection for reality; lulled into complacence by the familiar, they never wake. Or rather, they do not wake as themselves.

Hawke has played this game many times, and he knows better than most the tricks that a mind can play on itself. When he awakens in his assigned quarters, the plain room exactly as it was when he fell asleep there hours before, he just knows. His surroundings look and feel as solidly real as ever, but there's a subtle skin-crawling offness to everything that washes over him like vertigo.

Never one to wait around and let the demons find him, he grabs his wooden staff from where he'd left it by the door and heads outside, not even bothering to change out of the threadbare trousers that serve as his nightclothes. Physical armor is useless here.

He doesn't have to wonder what awaits him on the other side of the threshold. He knows exactly what he's going to find. He steps forward onto weathered cobblestone, the same stone that was carved from sea-battered cliffs by Tevinter slaves over fifteen hundred years ago. Before him rise the twin white towers of the Gallows, impossibly tall, no less stark and pitiless than the empty black sky behind them.

The city of chains welcomes him back. He has been many things, here—fortune-seeker, troublemaker, protector, liberator, destroyer—but in his dreams he is a prisoner. He has never left, and he never will.

He walks on, not because he wants to, but because he knows that the only way out is forward. He expects to be accosted by the usual suspects: despair demons, his failures made manifest.

(Bethany, her body a mangled ruin, her lifeless stare a silent accusation. Mother, reaching for him with another woman's hands, lurching forward like a puppet on a string. Why didn't you protect me, son? Why didn't you protect me, brother?)

But they don't appear. The Gallows steps are deserted, the gates open and unguarded. There are no fires burning in the braziers, just as there are no stars above. Instead, everything is lit by a diffuse purple glow that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It renders the scenery curiously flat, shadowless. A fragment of some poem or other worms its way into his mind: No light, but rather darkness visible.

The back of his neck prickles with instinctive, animal dread as he steps through the gate and into the courtyard. It, too, is empty, save for a solitary figure standing in its center, rigid and unmoving like a soldier at attention. Waiting for him.

Hello, Knight-Captain.

The templar's silverite armor is more brilliant than it ever was in the waking world, its gleam undiminished by the lack of any natural light source. He is beautiful, perfect, a storybook knight made real, but no poet could ever dream up the frigid contempt with which he regards Hawke.

“You forget your place, mage,” the Knight-Captain says. Hawke stares at him, torn three ways between confusion, fear, and perverse fascination. “But I shall remind you of it.”

Hawke's gaze drifts to the oddly-shaped weapon in the templar's hand. He realizes with dawning horror that it is no weapon at all. It's the sunburst brand.

He scoffs, feigning nonchalance. “You lot really need to come up with some better material. That doesn't sound tempting at all. Your plan is to do what, exactly? Hold me down and brand me tranquil?”

The Knight-Captain (demon, he mentally corrects) appears unimpressed. “No,” it answers, the familiar voice stripped of all warmth, all humanity. “Only to give you what you want.”

Hawke's stomach lurches. No more talking. He calls upon his magic with ease, its flow unobstructed by whatever had dammed it back in the waking world. The demon, however, remains one step ahead of him. It raises its empty left hand, and a Silence slams down upon Hawke with the force of a physical blow. He staggers back, reeling from the nauseating sensation of emptiness, a limb suddenly severed.

Demons can't do that. Can they?

“Shit.” Maker, he's really in it now.

@absolutionem

[amethystunarmed]

A Melody That Lingers

Word Count: 861 AO3 Written for @pulpmusicalsfortnight2024 Day 9: Home. Thank you to my phenomenal beta and the event organizer, @snarky-wallflower!

Margaret Cavendish doesn't have friends.

Oh, she has plenty of people who act friendly towards her. Plenty who come up and visit her during society events, greet her with polite pleasantries. But she sees the same people break into whispers as she passes, who point and giggle when they see her alone, decorating the corners of the room. They avoid her, as though whatever strangeness that clings to her is catching. 

So yes. Friendly, not friends. Never friends.

She feels the weight of their judgment, the deep disconnect between her and those who ought to be her peers. 

All of this to say... Margaret had never really invited others into her home before. It was a whim, really, taking the Stratfords in. She hadn't really thought it through. She had just heard of the attack on their home and called for a carriage.

She hadn't accounted for the strangeness of sharing her space. The comfort of it.

Even as she prepares for bed, she cannot escape the giddiness surrounding it. The knowledge that, for at least tonight, she is not alone in the world. Perhaps this is the reason she lies awake in bed until late into the night, this fluttering, light feeling in her chest.

Or perhaps not. Restless nights have been shadowing Margaret Cavendish for as long as she can remember. Some days she swears she rises with the moon, called awake by its gentle glow. On nights like these, lying restless in her bed feels like torture.

She grabs a shawl she had laid over the desk in her room for this exact purpose and wanders out into the main rooms of her apartment.

She intends to go onto the roof; it is her habit to watch the moon over the harbor when sleep is far out of reach. It is the company she is most used to, and most comfortable with. She nearly forgets about her new company, until she stumbles upon Rose Stratford asleep in the library.

To be honest, Margaret barely understands how she managed to fall asleep like this. Rose is sprawled out on her couch. Her face is planted in a text, her hair fanned around her. Her leg dangles off the couch and onto the floor, leaving her knees bent at awkward angles. It looks remarkably uncomfortable. 

Piles of books are stacked around her, the corners poking divots into her skin. Margaret thinks she can spot her entire collection of astronomy textbooks piled around Rose like statues in a garden. Paper sculptures standing vigil around a sleeping rose bush. 

Margaret supposes she shouldn't be surprised Rose is still in the library at this late hour. Margaret hadn't seen her leave since they entered the library this morning. 

“I think this place is heaven!” Rose had cried and descended onto Margaret’s collection. Rose's admiration had made some kind of heat flutter in her stomach. Looking upon her now, softly snoring, hair reflecting the light like embers, Margaret feels it again. It reminds her of her phantom pain, but in the opposite direction; a joy she hadn't realized she was still capable of feeling.

She's beautiful. 

She is. It is an objective fact, Rose Stratford's beauty. The piercing green eyes, the rosy cheeks, the full pink lips Margaret often finds herself staring at. Margaret could shove the feelings away, hide behind this fact. But... That thought, that attraction...

It doesn't scare her, not like it should. It is just one more aspect that separates her from the upper class, another oddity she has to smooth the wrinkles from. She knows the knowledge should make her heart drop to her stomach, should flood her with nausea. 

But the horror never comes. Instead, it feels like docking on a shore she has been away from for a long, long time. The scenery is different, trees have been cut down, new ones have grown in their place, but it is familiar all the same. It feels like something she hadn’t realized she was missing falling into place, like remembering a song she has always known. It feels like... it feels like...

It feels like coming home. 

Margaret can’t help the giddy chuckle that springs from her. For the first time she can remember, the moon doesn’t feel so far away. Humanity doesn't feel so far away.

Margaret removes her shawl from where it had been draped over her shoulders. She unfolds it, and gently drapes it over Rose's sleeping form. Rose stirs under the weight, and for a moment Margaret fears she roused her. But Rose settles under it, cuddling closer with the books she had tried so hard to read. She turns onto her side, and Margaret could count all the freckles on her nose in the candlelight if she wanted too. They dance across her cheekbones and dip down below her neckline. Margaret traces constellations in them with her eyes.

Beautiful, she thinks again, just because she can.

The Stratfords continue to show her these nearly forgotten parts of herself. Maybe they truly are the answers to the questions she has been asking. She can't wait to see what they will reveal to her next.

[blasphemecel]

Portgas D. Ace — Kind Of, Maybe

PAIRING: Portgas D. Ace/Reader WORD COUNT: 4.1k TYPE: Friends to Lovers, Fluff & Humor, a little Pining, Modern AU WARNING(S): Drunken shenanigans at one point, Reader is a dangerous driver (inspired by my friend who has almost done in almost all of us), A few NSFW jokes

It’s not often that Ace is the more sensible one or the less idiotic one. After he came back from a trip overseas, however, you were unfortunately the only one who was available to pick him up from the airport. He’s never been in your car before, but he has heard Sabo’s horror stories about your driving. Sabo banned Luffy from driving with you when he alarmingly claimed it sounded like fun, but he never banned Ace from being your passenger, and sometimes Ace wonders if Sabo even cares about him.

Yes, he’s a grown ass man and Sabo can’t ban him from anything, and yes he’s being melodramatic, but those are just semantics.

He’s spacing out contemplating this grave danger he’s in, not paying attention to you until your voice brings him out from his stupor. You still have one hand around the wheel while you’re holding up your phone with the other. “Yeah man, that’s my order. Hey, Ace, what flavor of pizza do you want?”

“Eyes on the road!” he cries, realizing you’ve turned to look at him.

“Eyes on the road, I don’t think that’s a flavor. Oh, wait, he’s talking about me,” you say, looking ahead again. “Ok, you can make it a veggie then.”

“You know I don’t like that one,” he says, glaring at you. You’ve gotta be doing it on purpose.

You roll your eyes in annoyance. “He’s such a diva. Change the veggie to a barbecue. Ok, thanks. Love you.”

“Why are you telling the pizza person you love them?”

“I have no idea,” you say, throwing your phone to the backseat.

“You’re a very dangerous person, you know that?” asks Ace.

With a flick of your hand, you dismiss his concerns and take a turn. Through a suspicious squint, Ace vaguely recalls these streets, but they don’t lead to his and his brothers’ house.

“You’re going in the wrong direction.”

“I thought we’re going to my house,” you say.

“Why would we be going there?”

“To eat, moron.”

Ace doesn’t even remember agreeing to this — probably because you didn’t bother asking him if he wants any — but he sighs and gives in without a word since you already ordered for him, too, and it’s not like he would’ve denied your invitation in the first place. Instead he chooses to change the subject.

“Does your car have a name?” he blurts out.

“What?”

“You seem like the kinda douche who’d have a car named Becky or something.”

“Shut up,” you say, reaching out to punch him in the shoulder, but try to concentrate on driving again before he starts wailing about his ‘safety’ and how you guys are going to ‘die.’ “If my car had a name, it’d be something cool like Orgasmtron-3000.”

He snorts at you, eyes crinkling at your stupidity. “Pfft. That’s lame and you know it.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” you declare with a flippant hand gesture before you turn up your nose like a snob. Ace really wishes you’d watch the damn road, but the scenery becomes more familiar the longer the drive goes on. Somehow the two of you are still intact by the time you pull up near your apartment complex.

He’s only ever swung by your place for late night parties and his memories of those times are foggy at best. Now, it’ll be different: 1. Both of you will be sober, and 2. The other borderline alcoholics won’t be there to keep you company. The thought makes him a little nervous suddenly, even though he knows it’s silly. It’s just you. And he survived the ride so it’s a tad too late to be stressed.

“Soo, how was your trip?” you ask once you’ve both made it inside the elevator.

“Fun at times, not so fun at others,” he tells you, pressing the button for the floor you live on since he’s closer. “You know how it is.”

“Wow, you’re so descriptive.”

“Aw, like you really wanna listen to all that.”

This is unlike him since Ace loves chewing your ears off with his stories, though you suppose he’s not inebriated enough to start telling you about the time he and Sabo pissed in a pond and got arrested. Which is something you’ve heard about around fifteen times at your get-togethers.

You smile your usual sharp and evil little grin, inching closer to him, his nose hovering near yours, breath mingling. “What if I do?”

Ace tilts his head to the side, not understanding what you’re getting at. “I don’t know? I’d tell you, I guess.”

The elevator doors open and you back away from him like nothing had happened, face slacking, leading the way to your apartment. He follows in your stead and you two spend some time catching up for a few minutes until the pizza arrives. You act like you’ve forgotten you ordered it already, which doesn’t surprise him, but Ace would also rather give himself a noogie than miss out on free food.

Your return is cause for celebration enough, so he cheers and you bow while balancing the two boxes in your hands.

“You even got the biggest ones,” he points out with a genuine sense of wonder, like you’ve made him the happiest man alive by buying some shit full of grease. You place them on the table, re-taking your spot next to him on the couch.

“What can I say? My riches precede me.” Not to mention you had a discount on that, but you’re not about to tell him lest your delusions of luxury shatter.

“Not to be that guy, but that’s… not how you use that word.”

At his response, you scoff. “Go to Italy once and you start thinking you’re all fancy.”

“You’re an idiot,” he says, nudging you in the ribs and laughing at your expense once more. Your scowling only gets more intense, but then he stops when an idea crosses his mind. He reaches for another slice and then he brings it up to your face like he’s trying to tempt a horse with carrots. “Try some of mine. It’s really good.”

“Sure,” you concede, parting your mouth, about to take a bite. If you’re generous (which you’d insist you are, usually), you might even share yours.

At this moment Ace falls asleep with his head landing on your shoulder. Both of his pizza slices end up on your shirt and one of his arms dangles around your waist. Your eye twitches as visions of washing these new stains enter your mind. For a second you contemplate kicking him out to get robbed or something, but you end up letting him doze on you anyway.

___

You’re laying down on your towel and Ace invited himself to sit on it, too, in front of you under the parasol. It’s cramped and you don’t have enough space to stretch your legs without exposing them to the harsh sun. Besides, you’d overdramatized how you burned your soles when you guys were settling down earlier. “Why’d you even wanna go to the beach? You can’t even swim.”

“I told you already!” You can imagine the dumb expression he’s making with ease, even though you can only see him rubbing the back of his head. “I wanted to go boating with you. And then I forgot to take the boat…”

Ignoring how idiotic that is, you say, “I think you just like having an excuse to be shirtless.”

Ace clicks his tongue, your remark reminding him of something. “They actually still do that dresscode thing at restaurants, can you believe that?”

You can believe that considering he got kicked out on your birthday a few years ago for showing up in just an unbuttoned shirt, a ridiculous cowboy hat and crocs. Then you had to sneak him in through the bathroom window. Sometimes your genius mind astounds you.

“No, that’s totally a shock,” you say in the most genuine tone you can muster. A thought crosses your mind, and that never ends in anything good, but regardless you proceed.

You grace Ace with a light kick to the back, and he turns around with a small frown on his lips. “Why am I your foot scrubber all of a sudden?”

“Ace, I’m bored,” you tell him. “I wanna bury you in the sand.”

He pushes your legs away from him to fry on the scorching sands, which makes you glare at him, and then he protests, “No way! Not if I bury you first.”

Your instinctual reaction is to sit up and try to put him in a chokehold, which leads him to mumble something about you being a raging sociopath under his breath, but he wrestles out of your hold without too much trouble. What ensues next is a series of swats and pushing at each other as well as incoherent screams about who’s going to be a ‘sandy loser.’ Many bystanders stare incredulously at your childish display.

At one point, Ace manages to get you to lie back down. Not restraining your wrists or anything is definitely an unwise move, but he manages to lose his balance somehow and he tumbles over you, finding his chest pressed against yours, faces dangerously close together. Again, he gets this sort of sheepish nervousness in this proximity, even though it’s not unusual for you to touch each other. Something about this is different though, with his lips almost ghosting over yours. A queasy feeling torments his stomach.

Everything stills, and Ace swallows dryly before he clenches his fists by your sides. Alright, this is the moment. He lowers his eyelids, mentally preparing himself to give you a quick peck, but you interrupt his plans of romance by rolling over and flipping your positions so you’re straddling him now.

The sand feels unbearably hot on his back. Whatever mood he was in before is surely ruined now and you let out an evil laugh of triumph before you pour some over his abdomen, too.

“Wait, ouch, it burns,” he pleads, but you ignore him and continue with your task of burying him. “Seriously, you’re vicious!”

“Shut up. I won.”

Ace pushes you off, but you slip away and bolt towards the water. When you throw a glance over your shoulder and realize he’s following you, you don’t make it past the shallows. After one step in, he backs away with exaggerated fright. “It’s cold.”

“It’s so hot this, it's so cold that,” you say, crossing your arms and shifting your weight to one hip. “You’re such a baby.” Then, unprovoked, you splash him by swiping your leg across the water and laugh to yourself as if it’s really funny.

Ace stands upright and shivers like a hideous wet animal as a result. Still, your douchebaggery is the only motivation he needs to resolve to waddle in and try to get revenge on you while you walk sideways like a crab in your attempt at avoiding him.

Noticing your refusal to go any deeper, Ace halts with a smile. “Aw, you don’t want me to drown,” he says.

“Come on, what do you think I am-”

He takes the opportunity to pull you forward by the arms into himself and you both fall down, with him on his ass and you on your knees, almost bumping your head into his nose before you adjust yourself. You deadpan,

“What, so now we’re gonna sit here and play like toddlers?”

As if this wasn’t what you were doing before, anyway.

“Well, it’s easier to do this now,” he says, splashing you in the face. A seaweed ends up on your forehead and Ace almost dies laughing while you spit out water and rub your eye.

“Remember what you said about me not wanting you to drown?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t care anymore!”

With this declaration, Ace can only dart out of the water in a panic and run back to the parasol before you really lunge and kill him.

___

When Ace sees he has a text from you, he makes the mistake of smiling. It must mean you’re planning some outing since that’s usually why you message him, but then he unlocks his phone and swipes to your contact, and his grin falls immediately, replaced by a look of puzzlement.

butt-head Do you take it up the ass

Beavis ??????????

butt-head Lol Sorry wrong chat

Beavis who tf are u texting that

butt-head Nunya

Beavis never heard of him

butt-head Nunya Business 😎😎😎😎

Beavis seriously doesn’t ring a bell

butt-head Dude

 Idiot do u know a guy named nunya business

sabo-kins You can’t be serious?

Idiot is he rich or something

sabo-kins ACE?????????

Idiot i mean his last name is business

___

You’re having the time of your life, surrounded by several friends on the island seat while you pre-game even though there isn’t even a game. In other words, you’re piss drunk and everyone’s laughing up a storm at your story. Thatch almost chokes on his own spit when you finish off with, “And then he told Sabo, ‘I mean, his last name is Business.’”

Ace, sitting to your left, narrows his eyes at you in suspicion over the lid of his glass. “So, what, you mean to tell me Nunya Business doesn’t-” and then before he can finish his sentence, once he hears himself aloud, he stops talking and blinks in amazement. “Wow, I can’t believe I fell for that.”

“Me neither,” you howl, slapping your knee even though it’s not that funny.

“C’mon, you’re an asshole,” he says, butting into your side, though at the cost of almost falling off his bar stool. Ace swings an arm over your shoulder and brings you closer while you squint your eyes at him like he’s blurry. He kind of is, from your point of view.

“That’s not what Nunya said last night.”

He barks out a fake laugh at that, then immediately turns serious, returning your squinting. “Stop. I won’t fall for it again.”

“Whateverrr,” you slur, throwing an arm around his waist, too.

“Like, I totally won’t.”

“Hahahaha,” you say, not really laughing, but the corners of your mouth quirk up regardless. Then you nudge him like he nudged you when you ordered pizza that one time. “What’s Nunya Business to you, anyway?”

“It’s really not funny. I thought you were cheatin’ on me,” he whines, resting his head on your shoulder.

You’re too far gone to question why he’s suddenly decided you’re dating, so you place your head on his. “I’d never do that! It was the good old wrong chat maneuver.”

“[Y/nnnnnnnnn]…”

“Aceeeeeeeeeee…”

“What’s wrong with them?” Marco mutters, downing another shot of whiskey, while Thatch shrugs as if to say ‘just the regular idiocy.’

“You know,” he starts, then he shoots upright, knocking you away from him, leaving you to rub your forehead. With more determination this time, he starts over and raises his index finger high in the air. “You know, I’d- I’d get a tattoo of your name.”

You’re sure he didn’t plan to say that and just made it up on the spot and you’re also pretty sure he doesn’t mean it. Still, you’ll entertain the notion as if he’s being genuine instead of drunken gibberish. “Hmm.” Then you poke him on the biceps before you start squeezing it, rubbing your chin while deep in thought. “I don’t want that, though. You couldn’t even spell yours right.”

“It’s not meant to be my name,” he says. “I told you like, a million times. After you called me Asce once in front of everyone, remember? And the lady taking our reservations thought my name was Asce…”

“Aceeeeeeeeeee…” you cry again.

“[Y/nnnnnnnn]…” Ace spreads his arms then, trying to hug you.

“‘m sorry.” You pucker your lips like in a cartoon, trying to land one big gross kiss to his forehead.

In a fit of narcolepsy, Ace’s eyes flutter shut and he falls over the counter while you suddenly hurl over his shoulder before you start coughing, gagging on your own vomit. In a way, his abrupt nap saved him since at least his face didn’t meet this fate. And, okay, maybe you both had too much to drink just this once.

Marco jams a thumb in your direction and sighs as if to say ‘See? Idiots.’

___

You wake up with a throbbing headache, though at least you find you’re in your bed, which means you made it home without getting run over or something. Your phone blares, apparently in need of your attention, and you lean over to retrieve it.

Beavis we need to talk about last night

Uh oh. Your memories of whatever transpired yesterday are vague at best, but you don’t recall a situation when someone said this to you after a night of drinking that ended up well. You try to mask your ignorance with a neutral reply.

butt-head What about it

Beavis i cant believe u let me think nunya was a real person for a week straight?!?!?!

Oh, wait, yeah. You were telling that story to Marco and Thatch at the bar. You send a voice message of your obnoxious laughter for a minute straight in response.

___

You can’t believe Luffy has your ass playing Hide and Seek right now.

Sabo and Ace are busy until tomorrow morning and apparently he doesn’t enjoy being left alone for so long, so Ace asked you to do him a ‘small’ favor and keep him company until tomorrow morning. You like Luffy well enough to accept, and now here you are.

Though you expected he would’ve busted your ass by now. A part of you wishes he would since your limbs are all growing numb the longer you hold this position. You can hear speaking from outside, though with your position it’s all too muffled to make out. Then footsteps near Ace’s room, where you’re hiding, and you think finally Luffy is going to find you.

The door opens then shuts again, which you find kind of odd, and then something outside rustles. Maybe Luffy is checking if you’re under the bed? You can imagine him doing so.

After a while of nothing, the closet door opens.

It’s not Luffy you come face-to-face with, but Ace. His eyes widen in surprise as do yours while you stare at each other.

“Uh,” he starts while you pretend you don’t notice that he’s almost naked.

“I can explain,” you say.

“Nah. Luffy told me you guys are playing.”

He backs away and you shuffle around until you make it out of the cramped space while Ace nonchalantly leans over to rummage for pajamas. Something crosses your mind then. “I thought you’re coming back tomorrow?”

“Oh, uh… My thing ended early,” he tells you, slipping a t-shirt over his head and adjusting it. He totally didn’t bail to see you since he knew you’d be here. That’d be stupid.

You seem to catch onto this, though, because you grin and lower your eyelids at him, looking smug. Inching closer with crossed arms, you ask, “Did it now?”

“Depends on what you’re gonna do about it,” he chances, deciding to play your game.

How you’re about to continue, he’s not sure, but you jostle when you feel a tap on your shoulder. “Found you,” Luffy says, unimpressed.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that.” You level him with your trademark glare.

“You’re not very good at this game,” he says.

“What? You were looking for me for forever!”

“Touchy about Hide and Seek, aren’t you?” Ace asks with a laugh, in slight disbelief of your immaturity.

“Shut up, no one’s talking to you, bedhead.”

“Bedhead?! You like my hair and you know it.”

“I mean,” Luffy continues as if you and Ace aren’t having another unnecessary argument, “you’re just standing here in plain sight.”

“I so wasn’t!” With finality, you turn towards Ace. “Anyway, now that you’re here, I guess I can go home, right?”

“I mean, you can stay, too.”

“Like I wanna sleep on the couch.”

“Wait,” he says, and he wants to offer for you to share the bed with him or something, but instead what comes out of his mouth at the last second is, “you didn’t drive Luffy anywhere, right?”

You stare at him like you find him stupid and incredulous. “No?”

“Okay ‘cause Sabo banned it.”

With a roll of your eyes, you step out of the room, and then you notice Ace is trailing after you. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, geez.”

“Ok, but Sabo is so dramatic. I’m very good at driving.”

Ace assesses you with a disbelieving look.

“Fuck you.”

“Have a safe drive home.”

“Seriously, I’m so serious right now, fuck you.”

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” Ace says, holding up your jacket for you so you can slide your arms inside. “But maybe you need it,” he adds when you’re on the brink of letting it go, sounding amused.

Instead of saying goodbye like a normal person, you hold up your hand and tell him to talk to it.

___

Your car pulls up into view and for the first time, Ace is grateful. The feeling doesn’t last for longer than fifteen seconds, though, because you roll down the window and announce, “Orgasmtron-3000 and I are in the house tonight.”

He sighs and walks over with reasonable embarrassment (even though there’s no one else around to witness this), opening the passenger seat door before he sits down next to you. He slams the door closed, you don’t start up the car, and instead you tap your hands against the steering wheel. Then you give the abandoned gas station a look-over. “How’d you end up here, anyway?”

“Got lost,” he mumbles.

“Verbose as usual, Ace.”

“Verbose,” he repeats in a snotty tone, failing to imitate your voice.

For the first time, you ignore this. He raises an eyebrow when you don’t take the opportunity to start some entirely avoidable fight, and instead you evaluate him for a little before you smile. With your eyebrows furrowed, though, you appear kind of sinister rather than playful.

“What?”

“Uh-huh, what?” you snarl, trying to sound like a caveman to imply he’s a dunce.

Now Ace is pouting at you since he’s not all that good at glaring, not like you are, and then you remember what it was you were trying to do, or maybe you just get the nerve now. You settle your hand on his exposed knee since he’s wearing one of his hideous pairs of shorts with designs on them and say,

“We’re alone right now.”

Like an idiot, he looks around and nods and ignores the goosebumps which break out at the unexpected contact. “Yeah, we are.”

“I wanna kiss you, ok?”His cheeks redden and burn and Ace stares at you like you gave him a jumpscare. He averts his line of sight and, “Then… Then what’s stopping you?”

You shrug. “Nothing now, I guess.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt to get the slightest bit closer to him and he kind of just waits for you to make a move, like he’s scared you’re going to change your mind if you detect even a twitch from him. With your free hand you trace his nape and he leans in, tilting his head until your lips meet half-way even though it’s not the most comfortable within the confines of your car.

Ace grabs you by the waist and tries to pull you closer. You comply, jumping into his lap, and you’re kind of aggressive and harsh with the way you move now like Ace had imagined you’d be whenever he’d think about this before. Your nerves are on fire as if you’ve been waiting to feel his silken lips and the tickle of his breath under your nose for too long. And you have.

You move on from his mouth to his jaw, peppering him with little kisses while he turns to give you one on the temple, tightening his hold against your waist. Then you lick down his neck, all his hairs standing alert. When you find a spot you think will be easy to hide, you suck on the skin near his collarbone and Ace lets out a sigh, surprised to feel so sensitive there.

After you part, you take a moment to hold each other’s gazes. He loosens his grip on you and breaks eye contact.

“I, ya know,” he says, an admission of some sort. Though maybe he doesn’t need to say anything, it feels good to acknowledge it for once even if it’s scary, even if he doesn’t know why exactly you wanted to smush faces with him. Or maybe he doesn’t need to say anything because you’ve always been kind of together, haven’t you?

Your eyes turn to crescents and you give him your malicious, toothy grin. “I ya know you too.”

Ace sulks, shoulders slumping at your remark. “You’re still a jerk, though.”

[elliepassmore]

What Feasts at Night review

4.5/5 stars Recommended if you like: speculative fiction, ghost stories, Eastern European folklore, fantasy horror

What Moves the Dead review

Big thanks to Netgalley, Tor Nightfire, and the author for an ARC in exchange for an honest review!

TW imagined animal gore

I really enjoyed What Moves the Dead when I got an ARC of it last year, and I still enjoyed it when I reread it earlier this week. With the first book so fresh in my mind, I have to say I was a little disappointed that I didn't love this book as much as that one. There's nothing wrong with this one per se, it just has very different vibes from WMtD.

In book 1 we visited Ruravia and now we're returning to Easton's home country of Gallacia, which seems to be comprised of trees, hills, and more trees. Since Easton and co. are going to a hunting lodge, this is actually perfect for them. The forest itself is eerie, not because of any particular feature it has, but rather due to that uncanny silence. Easton clocks the silence as odd immediately, but it takes longer for them to realize it isn't their tinnitus acting up and is instead something more insidious. I actually really liked this interplay and think Kingfisher used Easton's hearing problems in an interesting way with the supernatural.

My main complaint is that I feel like a lot of nothing happens re: spooky for most of the book. Sure, there's rumors in town and the woods are preternaturally quiet, but nothing really happens. Plus, once things do start happening it doesn't feel as enmeshed in the world and the group's surroundings as things did in WMtD. In that book, the atmosphere and scenery and plot were one, you couldn't have that story set anywhere else. In this book, I feel like the story could take place anywhere with any characters, and I missed that singularity of the first book.

Easton talks a lot about Paris in this one. Or, at least they think about it a lot. So much of their energy is about loving Paris and wanting to be back in Paris and oh how used to Paris they've gotten compared to the countryside, and honestly it was a bit much. When they weren't thinking about Paris, however, I enjoyed being back in Easton's head and seeing them try to riddle through everything that was going on. We get to see a bit more of the impact war had on Easton in this book and I liked getting to know more about their background and how those things affected them. I also liked getting to see Easton interact with more people, since in WMtD it's mostly the Ushers, Angus, Ms. Potter, and Denton, of which three of whom were familiar to Easton and another one of whom is absent in most scenes. Here we're introduced to Widow Botezatu and her grandson Bors, as well as Father Sebastian, none of whom were previously known to Easton and so we get to see some new interactions.

Angus is back as his dry, no-nonsense self. His use of folklore once again comes in handy, though even he is somewhat skeptical of this new threat. He is, however, quick to remind Easton of their experiences at the Usher Manor whenever Easton is questioning what's going on. Angus and Ms. Potter get to interact more in this one, and their blossoming feelings have a chance to blossom some more.

Ms. Potter is also back and I adore her just as much as the first time around. I do wish we got to her more of her spiels about mushrooms and fungi, but understandably Easton is more than a little freaked out by such talk and thus it is limited. She is around to brighten the place up though and offer some comfort and advice from someone who knows things in this world aren't always what they seem. Plus, she's fairly unflappable and thus a good one to have around.

I did appreciate that the events of WMtD aren't swept under the rug, though they seem to have happened, at the very least, some months ago (perhaps years? I don't think so, but I'm sketchy on the timeline). The characters were impacted by it, and so it does get mentioned, but it isn't overly harped on, so I think there's a good balance.

Of the new characters, Widow Botezatu is in it the most and she's a likable-unlikable character. She does not like Easton in the slightest, though she adores both her grandson and Ms. Potter. The Widow is the kind of grumpy and gruff that's endearing, even if she never does totally warm to Easton. Against all odds, I do like the Widow and enjoyed her gruffness and eccentricities. I also liked her grandson Bors, who is generally a warmer sort of fellow.

Overall I did enjoy this book, but I missed the overall lingering weirdness of book 1. I would've also liked to have seen the atmosphere, setting, and plot be a bit more intertwined like in WMtD. That being said, I liked the characters and enjoyed seeing how everyone dealt with what was going on. I also did like the new 'monster' the group has to deal with and thought it did fit well with the Eastern European location of Gallacia.

[beautifulblhell]

Something Better To Do

Mafia! Suna x F! Reader

A/N: So this is for @nkogneatho​‘s FMFM collab! Thank you for letting me participate and I’m so sorry for the late posting!! My procrastinating ass couldn’t do it in June and when July came life hit me like truck-kun 😭 Typed this with one brain cell as the heat has melted my rest and not proofread, so if there’s any mistakes please let me know!! (Or just pretend you didn’t see it T_T) Not super proud of this, but lately my creativity has been 📉

Tags: smut, fluff, mafia! Suna but nothing dark, all characters are 18+, protection (be responsible) smut is at the bottom part if you are only interested in the smut lol

WC: 3177

The day had started off so well. Your parents had to leave for an abrupt business meeting abroad and left at the crack of dawn. Usually you would meet up with Suna whenever your parents were away, but he has been away for ‘work’ for the past few weeks.

You knew it was for something important for the Inarizaki gang, and Atsumu had been tasked to go on this trip. But he had an argument with Osamu a few days prior, and with the latter refusing to cook for him, Atsumu gave himself food poisoning when he tried to cook for himself.

So Kita had told Suna to attend instead.

Your finger hovered above the messaging app, wondering if you should text him. The last message he had sent was from a week ago. With a sigh, you decided not to disturb him and closed your phone.

Still, this was the longest you had been without seeing Suna.

As if your daydreams blended into reality, you heard the familiar purr of a motorcycle. At first you thought you were dreaming. However, when you looked down from your bedroom window, you saw Suna coming to a stop below your window, the morning sunlight reflecting off his motorcycle. He lifted off his helmet, and those yellow eyes raised up to meet yours, his lips curved up lazily when he caught sight of you.

He was already standing at your doorway when you opened the front door and flew into his arms.

“Rin!” You cried happily.

His name has hardly left your lips when his mouth descended upon yours. He cupped your face and pulled you towards him, your lips repeatedly met together, making up for lost time. It was only when you felt Suna’s lip against yours did you realise how much you missed him. Your head was spinning when you finally pulled apart. The comforting scent of the cologne he wore and a hint of cigarette enveloped you.

It’s been too long, you thought, looking up at his face.

One of his thumb wiped across your glistening lips.

“Somebody missed me,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming back?”

“Thought I would surprise you.”

“Well, you certainly did.” That’s when you realised.

“How did you know my parents weren’t home?” You asked in surprise. Suna never came to your house unless your parents weren’t home, and you usually told him beforehand.

The image of your parents’ initial shock was still fresh in your mind when you broke the news about you and Suna being together, which morphed into disapproval then anger when you said you won’t break it off with him when they told you.

“But he’s part of Inarizaki, the yakuza!” Your mother had said in horror. She would have been less shocked if you told her Suna smuggled pandas for a living.

It would be easier if you moved out of your house, but Suna knew how much your parents meant to you even if they didn’t approve of your relationship, so you would meet up in town whenever both of you were both free or when your parents were away.

“Hmm,” Suna only hummed as his arms encircled your waist and he nuzzled your hair, but you caught a faint glint in those narrow eyes of his.

With a sigh, Suna relaxed his whole body, and you stumbled at the sudden weight you had to bear.

“R-Rin, you are heavy!”

He leaned into your ears and whispered, “You didn’t  say that last time I had you under me.”

“Rin!”

He sniggered seeing your red face, and stood back upright.

“Get dressed. I don’t want that nosy neighbour of yours to notice that I’m here and tell your parents once they are back.”

“Where are we going?” You asked, pulling your arms back unwillingly.

Sensing your reluctance to let him go, Suna’s lips brushed against your forehead.

“You’ll see.”

“Are we going to your place?” You asked as you wrapped your arms around his waist behind him on the motorcycle.

“Is that what you want?” Suna flashed you a teasing smirk.

You felt heat build up on your cheeks, and you buried your face behind his back.

“I don’t mean that! Just thought we could watch a movie or do something relaxing since you just came back.”

Suna did look a bit tired. And the smell of cigarettes has been stronger than usual. It was a habit of his, he tended to smoke more when he was irritated or stressed.

“If you continue to be so cute I’ll really take you to my place right now.”

“Nope, take me where you wanted to.”

“Later then,” You could hear the laughter in his words.

Then, with a twist of his wrist, the throttle thrusted the machine forward.

It was always exhilarating sitting on the back of Suna’s motorcycle. He drove fast yet with precision. Instead of driving, the term flying would be more accurate to describe what you were feeling. The familiar scenery of the city blew past as Suna expertly maneuvered between the traffic without slowing down. It was only when he started slowing down did you realize where you were going.

It was a few months ago when you made a passing remark of wanting to go to the aquarium when they finished building the underwater tunnel.

It was one of the things you love about Suna. Sometimes you would make a casual remark about a certain place that you were interested in going to, but Suna would always remember and take you there whenever he had the chance.

As you arrived closer, you noticed the long queue extending from the entrance. It didn’t come as a surprise seeing it was the opening weekend, but you were worried about how long you had to wait.

Instead, Suna simply sped past them and came to a stop at the back staff entrance.

A man in a suit and name badge stood next to a door that said ‘STAFF ONLY’. He had an anxious look on his face, which only deepened when he saw Suna.

“Ah, S-Suna-san, I’ve been waiting for your arrival.” He smiled, sweat running down his face. “I’m the manager, very pleased to make your acquaintance.” He bowed deeply, to which Suna only replied with a curt nod after he got off the motorcycle.

“This way, please.” He gestured towards the back of the entrance.

You turned towards Suna as you walked behind the manager.

“He looks so scared of you. What did you do, hold his whole family ransom?” You whispered, your eyebrows raised.

“No, I told him that I would let Atsumu cook for him for a week if he doesn’t let us into the aquarium.”

You choked back a laugh, trying to hide it since the manager turned around to hold the door open for you.

You had just stepped into the aquarium when Suna’s phone rang.

Suna took out his phone. With one look at the name displayed on the phone screen the decline button silenced the noise. Yet within half a second his phone rang again.

“Just ignore it,” Suna muttered, and turned his phone on silent.

As if knowing the calls will be ignored, your phone chimed.

Sender: Atsumu

‘TELL HIM TO PICK UP THE PHONE!!’

Then

‘I KNOW HE IS WITH YOU’

“Shouldn’t you pick up the phone, in case it’s something important?”

With a look of resignation on his face, Suna picked up his phone. Even with the phone next to his ears, you could hear Atsumu’s excited voice on the other end.

Suna’s eyes flickered to you, and from the look of his face, you knew your date was going to end before it even started.

“Fine, but I’m bringing her with me.”

After he hung up his phone, Suna turned to you with a look of exasperation.

“Atsumu. He said it was an emergency.”

“Oh,” you could feel your heart sinking.

“I told him that you are coming with me, so afterwards we can head back here.”

“Can I?” Your eyes lit up. Suna had taken you with him to a few informal gatherings before

“Doubt it’s anything of importance, seeing who was calling,” Suna muttered.

He glanced at the manager. “We’ll be back later.”

“Ah, that’s absolutely fine, sir,” the man bowed, and you can’t help but feel he was relieved to see the back of Suna.

By the time both of you arrived at the private VIP room in one of Inarizaki's nightclubs, all of the top members have already assembled on the sofa in the middle of the room.

Atsumu had greeted you both enthusiastically when you first entered.

And unfortunately for both of you, his enthusiasm didn’t abate one bit. An hour and a half later, you were still sitting at the back of the room, with the prospect of listening to Atsumu’s voice for the rest of the day hanging gloomingly in front of you.

You looked up at your boyfriend on the sofa, the only one sitting facing you. Thin wisps of smoke rose from the cigarette dangling between his lips. He made a non-committal ‘mmh’ whenever Atsumu’s words seemed to be directed at him, but from the look on his face you knew he was hardly listening.

By now, even Osamu was heaving a sigh at Atsumu.

“Samu, what are ya sighin’ for?!”

“Just wonderin’ how that single brain cell of yours could work for so long without overheatin’.”

“Hah?! At least I got one unlike yer-”

“Osamu.” Kita’s quiet voice was enough to bring an end to the twins bickering in an instant. He nodded at Atsumu to continue, and no one dared to say anything seeing that Kita wanted Atsumu to speak.

You stared in boredom at the sudoku puzzle on your screen, wondering if you threw your phone at Atsumu’s head it would solve the puzzle. You finally get to see Suna yet the precious time you had together was ticking away, wasted here.

That’s when the idea entered your head.

You raised your arm slightly, trying to catch Suna’s attention. He glanced at you questionly.

With a teasing smile on your face, you placed a finger on your lips. Then, you ran your finger down, until you came to a stop at the button of your blouse.

Slowly, you opened it.

Suna’s eyes widened and he froze. It was rare to catch him off guard, and you suppressed a giggle. Holding his gaze, the next button fell open. His eyes darkened instantly as he realised what you were doing.

In the dim light of the room, a sharp light has entered Suna’s eyes. He leaned back, his eyes narrow, as if daring you to see how far you could go.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. If any of the men turned slightly, they would be able to see you. But seeing the burning lust swirling in Suna’s eyes, the way his sharp gaze raked down your body, as if stripping you even more bare, it was more than enough to heat you up and fuel you on.

Biting onto the collar of your blouse, you lifted your bra up.

If only you knew what you were doing to Suna. It took everything he could not just to take you there and then.

Every muscle in his body was tense. He took his cigarette and mouthed the word ‘bathroom’.

With a small smile on your face, you left the room.

The moment he walked into the bathroom, his mouth crushed against yours. One of his hands held the back of your head, and his other arm slammed on the partition of the toilet stall near your head, trapping you with nowhere to go. His hips were pushed against yours, and you could feel the hard bulge throbbing against you. The kiss was hard, furious. The taste of cigarette entered your mouth when his tongue slipped inside, exploring your mouth, twisting around yours. By the time he let you up, both of you were gasping, the sound echoed in the empty bathroom.

“What do you think you were doing?” His voice was low.

“Just thought I would give you something better to do,” you grinned at him. You looped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you.

With the partition supporting your back, Suna lifted one of your legs until it rested at the crook of his elbow. His other hand reached down between your skirt and slipped inside your wet folds. The feeling of his long finger sinking inside you so suddenly made you gasp and you tightened around them. His eyes thinned as he felt your wetness coating his hand.

“So wet. Did it excite you that much to flash yourself in front of other men? Do you want to see you like this?” His voice took on that dangerous low tone as he hissed out those words.

You shuddered, temporarily lost in the feeling of his finger reaching so deep within you. It was a good thing you already took your panties off before he arrived, because it would have been torn into shreds otherwise.

“Only you,” you whispered once you got your breath back.

Hearing that, Suna added another finger. He was stretching you hard, finger curling inside you, reaching depths where you couldn’t on nights when he wasn’t by your side.

You pushed yourself against his fingers when his movements turned languid. Suna watched you lazily as you fucked yourself on his fingers, but the heavy desires clouding his eyes betrayed his expression.

“Rin,” you whined. Because you wanted him to fill you up.

His only response was easing his fingers out of you. You whimpered, clenching around nothing.

The sound of a belt being unbuckled never sounded so glorious to your ears. You looked down. Suna’s cock stood erect, precum leaking at the tip. Just seeing the sight of it made you yearn for him.

“Hurry,” you begged.

He ripped the small foil packet with his teeth.

“Don’t think your family is gonna be even more pleased with me if you get pregnant, but is that what you want? Maybe I should just fill you up.” The sound of his low voice made the coil in your abdomen tighten. His fingers traced along your stomach. There have been so many times when he imagined just filling you up, stuffing you full of his seeds until it dribbled out, marking you as his.

But not today.

He hooked his arms underneath your knees and lifted you up easily. Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders and your legs settled around his hips. You lifted your hips up. Suna stroked his cock along your slit, teasing your entrance.

Then in a single stroke, his whole length sank into you. A strangled gasp left your lips.

“S-So big,” you choked out those words.

The stretch burned. His fingers earlier did not prepare you enough for the thick girth that forced its way into your walls, and you struggled to accommodate his huge length that was splitting you open.

Suna cursed under his breath. He rested his forehead against the crook of your neck. The feeling of your wrapped so tightly and deliciously around him made him shudder. He gritted his teeth to suppress the overwhelming urge just to fuck you and ruin you right here.

“Been wanting to do this since I saw you this morning,” Suna groaned.

His mouth ran down your neck, his hot tongue leaving a blazing trail in its wake until he reached your breasts. He sucked on your skin, leaving marks all over. Then, his hot mouth captured your nipple. He rolled it with his tongue, his teeth occasionally grazing it, earning a whimper from you.

Once you got accustomed to his length, you rolled your hips a few times, and seeing the pleasure was greater than the pain, you tried to lift up your body and move on your own seeing he wasn’t moving, but Suna grabbed your hips firmly. “Move,” you begged, close to tears. Suna simply rolled his hips, thrusting shallow thrusts that didn’t satisfy you.

A part of him knew you only wanted his attention, yet another part of him was angry that the other men almost got to see you. A sight that belonged to his eyes only.

“What do you want?” His voice was hoarse. Because he wanted you as much as you wanted him. All those nights he spent alone thinking of you, and here you were finally in his arms.

You looked at him straight in his eyes. “Fuck me, Suna Rintaro.”

The words snapped his last restraint.

Suna pulled all the way out, then slammed your hips back down, hitting the deepest part of you.

You would have screamed if it wasn’t for the fact that all the air was knocked out of your lungs by his sudden movement. Every nerve in your body was on fire. Your fingers digging into his biceps, leaving crescent marks.

The question of how you were going to walk briefly flitted through your mind, but by his next trust, your mind was empty because he had just hit that sweet spot of yours.

‘S-slow down!’

Contrary to your words, your hole was eagerly sucking him back in every time he moved, slick dripping down onto the floor.

His hips snapped to yours repeatedly as he fucked you relentlessly.

It took all you had just to hold yourself up. The pace he set was brutal. Lewd squelching sound and your moans reverberated in the enclosed space. The waves of pleasure crashing through your body threatened to drown you as Suna hit that particular spot that sent your nerves ablaze again and again.

Suna watched the way your eyes glaze over from the pleasure he gave you. The way you looked so perfect taking him all in.

You knew you weren’t going to last long.

“I-I’m coming, Rin,” you managed to say those words in between your moans.

“Then come,” his own voice was strained as he was nearing his own edge, his thrusts losing their rhythm.

It was the sight of you coming undone that led Suna over the edge. The way you arch your back, your walls spasmed around him, clenching so perfectly around him. And the way his name tumbled out of your lips as you came. Suna gripped your hips and with a few particular heavy thrusts, he came with a shudder.

For a few moments neither of you said anything. You were trembling from the high that you’ve just descended from, your heart racing in a furious double time.

Suna’s lips gently brushed against your forehead.

“You okay?” He murmured.

You nodded weakly. “Give me a minute.”

Suna nodded, his lips left light kisses across your collarbones.

Except…

“Wait, Rin, what are your hands doing?!”

Suna looked up at you with a smirk. “Time for round two.”

Masterlist | Ko-Fi | 2021.07.21

[dateamonster]

hello tumblr user dateamonster!! do you have any recommendations for good zombie media? my gf rlly likes zombies but has burned through a lot of the good stuff to be easily found. movies shows anime games etc, anything goes. ty!

oof good question but one im not sure im totally qualified to answer since most of the zombie media i consume is on the campier, sillier side.

i do have some somewhat more Serious zombos i enjoy tho!

the girl with all the gifts is one of my alltime favs (and ive heard the book is good too tho i havent read it) it hits a lot of the beats zombie fans will probably already be familiar with but the main character being a sort of half-zombie (makes more sense in context trust me) as well as a child born into this apocalyptic setting creates a totally new perspective and to me is one of the strongest most thoughtful pieces of work to come out of this sorta subgenre in a long time

the resident evil game series is probably a given. on the off chance she hasnt played it or watched a playthrough, that shits mandatory.

z-nation i think kinda tippytoes the line between stuff fans of, for example, the walking dead will recognize and enjoy in terms of ya know a story focusing more on the interpersonal drama of a group of survivors living through an ongoing apocalypse, and the sillier doesnt-take-itself-too-seriously stuff i personally enjoy, like the ongoing bit where theres just a big ball of entangled zombies rolling across the scenery. its the delicious junk food of tv zombies (though granted ive only watched i think the first few seasons when it was playing nonstop on syfy)

and if you want to join me in enjoying only thee most quality campy schlock..

zombieland saga! literally one of my favorite anime ever! i consider it in this sort of less serious category because the concept of undead idol girls is obviously pretty ridiculous on paper and not gonna be everyones thing, but if the premise even remotely intrigues you, please give it a shot. the story is fun, the characters are loveable and surprisingly complex beneath the typical moe girl archtype exteriors, the humor is on point but doesnt undermine the actually pretty effective emotional moments, and the music fucks! we stan!

z-o-m-b-i-e-s is like c-tier early 2000s dcom realness with a 2018 budget, better choreography, worse songs, questionable moral messaging, all reeking with a dangerous level of green hair dye and party city greasepaint fumes. ive watched it like four times. i cant totally explain it but its got like nostalgic high school musical vibes except more paranormal and much much sillier. dares to ask the question: can cheerleading end all prejudice and bring about world peace? (the answer is yes but theyll be repeating that question for three movies)

zombie prom. very similar to the above in general vibe except the music is honestly kind of good? theres a stage play and a movie which is more or less just a slightly shortened version. in a lot of ways it honestly feels like the fully realized version of z-o-m-b-i-e-s. if you watch the movie ru paul is there, whether thats an incentive or disincentive.

and to wrap it up another game you probably already know about, lollipop chainsaw. yes its problematic but i am honoring my past teenage self who averted their gaze when they walked by it on the shelves in gamestop by saying tara strong sexy cheerleader zombie slayer game is fun and good.

anyway all this to say my taste is very questionable when it comes to this subgenre but i hope u get something out of it. a lot of zombie stories kinda flop for me because the horror element gets watered down into this more actiony survive the zombo apocalypse type thing but the concept of zombies is definitely something that interests me despite this and there are definitely some good pieces of zombie media out there.

oh! and i havent read it yet, but ive heard really promising things about the book manhunt by gretchen felker-martin. not explicitly a zombie story i dont think but draws from the same place for sure. would be worth checking out i think.

[heliads]

Second Best

Based on this request: “a Zoya Nazyalensky story where she and the reader are friends and one night they get into a fight and Zoya confesses her love?”

masterlist

The task before you is simple. All you have to do is use your abilities as a Grisha Squaller to pick up the metal spear before you and launch it across a clearing into the awaiting target. It’s almost offensively easy, something you’ve been training to do since you arrived at the Little Palace all those years ago. It’s very simple, although the fact that you’re now next in line to complete the task makes it seem strangely harder.

However, the eyes of the rest of the Squallers are upon you, so you can’t exactly back down now. You step forward, lifting your hands in the traditional gestures used by the Etherealki whenever they have it in their minds to do something particularly interesting, and the spear lifts before you. You let it hover there, suspended in the air for a second, and then you fling your hands forward, palms facing the target. The spear flies in unison with your movement, burying itself halfway through its length in the target. It’s almost a perfect shot, maybe off by a hair’s breadth. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

You can hear applause from behind you, the usual aura of surprise that comes with the feat you’ve just accomplished. With a casual gesture of your fingers, the spear yanks itself out of the target, with only a few sparse pieces of straw falling to the ground as any sort of damage. Well, that and the gaping hole in the center of the target, although that is quickly mended by the Fabrikator kept on hand. You can’t help but grin to yourself as the spear returns to your hand. Let’s see anyone else match that.

You may have spoken a little too soon- seconds after you’ve returned the spear to its awaiting position near the front of the courtyard, it’s hurled again through the air, shooting with the precision of an arrow to land in the direct center of the target. You thought it might be impossible to improve upon the slight difference in your shot, but this latest Squaller has managed it with ease.

Normally, any other blue-garbed Etherealki would be looking around in horror and dismay, upset as to what would cost them the first place spot in the class and curious as to who could land a perfect shot such as that. You, however, are somewhat used to this now, and just keep walking with a grin. You can hear footsteps approaching behind you, and don’t even have to turn around to acknowledge the girl now matching your strides.

“Nice one, Zoya.” The girl beside you smirks. “I should hope so. If I so much as missed the center by a hair, you wouldn’t let me forget it for a week.” You laugh. “Of course not. How could I let go of the chance to not tease Zoya’Best In Class’ Nazyalensky? It would practically be  a crime.” Zoya nods, pretending to be serious. “Absolutely. The Saints might invoke their wrath upon you if you didn’t act upon such an opportunity.” You fling your hand over your heart dramatically. “Here lies Y/N L/N, dead after the Saints wanted to see her make fun of her friend and she let them down.”

Zoya snorts graciously as you pretend to faint on her, shoving your mock limp body aside. “Oh, you consider us friends?” You catch yourself easily, rolling your eyes. “Zoya dear, I know it would bring you no greater pleasure in the world to consider yourself a lone wolf, forever at the front of the pack, but I thought you’d realized by now that you simply can’t get rid of me. We’re friends.” 

You can hear Zoya grumbling, but when you glance over at her, there’s an ill-concealed smile dancing behind her eyes. “That’s an interesting way to convince people to like you, annoy them and make sure you don’t ever leave you alone.” You raise an eyebrow at her. “And did it work, yes or no?” Zoya huffs. “It did, but we’re not talking about that.” You grin. “Of course we’re not.”

You pause by the halls of the Little Palace, ready to part ways as usual. Although the Etherealki and Squallers specifically all have their quarters around the same area, Zoya’s rooms are a ways away from your own. This is typically where you split up, where you go your way and Zoya returns to her own devices, where she’ll most likely plot how to take control of the next lesson and prove herself the best of the students yet again.

However, Zoya shakes her head, continuing to walk next to you. “There are too many people waiting by my doors. I’m staying in yours instead, if that’s alright.” You nod, unable to keep a teasing grin from your face. “Of course it’s alright. It must be so hard, having to deal with suitors and fans so often. I imagine it to be simply exhausting.” You’re expecting Zoya’s vexed scowl and smack on the arm, so you’re able to duck out of the range of both.

This is how it is to be close friends with Zoya Nazyalensky, after all. You laugh with her, develop a thick enough skin to stand the constant scathing remarks that must of course be exchanged, and do your best to keep up with the neverending flow of power and possibility that always seems to come her way. That’s how it has always been, and how it will always be.

It’s not that you mind this, of course. You learned early on that no matter how hard you try, she’s always going to come in first in the class competitions and Grisha displays of strength. Being second out of so many Etherealki is pretty damn good for you, and you can tell that there’s a slight sigh of relief in Zoya’s eyes when you never seem to mind her showing off or ruining what might have been a first place finish for you. Hey- you never came to the Little Palace to always be the best, you came to learn and laugh, and you do that with Zoya. You would never trade what you have with her for fierce competition, even if it meant that you’d start besting her in contests.

This isn’t to say that you wouldn’t change slight aspects of your friendship, of course. For some reason, your heart decided to join the scores of other Grisha and even otkazat’sya that were foolish enough to fall in love with Zoya, and you’re just as hopeless as the rest. It’s just the way that she laughs when she wins, the glimmer of competition and spirit in everything she does, the undeniable thrill in your chest whenever you spot the familiar blue-clad silhouette heading briskly your way. No, you don’t think there was ever a way that you wouldn’t fall under her spell, even if you tried your hardest to fight it.

You could have told her you loved her, you think. You could have mentioned it to Zoya at any point, but you don’t. You’ve seen the way she watches potential friends for their weaknesses, having to always second-guess why they’re talking to her. Is this latest Corporalki approaching her because he truly wants to be her friend, or is it because he instead desires the secrets of her skill in Grisha abilities or as another girl in his bed? For anyone else, you think the constant doubts would drive someone mad, but it doesn’t for Zoya. She’s able to tuck it inside herself, bury it until you wouldn’t even know it was there at all.

She told you once, when the night was dark and long and Zoya couldn’t stop herself from having slightly too much kvas after a hard mission, that she sometimes terrifies herself over the fact that she might always be alone. You can still picture her there, curled up in a chair by your fire, the haunted look in her eyes. You know something happened before she came to the Little Palace, something that made her never trust another soul unless they worked to prove it, but it’s hovering in the back of her mind right now.

So, you nodded at her, and gave her another one of your sapphire blankets to help the way that she won’t stop shivering, and you listen. When Zoya looks up at you again, as if expecting to leave like the others or at least shoo her from your rooms, you simply offer for her to stay the night and not have to go back to her empty quarters. You think that was the moment when she finally accepted that you weren’t going away, when she really started to trust you.

This is precisely why you cannot say a word about how you feel- if Zoya finds out, she’ll begin to wonder if your entire friendship was just borne of a lie, the same as any of the other heartstruck Etherealki who think themselves brave enough to tame Zoya. So, you make sure to direct your lingering glances towards the woods and the scenery around you instead of her, and you force a joking smile instead of a soft look. She would know what you meant if you didn’t hide your heart, so you must do your best to deceive her. 

You’ve arrived in your rooms by now, tossing your outer coats to the side and warming your hands by the fire in the corner. You talk for a while about the class and the other students and the way Marie won’t stop staring at Sergei, a Corpoalki who she most certainly should not be associated with. Zoya stays until the candles burn low, and then she says goodbye with a smile. You return her smile. You always do.

You have a most interesting conversation over the next week. It’s not with Zoya, as it turns out, but General Kirigan. Truth be told, you weren’t expecting it at all. He’d caught you unawares in the library one night, while you were studying the particulars of the making at the heart of the world for a class lecture the next day. He hadn’t been there one second yet appeared the next, looming over your book with a shadow that seemed too tall and menacing to be real.

You had looked up in surprise, but he held up a hand, quelling any doubts that you’d accidentally done something wrong. He spoke to you about a regiment of Grisha in one of the backwater towns, some part of the Second Army that was asking for far too many supplies in exchange for the lackluster job they were doing to protect the potential Grisha in the city. For some reason, he asked your opinion of what to do about them, and you gave it. He thanked you with a smile, then left.

This happened twice more. All three times, he showed up, talked with you for a little bit, and asked a question on what you thought of a particular issue. Sometimes, it was still with the Second Army, and sometimes it was with the opportunities presented to the Grisha at the Little Palace itself. He seemed intrigued to hear what classes were like, saying how he had heard you were one of the best Squallers there were. You had smiled at that, and his eyes had glinted like a hound about to take down his prey.

That was the third visit, the most recent visit. You’re walking back to your quarters now, unable to keep a slight grin from your face. This is it, isn’t it? This is how you make your way from the classrooms of the Little Palace to the battlefield, to a real chance to do something different. When you open your doors, Zoya is propped up in an armchair inside, although this does not surprise you. You’ve long since given her free reign of all that is yours.

She looks up at you, a question already bubbling up in her inquisitive glance. “What’s got you so excited?” She’s never been able to miss a detail, has she? You can’t seem to tuck your smile away. “I’ve been speaking to General Kirigan, three times now. I think he might be on the verge of offering me a job in the Second Army.” You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting from Zoya- an expression of surprise, maybe some congratulatory words. Whatever you thought might happen, you were certainly not expecting her to stand up, face twisted in something that looked almost like fear and anger.

“You can’t do that. You should avoid him as much as possible.” Your feet stall from where you’d been crossing the room to her. “What are you talking about?” Zoya shakes her head, almost manic. “You should stay away from him. What did he tell you?” This, coming from your closest friend when you’d been so excited, is enough to make your happiness start to leach from you, replaced by a cold bewilderment and betrayal. “What does it matter? Zoya, this could be my future.”

Zoya seems unwilling to hear you out. “Tell me what he said, Y/N. You can’t trust a word he says.” You scoff. “I’m not a fool, Zoya. I know what he said, and none of it was a trick. He spoke to me like a friend, and last time he talked to me about potential openings within the Grisha ranks. I could have a position. Isn’t that excellent?” Zoya shakes her head once more. “It’s a trick. He won’t give you anything. Don’t tell me you’re actually going to believe what he says?”

You draw back from her now, all traces of excitement gone from you. “Why are you saying this? Maybe I don’t know if he truly means it or not, but you don’t know anything about this. Saints, I thought you might actually be happy for me.” Zoya almost winces at that. “I’m not- I would be happy for you if I thought this was something real, Y/N, but it’s not. Nothing is with him.” You can feel yourself rising up in anger. “Oh, and you would know about that, wouldn’t you? From all of the time you spent with him? Are you truly doubtful, Zoya, or do you just not want me to be involved with him because you don’t want me to have anything that you hadn’t had first?”

The words are coming out faster now, one after the other. Truth be told, it’s almost good to hear them aloud after so long keeping them inside. “I never had a problem with you being first in class, first in everything. I never will, but I assumed that you would extend that same courtesy to me. Why is it that we’re friends in everything, but the second I seem to get some sort of headway, you have to prove it wrong? Can’t I have anything that isn’t yours already?”

Zoya draws back as if you’ve slapped her. “That’s not how I feel. I’m just trying to keep you safe.” You want to laugh. “This is how you keep me safe? By taking everything away from me until I’m only in your shadow and nowhere else?” Zoya flings her hands in the air. “If it means he doesn’t get his hooks in you, yes! I would rather have you stay here forever than lose you.” You look at her, unbelieving. “And why is that? Because we’re such good friends that you’d trade my future for my complacency?”

Zoya’s voice is soft now, barely there at all. “Because I cannot stand to lose you. Because I love you, Saints damn it, and I’d rather have you hate me than never have you at all.” You stand there for a second, then another, then another. Your breath is sharp and harsh in your chest, but you cannot seem to say a single word. You try for a few, anyway. “You love me?” She nods once. “Yes.”

You do laugh now, incredulous. “Why didn’t you say so, you idiot? I love you too.” She looks almost surprised. “I thought- I thought you just wanted to be friends.” You shrug. All of your anger is receding away from you now, washing back into the banks after a flood. “I did, because I thought that’s all you wanted. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was only your friend because I had feelings for you.” Zoya stands there for a moment, then something almost like a sigh comes from her and she steps forward, wrapping her arms around you. “You generous, impossible fool. I can’t stand you.” You laugh, returning her embrace. “Of course not. You love me.”

requested by @villnella​

grishaverse tag list: someone who would be my squaller bestie @underc0vercryptid​, @darlinggbrekker, @cameronsails​, @aleksanderwh0r3​

[overlyimmersed]

Nightmares and Daydreams

A Gravity Falls AU.

Hi @verysorrytobother​ Stanticore anon, revealing my true identity to share this with you! I wasn’t sure how a post this long would go over as an ask, so I decided to do it this way. I hope this is ok.

I’ve been working on this for a while and I hope it goes over well enough. The artwork took me the most time.

As a car crash victim is slowly dying, her mental self panics in the mindscape. She's offered a deal to save her life. Let the game begin.

(Content warnings: Blood. Descriptions of serious injuries.)

"What..." she whispered to herself, staring at the other in disbelief.

"Yep!" he confirms, in a high-pitched, grating, inappropriately upbeat tone, "Dead as a doornail, kid!- Well technically you still have a few more seconds till you brain totally ceases to function. Better make up your mind while you still have one!"

She's still staring dumbly at him. How can he be this nonchalant about it?! A half second ago she was sitting in the front seat of the family truck, a totally routine trip to the store- she never liked trucks but her dad's a carpenter so they need the hauling space. At least it's a pretty shade of blue- and the next she's here, laying face down in a black void with this prick this- this...All Seeing Eye? He's like the Illuminati symbol, but with arms and legs and a top hat. Caution sign yellow and talking to her- or at her. Bill. Freaking. Cipher. Every time he 'speaks' he flashes with light- no mouth so does it really count as speaking? More like his voice is being projected right into her mind- ... And he's telling her that she freakin died! Can't he see how messed up this is?! Can't he sympathize at all!? Then again, it's Bill. She ought to know better.

She ought to know better. She's seen this show a hundred times, she knows nothing good comes from dealing with Cipher. But she doesn't have time to be careful, she doesn't have the luxury of weighing options.

"Tick-tock, Car Wreck!" The obnoxious voice insists again, forcing her out of her stupor, his outstretched hand now alight with blue fire.

Her face scrunches up in a loud cringe, eyes screwed shut and teeth bared, and she swings her hand till it lands solidly in his. Crazed cackling resounds as the deal is struck, but it falls to simple soundtrack as her senses try to sort out what's going on.

She'd expected the blue fire to burn, or at least feel like something, but it didn't. Instead her entire being is flung into a...whirl? Free fall? Something that makes her stomach jump into her throat, and gives her vertigo.

The sensation stops suddenly, only to be replaced by a cacophony of new perceptions. She isn't sure which strikes her first, the sounds or the smell. Shrieks of agony and terror make up the next track of this bizarre playlist, punctuated by the reek of burnt hair. When her eyes fly open to try and make sense of it all, they have no luck. The sight that meets her is a sky of surreal, swirling, bastardized ribbons of every hue, like being inside a filthy bubble. Floating strewn about the space are pockmarked asteroids, and little else.

"So what'd ya think?" The grating voice rejoins the discord, drawing her shell-shocked gaze. "Home-sweet-home, huh? Well don't worry, you won't be here for very long. A deal's a deal, Car Wreck." With that que, and a snap of his fingers, she's falling again. This time untethered and unaccompanied. It takes her a moment to realize the scream ripping though the void is coming from her own throat. Once it hits her, so does something else, and the world goes black.

She wakes some time later, maybe moments maybe days. She has no way of knowing. She pushes herself onto her hands and knees, groggy and disoriented. It takes her a moment to notice the texture under her hands and focus her vision on it. It's grass. She sits up and looks around. "oh..." she says to herself, taking in the scenery. It's lovely, a grassy, sun soaked field. The sky made of churning colors like the last place she'd been, but they're pastel and much prettier. A warm breeze brushes past her face and she takes a deep breath of it, it smells sweet and warm, heavy with the scent of growing things, and for the first time since this started she finds some peace. Peace which is quickly shattered by a familiar, grating voice.

She jumps and whirls around so quick she falls onto her butt. There, floating just inches from where her head had been, is Bill. Laughing at her of course.

"Whoops! Didn't mean to scare you there, Car Wreck!" he claims, moving through the air to look around, then turning back around to look at her. "So how do you like the new digs?"

There's a beat of silence where she just stares at him again, but quickly she shakes off the shock and tries to respond. "Uh...It's nice." She lets her eyes roam around for a second, before returning to Bill, "Where are we?"

"This is the Realm of Daydreams! Your new HQ!" he answers, floating around behind her and making a grand gesture with his arms.

She turns her head to follow him, "Daydreams? HQ?"

"Yep! This is where you'll hang out when you're not puppeting your little pawns." He turns around to look at the scenery more himself. "Kinda dull if you ask me. Maybe you can do something about that!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh you know, some pillars of anguish, an alter of unholy fire, maybe a blood fountain or a couple of-" he gestures with each suggestion, like a landscaper creating a vision, until she cuts him off.

"No I mean," she finally pushes herself to a stand, teetering a little till she finds her balance. "Pawns?"

He turns back to her, "Oh yeah, which ones do you want anyway?" he waits a beat for an answer, but she just stares back at him, clearly not following. "Ugh, our deal?"

He hadn't really told her what the deal was, just mentioned a game and a second chance. "Uhh, I don't think you-"

"Oh right, you flesh bags need everything explained to you." he groans, rolling his eye, "Alright, here's the deal. We're gonna play a little game," he holds out his hand and a little hologram like projection appears showing an aerial view of a town. "and the people of this hick town are gonna be the pieces." ten little blue stick figures appear in the center of town, each with a little symbol above it's head. "If you win, you rejoin the land of the living!" a little magenta stick figure pops into existence next to the others and they all do a little happy dance. "If I win..." suddenly the whole projection goes up in flames, and she jerks her head back instinctively, "You burn with rest of those worthless mortals!" He bursts into a fit of maniacal laughter, which actually gives her some times to recover.

After a second of shocked staring, she blinks a few times then puts on as neutral an expression as she can. "Ok. So what are the rules?"

"Simple!" he answers, cutting off his laughter "We can't directly manipulate each other's pawns, and we can't interfere with the other's powers."

"That's it?"

"Yep. Everything else is fair game"

"Ok...What are my powers?"

"Same as mine! Except you don't have to wait till someone falls asleep to get in their head."

"I see..." her eyes wander to the ground as she contemplates the information, and her hand reaches for the longest of her three necklaces to idly play with the spiked pendant. "So you can talk to them in dreams, and I can talk to them in daydreams."

"Bingo!"

She scrunches her nose a little, thinking of a few ways that could end up being annoying. "Alright, anything else I need to know?"

"Hmm, nope! That just about covers it. All that's left is to pick our pawns, I'll even let you go first!" And with that ten, glowing, blue symbols appear between them. She looks them over carefully, she knows who each symbol corresponds to- supposing the cartoon from her world is accurate. She considers the six-fingered hand, if she takes him out of Bill's control from the start that derails his whole plan as she knows it. But, then she'll have no clue what's up to at all, at least by letting Bill have the pawns she's familiar with she has a chance at guessing his moves. She reaches forward and touches the shooting star, it turns magenta and floats to hover closer to her.

"Interesting." Bill comments, though his tone doesn't sound very interested, as he makes a simple motion with his eye and the six-fingered hand settles beside him. She chooses the fish looking symbol next, and Bill's second choice in the pine tree. They go back and forth till they have five symbols each, Bill having the the six-fingered hand, the pine tree, the llama, the stitched heart, and the pentagram. While she has the shooting star, the fish, the bag of ice, the spectacles, and the question mark.

"Welp, that settles that. Nice picks you made there, lets hope they work out for ya, Car Wreck"

"Could you not call me that?" though it hardly sounds like a request.

"And what else should I call you?" Bill asks, collecting his symbols into one hand and placing the other on his...hip?

"How about my name? It's Maranwe."

"But Car Wreck fits you so much better! Just take a look!" he quips, snapping a full-length mirror into existence. Maranwe turns to look and gasps in horror. Bill breaks out into more cackling, "Well my work here is done! I'll let you get cleaned up, see ya around Car Wreck!" And with that he fades from existence.

Maranwe just stares, even as Bill disappears from 'her' realm, she can only stare at her destroyed refection. Her hair is messy- and she almost laughs that that's what her brain zeros in on first-, It's also dirty, some of the mess is actual dirt but several spots are matted with half-dry blood. Her face is in a similar condition, smeared with dirt and blood but she can see the wounds there. Scrapes and still oozing cuts, bruises forming on one cheek bone and under her eyes. Her nose isn't quite right...broken probably. Her vision skims over her whole body for a second, making note of similar injuries where tears in her clothes reveal them. It's not as bad as she would expect a car crash victim to look- "except for that" Her mind screams suddenly while all her mouth can do is gasp, as her attention lands dizzyingly on her neck. It's...purple, but also red? There's no spilled blood but it still looks ugly, and the worst part is the...bump. It's not hard to figure out that it's a misaligned bone. Without the pain to tell her she never would have noticed, her neck is broken. Very broken. How is she holding her head up right... Probably because this isn't actually a physical body. She wonders if this is what killed her, or if there's something inside, something she can't see, that did the trick.

Whatever it is, she can't be seen like this. And she really really doesn't want to look like this for her own sake. Bill said she could 'clean herself up'? How exactly... She thinks about how Bill's powers tend to work and tries to concentrate on a cleaner, less beat up mental image of herself. She lifts her hand to her cheek and grazes her finger tips across it, a trail of sparkles follow the touch and the skin underneath returns to normal. She relaxes a little, watching the disaster wipe off her face like cheap make-up. She keeps the image in her mind and closes her eyes, cupping her hands in front of herself and imagining the sparkles pooling in them. Then she splashes the sparkles over he face, like a girl in a face wash commercial, and imagines the glittering dust washing over her entire body, cleaning away the mess and injuries. And when she opens her eyes, that's exactly what's happened. Her reflection shows her whole and unwounded, even her clothes are fixed.

The next thing she does is smooth her hair down, mostly an instinct since it's still messy, and the sparkles trail after her hands, tidying the strands as if she'd just brushed them. She watches her reflection's mouth quirk up a little in a small smirk. So she can just change what she looks like by imagining it? That figures, this is a place of daydreams that's kind of how they work. She knows exactly what to do with this, she's known since she was a kid what she's change if she could. She places the backs of her hands next to her ears and flicks up, sparkles spray up with the motion and her normal human ears, turn to wolf ears the fur the same chocolate brown as her hair. Her smirk blooms into a full blown smile, and she tilts her head to get a better look at them, watching them move as she tests them. It's like they're real! Next is the tail of course, it's mostly brown, with some silver down the top and a black tip. Then she looks down, and taps the toe of each of her shoes against the ground in turn, as she does they become the compressed paws of her own design.

"That's insane..." she laughs to herself. She's actually turning herself into something else, her own made up alien species. And she just can! With the big changes out of the way she works out the details; pupil shape, fang length, and straightens out a few asymmetries and insecurities she's always had about her body- after all why not? When she's done, she can't help admiring herself a little, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, her perfect image of herself. Well- almost perfect. She snaps her fingers and in the same dusting of glitter, her shirt changes. What was before a loose grey t-shirt with the word "nope" written across it in cursive, as been replaced by a cropped sweater, banded in 3 colors; white at the top, then light blue, then dark blue. She lifts it to look at the crop top under neither, it's just plain white. She decides she doesn't like it that way, so it changes to a cropped version of the t-shirt she'd had before. With that taken care of she lifts her arm so the over-sized sleeve falls down and she can see her forearm, which is covered by a light blue arm warmer with white lace around the edges. Perfect. At least for now. She can change later if she decides she doesn't like the arm warmers.

She giggles to herself, invigorated by the makeover and the sense of control she has now. She turns from the mirror and skips a few feet across the grass, the symbols she'd chosen follow her, floating loosely like beads suspended in gel. She laughs a little as she watches them, and idly reaches for her necklace again, but this time her hand just meets the soft knit of her sweater. She'd forgotten to add them into this new look, so she just wills them into place; three different necklaces of three different lengths. Her hand finds the middle length first, the pendant is designed to spin so she plays with it while her mind starts to wander. She starts thinking of plans for winning this game, what she might say to each other 'pawns' and who to use where and how, even letter her thoughts wonder about the new life she'll have. Cipher's hologram suggested she'll stay in Gravity Falls, which would be cool but what about-

The sound of screeching tires and twisting metal cuts her thoughts off clean and she whips around to find the source of the noise, but her fear turns to confusion when she sees...nothing. She stands stock still, her mind running over only vague impressions of thoughts relating to what she just heard, until another loud sound whips her back around. This time she actually sees something, like a huge firework in the pastel oil-slick sky, accompanied by Bill's obnoxious voice echoing through the space.

"Let the game begin!"

[moonlightdreamzz]

Cozy — Jeon Jungkook

A glimpse into you and Jungkook’s love.

Request: Hi! I saw your writing and I enjoyed reading your works. I saw that you needed some request so here I am. I was wondering if you could write an imagine with BTS’s Jungkook where he comes home to the reader online shopping or something, and it’s a very touchy, lusty, feel. But lots of soft and subtle gestures towards one another. Sorry if it’s a bit much, it took me a lot to request 😬 but thank you for hearing me out! 🤗

Jungkook doesn’t understand why he gets like this doing something he does everyday. I mean, with all of his other daily routines he didn’t get nervous. Singing, dancing, speaking infront of others; these were all things that he just couldn’t get nervous about doing even if he tried.

But right now he’s standing infront of the door to his own apartment, and he finds himself taking deep breaths. His hand is on the keypad, but they’re not moving to type the code in.

“You’ve been dating this girl for almost two years now.” He chuckles to himself, knowing this was ridiculous. “She’s your girlfriend, and you see her practically everyday. Go inside.”

And as always, he listens to himself. He puts the code into his keypad, and steps in quickly. His shoes slip off his feet with ease as all he had to do today was re-record some things for the new album; no dancing.

Before he creeps around the corner, where he knows he’ll find you either asleep on the couch, or scrolling through your phone as you wait for him to come and kiss you all over, he always likes to listen. Sometimes you’ll hum, and it has to be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. You always say you can’t sing, but he’s listened in to your little concerts too many times to count, and knows it’s the opposite.

Sometimes, you’ll even be watching tv. He has a little guessing game he plays with himself to see if he can guess what you’re viewing, and he has to admit, he’s getting better at it. His favorite though was to hear you laugh. You always kept him up to date with twitter slang, and what was considered funny between his fans and such, but when he would hear you burst into a fit of chuckles and heavy sighs; it was music to his ears.

The house is silent right now, but not so silent that he can assume that you’re deep in slumber. He’s trying his best to keep the wood floor from making too much noise, as if the alarm didn’t already inform you someone was in your home.

He finally makes it around the corner, where he finds you. His heart always increases in speed whenever you grace him with your presence, and right now is no different. Your laptop is secured onto your legs, and he can see just how concentrated you are based off how your eyebrows are making you look like an upset child.

“Hi.”

Immediately your head snaps up, and the smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know. You missed him too. You still loved him even after a couple hours of space. Your hair was still wrapped up in the scarf he gifted your for your birthday. Funny enough, it’s red and yellow undertones were complementing his white walls very nicely. This whole scenery was so beautiful to him.

“Hi baby. You look tired.” You accuse with a raised eyebrow. You hated to see him like this; a weak walk dragging across his floors, and the color tainted from his cheeks. “Have you eaten today?”

“Just had dinner with Yoongi.”

There’s a silence, featuring the two of you making eye contact. You’re looking him up and down, trying to find the lie within his words, but based on the slight swelling in his fingers you know he’s being honest.

“Are you full? I can cook you something.” You offer, standing up promptly, but Jungkook steps towards you, gently setting you back down where you were sitting.

“Have a seat.” He smiles. It’s at this moment where he realizes he hasn’t kissed you since yesterday. He also realizes that you know exactly what he’s thinking, so he seizes his opportunity.

The kiss is loving, but also filled with the kind of lust that only the two of you could have. You both agreed a long time ago that your lips were made for eachother, but even so, you always giggled when your lips pressed together. It was always magic.

He has one knee on the couch as he hovers over you, hands moving up your neck, to the side of your cheeks, and then to your ears as he allows this to calm him down. Even your breathing is in synch as the two of you just enjoy this moment.

Just when Jungkook was starting to feel his heartbeat increase to a deadly pace, and his blood rush to his face, and all the other familiar places, you break the kiss. He can’t help but to follow your plump lips, pressing another peck before resting his forehead on yours.

“What?” He questions, still hovering on top of your body that was now laid on the sofa.

“No can do tonight sir.” You sigh in disappointment, hands finding themselves rubbing circles into his fat cheeks.

“No.” He wines, and not because he needs it so bad. He just hated when you had to be bothered with such a demon. “The red sea?”

“The red sea, baby.” You confirm, and now the two of you are laughing. Once again, the kisses start, except, this time they’re much more sweet and slow. With his lips he’s telling a million stories. He’s telling you that this morning, he was really upset that you weren’t awake as he couldn’t properly embrace you. He’s telling you that while he was singing songs of heartbreak in the studio, he found it hilarious because that would never be the two of you. He’s confessing that he missed you so much, and this taste, and this feeling.

His lips move to your neck, and his hands are rubbing all over your comfort zones such as your legs, and your shoulders, and your back. He then stops his actions, looking right into your eyes. He loves doing this. He can always see how nervous you get. Your pupils start to twitch, as you’re trying your best to be a big girl and handle all the love that rests in his eyes, but at the same time wanting to look away because it’s too much.

“How did I get so lucky?” He questions, kissing you once more. Your scent is so distinct. Castor oil and black girl magic, as you would describe it.

“I think you must have been an important man in your past life.”

“Like Malcolm X?”

And now you’re screeching; that laugh that can make any man fall to his knees in an instant. It’s shaking every part of his body, and he loves you. Your little snorts are the icing on the cake; a recipe for his red cheeks.

“You’re funny.” Is all you can manage as you finally calm down.

“And you’re beautiful.” Jungkook finally stands up, placing his hand infront of you to grab. “You ate, right?”

You grab his hand that was calling out to you, standing up with a slight hiss. “Had a little soup. You know I can’t eat much when I’m bleeding to death.”

“You sure you don’t want anything else? Ice pack?”

“Just you.” Your smile is dazzling, even when your eyes seem a little weary. He doesn’t know if you’re worried about him, your day wasn’t the best, or both, but he knows he can turn it all around.

Setting the alarm, and turning off all the lights to the rooms you walked passed, he leads you to your shared bedroom. As always, the bed is exactly how you two left it in the morning. You both agreed that making a bed was pointless when you were just going to get back in it.

Jungkook pushes you forward, making you fall gently on the mattress. He then begins to remove his clothing one by one, followed by whistles coming from you.

“Oh how I wish I wasn’t about to throw up.” You call, now resting on your elbow in a seductive manner. You’re already in your pajamas, which consisted of nothing but a tank top. You’re comfortable, and he always loves to see you like this.

“You can still enjoy the show.” He winks, before stepping into the bathroom.

“You don’t have to take a shower, you know.” You offer, rubbing his spot in repeated circles. “You didn’t even do anything today.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because your hair isn’t dripping all over your floor from sweat.”

“Our floor.” He corrects.

“Our floor.” You smile. “I just want to Netflix and chill with you, baby.”

“You mean just Netflix?”

“Shut up.” You chuckle.

Of course, he takes your advice. He switches his boxers, and leaves it at that as he jumps on his high set bed. You always have Netflix ready; the horror section waiting to be surfed.

“Your scarf.” He whispers, using his hands to pull it down so your edges would be protected. He presses a light kiss to the cloth, before allowing you to nuzzle into his large arms. Your hand immediately finds the wrist that holds his tatted sleeve, and it’s caressing it ever so gently. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I get really nervous before I come home.” He confesses, not really knowing why. It just comes out.

You mute the tv, looking up at him now. “Why?”

“You just...make me nervous as hell. Never in a million years did I think I’d find you.”

“Am I that great?” You question, tilting your head as best you could. “All I do is eat your food.”

“And you also support me in everything I do. You’re always there and you always know what to say. You always can make my days better. You’re the greatest gift.”

“You’re being really nice to me today.” You’re squinting at him, clearly suspicious. “What did you do?”

“Absolutely nothing.” He assures with a laugh.

“Yeah yeah.” You brush, but he knows you’re enjoying every bit of this. This extra love he’s giving you right now.

His body is always warm, clothed or not, and the feeling of your skin on his is too good. Too pleasant. You had been so excited to watch a good movie and fall asleep, but neither of you had picked up the remote. Your hands were just playing with eachother’s, observing the way you fit together so perfectly.

“How are the boys?”

“They’re good, I hope. It’s kind of funny, but we’ve been spending so much time together getting ready for the comeback, as soon as we’re free we run away from eachother.

“Are you excited?” You ask.

“Yeah...yeah.”

You notice the hesitation in his answer. “Why the pause?”

“I’m always excited to see the fans and stuff, but I’m never going to be happy about having to leave you. It sucks.”

You slide up his body just a tad, kissing him gently before allowing yourself to be the big spoon. Your hands find themselves entangled in his locs, and you can hear the way his breathing is calming down just from the motions.

“I know, baby. I know.” You assure. “But you love it. I promise I’ll be here when you come back. I always am.”

“It’s like—we’ve done this a thousand times. I’m gone, and you’re here. You would think I know how to cope with it, but it gets worse everytime. I’m going to think about you the whole tour.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“How?”

“That means you really do love me more each day.”

That makes him chuckle and smile all at the same time, as he remembers the times when you were heavily insecure about your relationship. You always questioned yourself, but now you were the complete opposite. You were giving him the peptalk.

“I told you I meant it.”

The night continues like this; you massaging his scalp with love and care while you talk about everything and nothing at the same time. The two of you doze off in this position, Netflix still blaring at your eyes.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | A MYSTERIOUS INTERLUDE

first time reader click here

This is a scrapped chapter. Originally, I was planning to 1) give Reader a longer, more intense destructive streak before her ending up with Tony. I planned three or so chapters that involved an abusive Quentin Beck, but, ultimately decided that to be too cliché. 2) I had planned to write at least 30% of the fanfic in Tony's/third person POV. This chapter would have been number 11/12 - Tony would have rejected her advances in the lab & she would have got hooked on Beck's charming facade.

Why am I publishing this? It seems like a waste if effort to shelf it, plus, it's Tony's POV. You can skip it since it has no relation/bearing on the current story. Just a tiny "what might have been" tidbit.

It was a moment's notice. One second, they're standing in a group, laughing, soaking in the warmth from the fireplace, chattering amongst themselves, telling tall tales and sipping their liquor. It all goes black briefly, and then they are surrounded by darkness - it's nearly impenetrable, so thick that their voices echo in it.

Tony's body was encompassed by the nanotech suit immediately after his eyes and his brain adjusted to the rapid change of surroundings. His teammates, too, had their skills honed on an instinctive level - the faint thump of Mjölnir in Thor's hands, the golden-green glow of his brother's magic, whirring of Barnes' prosthetic arm. Steve's shield stayed tucked behind the living room couch but his enhanced physique and readiness to fight 24/7 has him covering the unenhanced Clint and Natasha in mere seconds.

Tony was mostly angry rather than afraid. The team was having a good time at his party and the chance encounters of weird shit like this had been reduced to nearly zero percent possibility thanks to Friday's screening process: supervillains, Hydra agents and the likes strictly prohibited on Stark-owned premises.

It was a strange coincidence Banner had to take a break to check up on one of his experiments not even five minutes before the rest of the team was experiencing the strange change in scenery. Speaking of Strange, the sorcerer also was nowhere to be seen - Tony distinctively remembered seeing Stephen ten feet away from the bar, engaged in a hearty debate with the lead of SI's Medical Engineering department.

"This is not magic," Wanda piped up from behind him, confused. "I don't feel anything on the usual frequency. It sounds more like Friday humming in the walls, like electricity."

Good to know, Tony thought. It was nice having someone who was familiar with the undiscovered side of science - after all, Tony had always considered anything 'magical' to be science he had not personally understood yet. Wanda's most redeeming quality in Tony's eyes was the fact that more often than not she seemed to be as clueless as everyone else when it came to her powers and didn't act so high and mighty as some other people. Cloaked people, and horned people, for example.

"The fuck, man? I was hoping, just one evening, one normal evening with my beer and wings," Clint whined. Tony could hear Natasha huffing in annoyed agreement.

"Mr. Stark, what are we going to do?" His very own spider-child, on the other hand, sounded distraught. Peter's voice has this funny thing it does when the boy is upset but tries to hide it: it quivers on the vowels, wobbles slightly.

Tony had to blindly grope the air for a moment before his arm found Peter's shoulder. The boy was shivering and took the offered comfort eagerly, folding into the older man.

"Okay, whoever is pulling this stunt, my advice is: don't," Tony sighed, 12 000% Done With This Shit™, exclaiming loudly. "If that's a prank, stop it or speak up. If you got beef, then you got some nerve doing this in my tower. Show yourself."

He could feel the fine hairs on his neck stand up as the team tensed next to him, readily gearing up to pounce. Peter was vibrating in Tony's arms and the billionaire suddenly remembered the curious side-effects of Peter's powers, the spidey-sense. It must have been going absolutely haywire - the kid nearly hyperventilated himself into a heart attack.

"Stark, I must apologise for the uncomfortable circumstances. Believe me, it was a necessity - you always demand attention, whereas I need people to pay attention to me for a moment. Don't worry, you'll get yours when the time is due."

The voice was vaguely familiar. Male, slightly nasal but quiet and creeping. Insinuating. It lacked the usual boisterous bravado of a mid-grade bad guy, Tony had to take an educated guess that the owner of the mysterious voice was well-off, white. Privileged. No hint of desperation in it, as if the man was pitying everybody.

"The fuck? Q, is that you?"

Oh shit, Tony realized in muted horror. She must've been hanging around somewhere in their vicinity - which wasn't unusual, the girl usually orbited around Barnes, Wanda, Peter or Bruce. All of whom were present at the party. Tony had forgotten about her, to his shame, somehow having had automatically assumed she trotted out of the room on Bruce's heels. His science bro and her acted like conjoined twins when it came to their scientific ventures.

"Stop talking," The man growled, the voice suddenly coming from a very different direction. Tony heard a distinctively feminine yelp, albeit muffled. Peter violently jerked in Tony's arms. The engineer put the superstrength of his suit to use, holding the teenager down.

"Aw, hell no!" She yelled, the indignant shrieking followed by the sound of a moist palm slapping something glass...y? "What the fuck? I am asking you again. Are you... Oh my God, are you wearing a fishbowl on your head? Ow, motherfu-" The rest of the sentence is muffled, garbled. Whoever this "Q" was, she obviously knew him and he had silenced her. And, apparently, Q had an uncanny choice of headwear.

Tony was sure the rest of the team had followed his lead on doing a spit-take. They've fought enough supervillains with more than questionable fashion sense but a fishbowl? That was new.

"Be quiet, baby. It's for your own good. I don't want to hurt you if I can help it," The Fishbowl chastised her.

Tony's confusion once again returned to irritation at the frivolous way the villain addressed his science buddy. Peter's friend would have been more accurate but Tony had put her into the 'science bro' category not too long ago. They were close, as much as they could be, with the age gap and totally different interests and... The immense amount of guilt Tony felt for his attraction towards the girl. He was a dirty old man and she was barely an adult.

Every damn day Tony did his best to avoid making a shiny, big, new problem. Yet her brains and her wit and the uncanny ability to pull anybody into a conversation had a firm hold on his attention.

"Leave her alone," Stark angrily declared, powering up a repulsor. "What do you want? Party crashing isn't allowed in my tower anymore."

"What I want, Stark, is for you to give credit where it's due," The man answered simply, giving Tony just enough time to shove Peter behind him towards Natasha and take a tentative step forward.

The soft glow emanating from the repulsor illuminated barely two inches around his hand. The darkness surrounding it seemed to swallow the light. Tony moved on quiet feet towards the voice, easily avoiding furniture. His memory was good and he knew his tower, his home, better than anyone else.

"Did I hear that correctly, you're accusing me of plagiarism?" Tony tried for indignant, hoping to provoke the man into an inevitable, drawn-out speech where he lists all the wrongs Tony ever did him, giving the team precious time to regroup and form some semblance of a plan.

"Yes," Q simply answered, pausing for a second. "I hope you enjoy your next adventure. It certainly will show you the potential of my creation."

Tony shared a muted sound of confusion with the rest of the team.

"Q, I am very disappointed," To Tony's horror, th girl stared talking again. She sounded somewhat breathless, and closer to him than before. "Stop it with the dick measuring contest, you're a grown ass man. Go work for OsCorp, or Hammer, drink your sorrows away." She sounded so tired. And even closer to him.

"This is not a dick measuring contest!" Q roared suddenly and wow, that man was unstable. "This was my life's work, my creation, he insulted, berated and threw away!"

"I get it, I really get the whole 'being discarded and thrown away' thing," She replied, somewhat sarcastically. "But you know what? I'll be damned and I'll be fucked if I give some piece of shit any more of my undivided attention. They don't want me? Fine, they can fuck off and take their complaints with them." Her speech was periodically interrupted by shuffling noises.

Tony didn't dare to interrupt, seeing now the possibility of Q being actually calmed down by a teenager (probably) quoting some teen drama TV show.

"But going full Joker? You're a brilliant man, Quen, I wouldn't even look at you twice if not for your brains and your baby blues, however I don't fuck with the bad guys. That shit kills," The hand that rested on the wrist cuff of Tony's suit unmistakably belonged to her. She had the remnants of some sort of wire around it, sleek and quicksilver-shiny, irritating the tender skin under it. "And I want to live. You've gone and pissed off an entire crew of supers and I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think, Quen," There was genuine sadness in her voice.

Tony stood silent in confusion.

Whoever this Quen was, they obviously shared a close relationship. Tony's brain ran through the list of her friends, her relatives - there was nobody named Q, Quen or even remotely similar. Natasha had mentioned a possible boyfriend at some point but the man sounded too old for that, he was at least thirty. Or maybe? Tony wouldn't put it completely past the girl, if judging by the blatant way she flirted with Bruce. With himself.

"Baby, this is not about you. I don't want to hurt you," Quen replied, a hysterical edge to his voice. Something began flickering in the distance, attracting Tony's attention to the shape of a man with a round sort of helmet and a red, billowing cape (hello, 2012-Thor!).

"Too late, Quen. You've tied me up and you went on to attack my friends. I've already told you that if you yell at me one more time, I will leave you. So I guess this is it," Her voice broke at the end, pitiful sniffles following the statement.

Tony watched the exchange, mildly uncomfortable and very concerned. The man yelled at her? That was absolutely unacceptable, however, what else could one expect from a maniac with a flair for the dramatic?

The girl bodily placed herself in front of Tony, standing, doing nothing but rubbing her wrists. It was then that the engineer noticed Q nearing them, the shape becoming distinctively closer. And - yep, there it was - the fishbowl on his head. It completely obscured him, making his face invisible, unrecognisable.

The man seemed rather fixated on the girl standing in front of Tony. He floated in front of her, ignoring Tony, taking her bound hands in his own. A brief click and a hiss later, her wrists were released and the contraption fell freely to the floor where it landed with an oddly heavy thud. Tony hoped there was no lead in that thing - supervillains were dangerous but lead poisoning was cancerous and fatal.

"Baby..." Quen timidly touched her face with a leather-bound glove. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry." Tony took the chance to examine the man's costume. If anything, it looked somewhat steampunk-y? There was a lot of bronze, and the chest brace had some sort of glowing lines on it. Power storage units?

She stared up, towards the man's hidden face. "M'sorry, Quen," She mumbled, going in for a hug. Or that's what Tony thought. The majestic cape that billowed behind Quen was unceremoniously yanked from his body as the girl ducked, covering herself with it, yelling: "TONY, NOW, SHOOT, SHOOT!"

Tony did just that, shot Quen flat in the chest and the man stumbled backwards, tripping on the cape - such a stupid, unexpected thing. But Tony knew, his girl was clever and resourceful. Pride swelled in his chest as he shot the man again, Rogers running out from behind him blindly, body-slamming Quen into the ground for good measure. Two hundred pounds of supersoldier later, the battle was over before it even started.

"No!" The villain shouted as Steve pressed and popped the hilarious glass contraption on his head. The accessory was no match for the Captain's super strength. Tony immediately recognised the man as his former employee, Quentin Beck, and it clicked for him. It was totally a personal vendetta.

"This stuff is tough, plexiglass, maybe," The Captain remarked, pointing at the scattered shards around Beck's head. "It appears to be augmented too, some kind of tech, I don't know. You're good at this, Tony," Steve chuckled humorlessly, roughly turning Beck around and securing his hands with a pair of vibranium-reinforced handcuffs. God only knew where he'd gotten those from.

"Good at what? Making enemies?" Stark couldn't resist the self-depricating joke.

"Stop it, Tony," Natasha's gently admonishing voice interrupted Steve's incoming lecture. Tony, for once, was thankful that the Widow interrupted. He was in no mood to listen to another one of Steve's speeches.

"Who do you work for?" That deadly gleam in Natasha's eyes was terrifying and Beck was only a man.

"I don't work for anyone but myself, thanks to Stark," He spat venomously.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow in Tony's direction.

"Fired him years ago, this guy was going nuts. Brilliant but crazier than a bag of cats," Tony replied, feigning nonchalance. He could feel a mild headache begin to gnaw at his skull. "We worked on a project together, he got upset that I refused to weaponize it. We had a falling out. End of story." With that, Tony stood up, retracing his suit to only leave the gauntlets on his hands, gathered the various pieces of tech the good captain had removed from Beck's persona and made way towards the nearest table.

Or where he thought it was. All of them were still surrounded by the uncanny darkness. The anxiety that Tony forcefully shut down reared it's ugly head as soon as he lost physical touch with his teammates. He stumbled, his foot catching onto something on the ground.

"Ow, motherfucker!"

"Buttercup, I haven't fucked your mother nor I plan to," He snarked back automatically, flooded with relief at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Hope so. She'd probably bite your dick off if you try," A hand was groping his calf and then she stood up in front of him, still clutching the ridiculous cape. It appeared to be a source of light, which was very strange. The girl looked positively demonic, illuminated by red light, face scrunched up, eyes puffy, and clothing in disarray.

"You good?" Tony managed to choke out, confusion and worry and anxiety making his chest tight.

"Balmy. My boyfriend is a homicidal maniac with an inferiority complex," She sassed, an edge of panic to her voice. "Oh, and he tried to kill one of my best friends. I am fine and dandy."

"Your boyfriend?" That was the only thing Tony heard. Bat-shit crazy Beck, his babygirl's boyfriend? There was no way in Hell he'd allow such a thing...

"My ex-boyfriend, I guess," She sighed, removing the cape from her persona. Refusing to meet his eyes, fiddling with the hem of her top. "Here," The girl abruptly thrust the cape at him. "This is a funny thing, it's like a hologram but you can actually touch it. You should, uh, probably disinfect it, or something. I've been on-uh, around it many times," It was so unlike her, the fumbling, the embarrassment, Tony wanted to wheel her straight to medical to check if she's gotten concussed again.

Then his brain caught up and all he saw was red. Figuratively and literally - the cape was still in his face, loosely hanging from her outstretched hand. She must've seen the look on his face.

The step she took back was quick and worrying. "Forget I said that, I don't know why I said that. Oh, god."

"What were you thinking?" Tony inhaled a solid lungful, prepared to make his opinion very clear. "Getting involved with a lunatic! For a second I actually thought you were smart, there isn't a chance you missed that the guy is short of a few marbles," His voice was quiet, the one of a calm fury. His words cut deeply and he could see the hurt, the shame in her eyes, on her face. Tony knew he'd regret it later however his brain insisted it was a necessary evil. He continued ranting until he ran out of breath. "Not to mention he's, what, twice your age? And he yells at you and tells you to shut up? It didn't ring any alarm bells in that pretty little head of yours?"

"Tony, stop," Steve's hand landed on the engineer's shoulder and he simply shrugged it off, staring at the quivering girl in front of him.

She was crying, silently, few tears pooling in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, leaving ugly streaks in her make-up. Tony expected her to sass him, to argue back, to yell obscenities like she usually did when something or someone upset her but he was met with hurt, stunned silence. His worst fear came true when she looked away, shrugging.

He'd seen this sort of dejected shrug the time her father drugged her and... She just took it. She expected it, even, his outrage, his disappointment. Being hurt and mistreated was the norm for her, Tony realized belatedly. There were too many parallels between them both that made him uncomfortable deep inside. His chest felt tight, regret washing over him like a tsunami wave.

"I'm turning on the lights, close your eyes for maximum comfort," Strange's voice announced suddenly, causing everybody to jump and shudder. Tony complied begrudgingly. The sudden influx of light was painful even from behind closed eyelids. His headache became a full-on dull throb.

"What happened?" "Are you okay?" "Is everybody alive?" Resonated across the room. Tony spied several small drones smoking and crackling next to the exit door, Stephen Strange closing a portal he must've used to evacuate the civilians.

The puddle of red holographic cape on the floor. And her hastily retreating back. Damn.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

I don’t want to wake up from you...

For the charming @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321​.

Hope you’ll like it!

TW: Mentions of blood, murder.

My best dreams and worst nightmares have the same people in them.

Philippos Syrigos

Every night, (Y/N)’s nights are plagued by nightmares. Always the same torture. She was surrounded by terrifying sights of corpses bathed in blood and human-like figures who wandered in the shadows, like predators who are waiting for their prey.

By listening to her husband Will Graham talking about his visions during his investigations, she believes that she is turning mad.

But she would never let Will being tormented by his demons. As he said, his empathetic abilities are more of a curse than a blessing. Indeed, he can enter into the twisted mind of the killer and unmask him. However, the price to pay is dreadful: his insomnia and his lack of social interactions are here to prove it.

Since they start to discuss it, she sees a slight improvement as Will begins to enjoy nights of better sleep. Even if it means that her nights would be forever terrifying, she accepts it, as long as it lets her beloved in peace. 

Of course, she often wakes with a start in the middle of the night and has difficulties coming back to sleep, but she wants to endure it for him.

But everything changes this night, and she does not see that coming. Before that, this day was pretty calm: she had a good time at her office with her colleagues, she was praised by her boss for her work, and she had a nice dinner with her husband. 

Nevertheless, when they went to sleep, the horror show began. 

Instead of being in her bedroom, she was in a horrific garden. The grass was crimson red, like blood, the flowers were dark as ebony, and the trees had disturbing shapes as if their branches had claws. Every step she takes, she heard the ground creaking as if she was walking on bones. 

Disgusted and scared by this scenery, (Y/N) moves forward while looking around her. Suddenly, she hears creepy voices that whispered:

"Where are you going like that, (Y/N)?"

"There is no way to escape, my dear..."

"Soon, you will be with us, (Y/N)"

"You can't forget us... And you won't!"

Suddenly, the branches turned into hands that try to grab her. Appalled, she managed to escape far from them while covering her ears, deafened by their pleas and screams.

She only stopped running when her legs gave up, and she nearly fell on her knees. 

Exhausted, she tried to catch her breath when another figure appeared in front of her and it was the most bloodcurdling sight she ever saw in her whole life.

The man-shaped creature stared down at her, its red eyes focused on the young woman. Its entire body was dark and firm as if it was made of wood. The antlers that adorned his head were large and crooked, like a demonic crown. 

Scared to death, (Y/N) recognized the monster who plagued Will's nights for a long time: "The Wendigo..."

Pleased to hear his name said by a shivering voice, the creature smiled, revealing sharp white teeth.

Totally paralyzed by fear, (Y/N) noticed that the monster held something in his large hand. Something familiar...

Will feels something hitting his back, and he wakes up. Turning around, he sees his wife, who tossed and turned in her sleep. The expression of pure terror on her face makes him worry, and he tries to wake her up.

"(Y/N), babe, wake up!"

Suddenly, she screams at the top of her lungs. A wail of pure terror and sadness that sends chills down his spine. What can make her yelling like that? And why does she calls out his name with such despair?

The young woman stared in horror as the Wendigo shows what he holds in his hand: a head. A human head. A severed human head. Will's severed head. Crying and yelling, she cannot believe what she just saw:

"NO, WILL! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

The Wendigo was content with laughing while holding his prey's head as a trophy. (Y/N) cannot stop looking at the head of her significant other. She tried to reach him, but her whole body prevented her from doing so. 

Suddenly, she hears Will's voice telling her:

"(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Please, wake up! I'm here! WAKE UP!"

She gasps for air as she wakes up. 

Immediately, she feels the arms of her husband that surround her in a reassuring embrace.

"Hush, sweetheart, it's okay. You're safe, right now! Nothing can happen, I am here!"

(Y/N) realizes that she is in her bedroom, in her home, with Will holding her tight against him. Relieved, she lets out a sob before trying to calm herself.

"Oh my god, it seems so real!"

"That's what I saw."

He frowned.

"How long have you been haunted by nightmares?"

"I don't know, really. It seems like an eternity."

His eyes go wide open.

"This long? But why did not you tell me before? I can help you!"

"I know, but..."

"But?" he asked.

His wife sighed before explaining:

"When we met, you've been plagued by your nightmares for a long time, and I thought that if we talk about it, you will feel better. But I wasn't ready to live what you've been through. The only thing that keeps me from telling you is that you were in better shape now, so I have to endure it for your sake."

Will is flabbergasted: she endured all these sleepless nights just for him? To help him? God, he does not deserve to be her husband. With a slight smile, he cups her face between his hands.

"(Y/N), since the first day you accepted to be with me, my nights were less sinister. Every time something terrible happened in my dreams, I reach you and feel your skin to remind me that there is nothing to be afraid of, as long as I have you by my side."

He gently kissed her cheek.

"Don't make the same mistake as I did: if something bothers you, please, tell me. And I'll be here for you, like you’ve been here for me."

The young woman smiles, awed by the devotion of her beloved.

"Thank you, Will."

"Anything for you, my darling. Now, let's go back to sleep. Tomorrow, we'll see what to do."

They both lay down, hugging each other. Before she falls asleep, she mutters:

"I love you, Will."

"I love you too, (Y/N)."

And after that, the night went smooth, and (Y/N) finally enjoys a beautiful night because she knows that Will is always there to protect her.

Bonus scene:

While waiting for her turn, (Y/N) looks at the elegant waiting room. She wakes up from her daydream as the door opens and Doctor Hannibal Lecter makes his entrance.

"Good morning, (Y/N). I did not expect your visit."

"Good morning, Doctor Lecter."

"You're allowed to call me Hannibal. However, could you please explain me what's the purpose of your visit?"

"Well, I think you can help me... since I have the same problem as Will."

The psychiatrist raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, I am sorry about it. Will told me that you were trying to help him with his own nightmares. It looks like your kindness was not well-rewarded."

"Will suggests me to see you, as you are a great help for him."

"I am flattered."

He gestures her to enter.

"But please, come in. I have a lot of time, which would be very helpful in your case."

She steps into his office, and sits politely on the couch, while he sits on the armchair in front of her.

"Now, (Y/N), tell me about your nightmares..."

[max-is-tired]

On Top Of The World (On Top Of It All)

Pairing: Analoceit

Characters: Virgil Sanders, Deceit Sanders, Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders, Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Character Thomas (mentioned)

Words: 4.365

Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit & Remus, swearing, kissing, one very light innuendo and light graphic talk by Remus, there’s a fight but the characters have agreed to it and no one gets hurt

Notes: Let’s start with a big round of applause for my amazing boyfriend @afulldeckofaces who commissioned this big boy -he asked for pining Loceit and Confident Virgil, and who am I to deny these two beautiful concepts?

Writing this was so much fun, and I hope you guys will love it at least as much as I enjoyed working on it!!!!

Commission me!!  Buy me a coffee!!  Join my Discord server!!

When Logan and Deceit initially got together, it really hadn’t been a surprise to anyone -apart from maybe Thomas, but he had since stopped questioning most of the things that went down in his mind. So when they told him he simply blinked, shrugged in that specific way people do when they are way too tired to try and actually think about whatever the hell is going on and smiled at the way his two sides leaned on each other, genuinely happy for them.

Point was, everyone had seen it coming, recognized their hopeless pining for what it was despite the two sides’ vehement denial (“denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, dude”) and collectively breathed a sigh of relief when the two finally got their heads out of their asses and actually talked about their feelings for once in their life.

(Roman was just a tad bitter that both Deceit and Logan had refused to see reason for so long despite his best efforts to act as the perfect Cupid he was, and also that Remus had only won their little bet because gay panic was one hell of a way to make Deceit blurt out the truth. So what?)

What no one had exactly seen coming -apart from Remus because he was Deceit’s go-to when he needed to ramble/vent about something and therefore was aware of most things regarding his love life before anyone else, mostly to his brother’s dismay- was the small, minuscule crush the two were starting to develop on Virgil.

Which really, could you blame them? He was calm, snarky, and if Logan had to be honest, he had been harboring a tiny, infinitesimal infatuation for the anxious side since the time they had their first debate, back in the mindscape’s palace when Thomas had been dealing with cognitive distortions.

(For Dee, it was more complicated, having had feelings for Virgil since before their falling out only to feel them rekindle once they had started to grow closer again, side to side with the burning flame that were his feelings for Logan. Accepting that those feelings were still a thing had been an ordeal, to say the least, but having Logan at his side as they worked on figuring it out had helped immensely.)

So yeah, both Deceit and Logan were kind of crushing on Virgil. But that didn’t mean they were going to act on it, despite Remus’ constant suggestions that they should “try and tap that booty.” After all, it’s not like Virgil would be interested, and the feelings were completely, one hundred percent manageable.

Right? 

(Spoiler alert: they were wrong. So, so wrong.)

+++

It all started one particular afternoon, when Roman barged into the living room with a very worried look on his face.

“Please tell me someone has seen Remus at least once since this morning,” he questioned immediately, his gaze traveling from the kitchen, where Patton was currently backing some cookies, and the couch, from where Logan and Deceit were staring back at him with twin looks of both confusion and annoyance.

If Roman had to be honest, it was kind of creepy to see, and he was the one with an actual twin.

“I can’t say we have,” Logan finally answered, looking about ready to go back to his book.

“Neither have I, sorry Ro,” Patton called from the kitchen doorway, looking at him with a worried frown. “Why, did something happen?”

“No, but it might soon,” Roman answered, looking more troubled by the second. “Last time I saw him, he said he was going to the Imagination to work on a project. I have no idea what he’s working on, but the last time he spent this much time holed up there he ended up setting loose an entire army of bright green rats while proclaiming himself their Rat King, so I think you can guess why I’m a tiny bit worried right now.”

Deceit sighed, sharing a glance with Logan before turning towards the prince.

“I guess I’ll go check on him,” he said, standing up.

Logan gave him one look and immediately stood up himself, settling his book on the coffee table as he readjusted his tie.

“I’m coming with you. If he really has something planned, I might be able to help you reign him in.”

“Sounds good,” Deceit nodded, giving his boyfriend a small smile before taking his hand and turning towards Roman. “The Imagination, you said?”

Roman gave them a nod, while Patton looked at them in worry.

“Be careful, alright?” he called after them, watching as the two sunk out of the room.

Then, Roman seemed to realize something, turning towards Patton with a confused frown.

“Wait, where’s Virgil?”

+++

Between all the sides, Deceit, Virgil and Roman were the only ones who had actually set foot in Remus’ side of the Imagination before.

Over the years, the view had never changed much. A dark, ominous forest. Creatures that looked normal but not quite. A night that never ends, with a blood-red moon as the only companion. A tall, far-away tower, always visible in the distance but never seeming to grow closer.

This time, however, when Deceit rose up with Logan’s hand held tightly in his, the world around them was completely different. They were standing in what appeared to be a big, unassuming square circled by various buildings, the fumes and smells associated with cities surrounding them even without any people or cars passing by.

It was eerily silent, and Deceit didn’t like it one bit.

“I thought Remus’ domain would bear more similarities with Roman’s fantastical kingdom,” Logan commented, looking around with a hint of curiosity.

“It usually does, even if leaning much more on the ‘scary forest where literally everything could kill you’ side of the spectrum,” Deceit answered, studying their surroundings with much more suspicion. “In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never changed the landscape on his side of the Imagination.”

“Oh please, I’ve done it plenty of times,” a very familiar voice suddenly called from above their heads, “just never when you were around!”

Deceit and Logan looked up, trying to spot the source of the voice. Remus grinned back at them, hanging upside-down from what appeared to be-

“Wait, is that the floating cloud from Dragon Ball?” Deceit asked, staring in confusion at the cloud Remus seemed to be sitting on.

“Hell yeah! Do you like it?”

“... I’m almost afraid to ask this, but is there a reason it’s pitch back instead of the original white or is it just for the aesthetic?”

Remus wiggled his mustache, obviously excited by Deceit’s question in a way that made the side immediately regret ever speaking in the first place.

“White is overrated, and also this one can shoot lightning bolts!”

As if to demonstrate Remus’ words, the cloud immediately started crackling with energy, lightning zipping through the air and hitting the ground on the other side of the square.

“Woohoo!” Remus cheered, cackling like a madman at his own destruction.

As for Deceit, he fought to keep his expression neutral, squeezing Logan’s hand once it looked like his boyfriend was about to go try and investigate.

Logan rolled his eyes but relented, keeping his curiosity in check. For now, at least.

“Care to explain why exactly you changed the scenery, then?” Deceit asked, “I didn’t peg you for the city type.”

“Oh, it’s not for me, it’s for Virgil!” Remus grinned, straightening upon his personal cloud and snickering at the two sides’ growing confusion.

“Come on up, I’ll show you,” he offered, guiding the cloud down to give the two a chance to safely board.

Logan didn’t need to hear it twice, immediately mounting on the floating and very solid cloud -his boyfriend was a little more cautious, having had to deal with a lot of surprise features in Remus’ creations.

“Up we go!” Remus cheered, and suddenly the cloud was rising into the sky, making both Deceit and Logan hold on for dear life.

“Remus, where the hell are you taking us?!” Deceit frantically asked, watching the ground get farther and farther away.

Remus simply answered by gesturing excitedly to a nearby building, bringing their attention to a very familiar purple shape standing on a rooftop.

“Is that Virgil?” Deceit asked, squinting, “wait, what is he-”

Before he could finish his question, Deceit watched in horror as Virgil suddenly started sprinting towards the edge of the rooftop, feeling Logan stiffen at his side as he opened his mouth to shout something, anything that would stop the anxious side before it was too late.

But then, he felt his cry die on his lips as he watched with wide eyes Virgil leap gracefully from one rooftop to the next, rolling and leaping to his feet with the grace and flexibility of someone who has done this over and over.

“Oh my god,” Deceit whispered, feeling Logan peer down from beside him as they watched Virgil leap and jump from building to building with whoops and cheers of joy and the biggest smile anyone had ever seen on his face.

“He’s beautiful,” Logan murmured, attracting Deceit’s gaze on himself -he was staring at Virgil with wide eyes, a soft blush covering his cheeks and his eyes twinkling in a way Deceit had ever witnessed only when Logan was either talking or looking at the stars.

“He is,” he hummed in agreement, feeling a small, soft smile stretch on his face despite his best efforts to fight it down.

Behind them, Remus giggled in obvious delight as he watched the two become more and more smitten by the second.

“He’s been asking to use my part of the Imagination to practice for years now!” he chirped in explanation, “he does this once or twice a week, and in exchange, he gives me pointers on how to be that flexible.”

He grabbed his foot from behind and easily raised it to rest on his shoulder as a demonstration, wiggling his mustache throughout the entire process.

“There was no need to show us, Remus,” Deceit grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Logan kept staring, raising an inquisitive eyebrow as Remus wiggled his foot at him.

“Are you implying that Virgil might be as flexible as that?” he asked.

“Oh, he’s much more flexible than me,” Remus shrugged, letting his foot fall back down, “seriously, sometimes I can’t help but wonder if he actually has a backbone or not. Wait, do you think I could get more flexible if I got my backbone out?”

“I do not advise trying, no,” Logan chided half-heartedly, blinking at the creative side as he tried to process his words.

“Oh god, I’m going to die,” Deceit muttered, hiding his flaming face in his hands as images of Virgil showcasing his… flexible abilities filled his brain.

Remus started cackling at their expressions, rolling around the cloud while clutching his stomach.

Ignoring him, Deceit and Logan exchanged a flustered glance, before turning around to stare at Virgil’s figure still bolting and jumping around the buildings under them.

It looked like this crush of theirs was not going away as quickly as they’d hoped, was it?

+++

Okay so, Virgil was flexible and apparently did weekly parkours over city landscapes Remus conjured just for him. So? Logan and Deceit could still deal with that and manage not to die of gay at the mere thought of just how agile and flexible their crush was.

Then, Roman decided it would be a good idea to challenge Virgil to a duel.

Granted, the proposal was meant mostly as a joke, a direct answer to Virgil threatening to kick Roman’s ass if he didn’t stop singing random Disney songs at full volume as everyone tried to relax.

But Virgil had easily accepted it, surprising literally everyone in the room as Roman looked at him as if he had grown two heads.

“What, Princey?” Virgil had asked, a lopsided grin stretching on his face, “scared you’re gonna lose to little old me?”

And so there they were, Roman and Virgil standing at the opposing sides of the arena the creative side had conjured while the others watched on from the sidelines -Patton had been very worried initially, but both sides had assured him that one, none of them were planning to injure badly the other and two, no sharp weapons would be used, so the father figure had eventually relented and followed the others on the stands.

“Who do you think will win?” Patton asked as he sat down, fidgeting with his cardigan.

“While I cannot deny that Virgil’s fight or flight instincts will probably be helpful in such a fight-” Logan started, looking at the two sides standing in the arena with twin wooden staffs in their hands- “his opponent is far more experienced than him in these kinds of things. Therefore, I suppose Roman will come out as the winner.”

Deceit nodded in agreement, wondering why Virgil had thought accepting this duel would be a good idea. Sure, the guy knew how to pack a punch -Deceit had found that out the hard way when he’d accidentally startled the anxious side during one of his panic attacks- but Roman quite literally fought bandits and Dragon Witches for fun. He obviously had the upper hand.

Remus watched the two sides lean forward, fighting down a snicker as his mind traveled to the numerous sparring match he’d had with Virgil when they both needed to let out steam.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

As if reading his mind, Roman suddenly bolted forward, staff held securely in his left hand as he prepared to strike down on his opponent. Quicker than anyone could see him, Virgil rolled to the side, easily avoiding Roman’s blow as he immediately leaped to his feet.

The fanciful side didn’t seem to be deterred by Virgil’s obvious agility, turning around to strike again and again with a type of ease only an experienced fighter can hope to achieve.

They went on like this for a while, with Roman delivering one strike after another and Virgil parrying and dodging every single hit, eyes reduced to slits as he focused on his opponent’s movements and nothing else.

As they watched, everyone had slowly started scooting forward in their seats, no more words being shared as they observed the two sides meeting and clashing only to pull away again. It almost looked like a graceful dance following a song only they could hear, their bodies moving in tandem as they both fought for the upper hand.

Then, Deceit felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up to attention, almost on instinct squeezing Logan’s hand as he leaned forward in sudden anticipation. He didn’t know why, but he felt as if something was going to happen very soon, and he did not want to miss it.

As if on command, Roman moved to attack once again, and a grin suddenly appeared on Virgil’s lips. Without missing a beat, the anxious side moved his body just a little to the left, hitting the inside of Roman’s arm with his staff as he slipped his foot just behind the other’s and kicked his legs off from under him.

Roman let go of his weapon with a pained yelp, falling flat on his ass as his balance was so suddenly thrown out from under him. Cursing under his breath, he started to reach for his fallen weapon only to find himself face to face with Virgil’s staff, hovering just in front of his face and blocking his movements.

“I don’t think so, Princey,” Virgil chuckled, giving him his signature lopsided smile as he slipped his weapon to tilt the creative side’s chin up.

“I’d say I won, don’t you agree?”

Roman gulped, looking up at him with wide eyes before answering with a small, trembling nod.

The sides sitting on the stands weren’t fairing much better, staring in absolute disbelief as the arena slowly disappeared from around them and Virgil helped Roman up -at least, everyone but Remus, who was too busy cackling his ass off at their surprise to care much about anything else right now.

“You guys were incredible!” Patton cheered, bolting forward to drag the two panting sides in a hug.

“Thanks, Padre,” Roman laughed, returning the hug as best as he could, “I was not expecting out resident emo to be such a valiant foe, but I’m positive a rematch will set the results right.”

Virgil snorted, patting Patton’s back with one hand as he arched his eyebrows at Roman.

“I’m down to beating your ass again anytime you want, Princey,” he teased, a shit-eating grin tugging at his lips as Roman let out his certified Offended Princey Noises™.

Patton gasped, turning his head around to stare at Virgil.

“Vee, language!”

“Sorry, Pat.”

Logan and Deceit watched over the scene from the sidelines, still trying to recover from what they had just witnessed.

“Uh, Virgil, if I may-” Logan called, attracting the side’s attention to himself as he nervously adjusted his tie- “where did you learn to fight like that?”

That was… something Deceit really wanted to know too, if he had to be honest.

Virgil shrugged, gently pulling away from Patton’s hug to properly look at them.

“I just… always knew how, I guess? Being fight or flight and all that,” he answered, looking at the two sides with the same lopsided smile he’d been sporting while tilting Roman’s chin up with his staff and-

Yup, it was official. Logan and Deceit were way too gay to deal with this shit.

+++

After that, it didn’t take long for things to finally come to a head.

It was a series of episodes, piling up one after another as Logan and Deceit fought more and more to frantically keep their crush in check.

A perfect example was that one time Roman somehow convinced all of them to join him in a quest, something he’d never quite managed before.

After crossing the entrance to the Imagination, all of them had found themselves wearing clothes that were starkly different from the ones they’d had had on a few seconds before.

Namely, Deceit’s robe now had much more flair to it, a wizard staff suddenly clutched in his hand as a long, black cloak with his symbol stitched on it hung loosely around his body.

Deceit hummed as he took in his new attire, feeling the weight of a sword hanging from his side as he begrudgingly had to admit that Roman hadn’t done a half-bad job with their clothes -something he remarked with stark clarity as he took in Logan’s much more practical shirt, jacket and pants that hung in a very flattering way on his lean figure.

Then, Deceit made the mistake to let his gaze move towards Virgil and all coherent thoughts suddenly screeched to a halt.

Virgil was wearing what looked like ranger robes, the dark hood of his battered cloak shadowing half of his face as the anxious side examined the slick bow he was now holding in his hands. Hidden under the cloak, Deceit could see the metallic glint of a black armor protecting Virgil’s body, the hilt of a sword peeking out from one of his sides.

In the back of his head, Deceit found himself thinking that maybe, Roman always calling Virgil their Dark and Stormy Knight was more accurate than they’d previously accounted for.

Taken as he was in admiring Virgil’s new outfit, Deceit failed to notice the way the others were getting ready to start their journey, slowly advancing down the path in front of them. He only noticed when Virgil shot him a strange look, arching his eyebrows as if silently asking if everything was alright.

Fighting down the blush threatening to rise to his cheeks, Deceit gave a terse nod, hurrying to catch up with the others before they noticed. In his hurry, though, the deceitful side failed to pay attention to his own cloak, now reaching to his feet instead of just covering his shoulders. As one might expect, he ended up tripping on it, a small curse already on the tip of his tongue as he flailed his arms around to hopelessly try and stop his fall.

Deceit closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, preparing himself to a relatively painful meeting with the ground -only to feel a pair of strong, warm arms wrap around his waist, stopping his fall midway through.

“Dude, you okay?” Virgil asked, looking torn between worry and amusement as he held the other side close to his chest.

Deceit blinked, looking at him with obvious surprise in his eyes as he took in their sudden vicinity. Then, he grumbled something under his breath, pushing at Virgil’s chest until he was finally free from his hold and stalking forward with the anxious side’s low chuckle trailing behind him.

And if the blush on his cheeks was due to more than simple embarrassment, well, that was nobody’s business but Deceit’s.

Logan’s turn to become a flustered mess had come not even a week later, as he walked down the hallway with a book in his hands and everything in his mind but looking where he was going.

All the warning he got was the sound of quickly approaching footsteps, followed by someone cursing under their breath and a hand suddenly wrapping around his forearm.

Before he knew it, Logan had his back pressed against the wall, a very familiar purple shirt filling his vision as he heard two sets of pounding footsteps bolt down the corridor and Remus’ cackling laughter fill the air.

Once the two brothers were finally far enough for them to be able to safely move, Virgil pulled back, letting out a sigh of relief as he rested his hands on the sides of Logan’s head.

“Thank god,” he muttered, glaring towards the direction the twins had disappeared in, “I was almost sure they were going to run you over without a care in the world.”

Then, he looked down, finally noticing the stunned expression on Logan’s face as he held his book limply in his hands.

“Uh,” he muttered, frowning, “L, you good? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Logan shook his head, looking to the side with splotches of red covering his cheeks.

“No, I am-” he cleared his throat, raising one hand to nervously adjust his tie as he tried to look everywhere but in Virgil’s eyes, “I can assure you, I am perfectly fine.

“Are you sure? Wait-” Virgil squinted at him, leaning forward to take in his red cheeks and suspicious behavior- “Lo, are you sick and trying to hide it again?”

“Oh, would you look at the time!” Logan suddenly exclaimed, looking redder by the second as he slipped away from under Virgil’s arms, “I would love to chat some more but I have some important work that needs to be done, goodbye Virgil.”

“Logan, wait-”

Nope, too late, the logical side had already sunk out of the corridor, probably to hide in his room. Virgil sighed, dragging one hand down his face.

Well, it looked like he was going to need to sick Patton on him and hope for the best.

+++

Their final showdown, so to speak, went down during an inconspicuous afternoon, with Deceit and Logan hanging out in the deceitful side’s room. The two were curled on the bed, having initially planned to take a nap only to end up doing what seemed to have become their favorite past time as of late: gushing about Virgil.

“That raccoon has no right being as hot as he is, I swear,” Deceit grumbled, hiding his face in Logan’s chest.

“I know, dear,” Logan hummed, stroking his back. “Virgil is… very aesthetically attractive, and our debates are always great fun.”

“Nerd,” Deceit snorted, looking up at his boyfriend with a small smile. “Do you think he might feel the same?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Logan admitted, a pensive frown on his face. “I do hope so, that’s for sure. Having him as our boyfriend would be… nothing short of wondrous, I suppose.”

“Then why don’t you just ask me?” came a very familiar voice, startling Deceit off of Logan’s chest as the two sides whipped their heads around.

Virgil stared back at them with his usual lopsided smile, leaning on the doorway as he looked at them in clear amusement.

“You guys forgot to lock the door,” he explained.

“Ah,” Logan said, cheeks turning redder by the second as he kept his eyes trained on Virgil.

“You know,” Virgil started, walking deeper into the room as he kicked the door closed behind himself, “I couldn’t help but notice how strangely you’ve both been actin, lately. So I thought I’d come to talk to you guys about it, you know?”

“I go to Logan’s room, but you guys are not there. No big deal, if you weren’t in one room then the other would probably be the correct one. Imagine my surprise as I stand in front of Deceit’s room, seeing it half open as I prepare to knock, only to hear you guys say my name.”

“How-” Deceit cleared his throat, trying to fight down the red staining his cheeks. “How much have you heard?”

“Enough,” Virgil shrugged. “So, are you going to ask me or what?”

Silence fell as Logan and Deceit looked at each other, sharing a silent conversation before Logan reached to squeeze Deceit’s hand and took a deep breath.

“Virgil, we were wondering if you would… be amenable to the idea of joining our relationship?”

Virgil’s grin widened considerably, a laugh escaping his mouth as he quickly erased the few feet left between him and the two sides and leaned forward, kissing them both silly.

“I would very, very much enjoy that, you dorks.” 

(From just outside the door, Remus let out a silent cheer, shimming in place before bolting towards his brother’s room. He had ten hard-earned bucks and a victory to rub on Roman’s face waiting just for him, after all.)

[amandlas]

almost gone (in these little moments get your cards out)

tfota | jude x cardan, she doesn’t come back au, no smut, hurtful and punishable tbh (ao3)

entry to jurdan week 2020 by @jurdannet - day 7: wild card! a what-if au had jude tried to make a new life in maine (don’t worry, cardan shows up). heaps of angst. little payout. sorry in advance. trigger warnings: violence, guns, shooting, and death mention.

[canon divergence from twk ending. title from “lay your cards out” by poliça]

*

gone. she’s gone. avulsed from her land, never hers, and her lover, never loved. the mortal world welcomes her with wide arms, arms that are shorter than she remembers, a little less homely, much less magical. after all, how can the ordinariness of television, powder tea, and surround sound compare to the true magic of faerieland?

vivi says it will be well. of course she does. why wouldn’t she, with her strong blood and pointed ears.

jude stares and stares at the tv. at the window. at the door. she’s not so stupid as to believe it will allay her want, but like programming, she follows the routine nonetheless.

*

two months. oak is recalcitrant to her teachings. vivi is buoyant in her obliviousness. they do not see her. she cannot see herself. the closest thing she has to a mirror is miles away, attending a new husband and parading with stars dangling from rounded ears. if taryn were to come, jude thinks she wouldn’t recognize either of them.

*

she is ashamed to watch her pillowcase blotted with tear stains at nightfall.

it’s more embarrassing than waking up the first time to menstrual blood staining her sheets, two stories up in madoc’s estate, knowing not what it meant or what to do.

jude duarte avoids as superfluous emotions as sadness or hopelessness. being a mortal in faerie, those sentiments would wash her out of focus, riddle her with doubt, and with a certainty would so far as kill her.

but, she thinks, i am not in faerie anymore. i am no longer in a place where blood is a better find than tears. where eyes are dry and swords are sated by throats and bellies.

perhaps in her native world it is safer. that’s what jude wanted this whole time, was it not? safety. if she were meant to feel relief, she should feel it now.

survival feels wet against her cheek.

*

he keeps slugging his damn arms. jude tugs oak roughly to her, fixing his stance, and urges him to strike.

“will i still be king someday?”

as per usual, he tries deflection to talk out of a combat lesson. jude is unmoved. “yes.”

“are you sure?”

she shifts her weight to her other leg. “there is no other way.” his form is poor. she identifies his weaker side and rounds slowly to it. “the crown answers to blood. raise your elbow higher. protect your face.”

oak listens for once. his voice is shrill still. “so there is no one else?”

of course there’s someone else. another bearer of the crown, another royal to lead their nation. but jude grits her teeth and resorts to her best asset: lying. “no. no one else.”

her little brother pauses, their lesson half-present in his mind. intrigued, she watches the scrunch of his brows as he formulates a thought. “unless cardan has a child. then there would be another.”

if he sees her freeze, he doesn’t mention it. the scenario turns her thoughts errant, threatens her with a conniption. some sick part of her wishes to linger on the possibility, but with oak before her and posed to fight, she cannot allow herself that masochism.

oak stands expectant, his arm growing weary and slouching. the least she can do is not lie.

“i suppose.”

he remembers none of the stance the next evening.

*

“no word from dad. taryn either.”

jude lifts her face to catch vivi rummaging through envelopes of mail. “what, were you expecting miracles? a shift in the weather?” she scoffs, coming back to her task. counting money. hard-earned cash from late shifts of all services and flavors. espionage, theft, the occasional sparring match. the underground fae crime ring taints the soul, but it pays in fifties.

vivi interrupts her quick fingers. “he liked you best, you know. dad always gave more of himself to you than to me or taryn.” she notices her brother sitting at the couch, leans in to rumple his hair. “or oak.”

jude shoots vivi a cruel look, an exasperated look. “what good that did to me.”

her sister’s eyes are fierce as a growling cat where they pin her in place. “quite some good, your highness.”

jude does a fucking great job at not screaming.

*

she hates to think of the name.

what could his true name be, she wonders? if she commanded it, before the brokering of their epically failed marriage for his release, jude asks herself if he’d given it. if he’d hated her that much more.

her mind swirls with reminders of midnight black eyes, of fingers against her lips and the abstruse feeling of possession by another being.

she won’t think of it. she won’t dream of it. she won’t aerate the two syllables in a whisper of dark sky. she certainly won’t be pelted with the scariest word, the four letters she refused since childhood to allow a place in her. the word that died with a blade on its back as it ran to the kitchen. the word that meant a certain foolishness, a certain danger. she won’t. it’s her new mantra: she won’t, she won’t, she won’t.

falsehoods have always been her strongest asset.

*

“we shouldn’t be watching this shit,” heather sighs between mouthfuls of red licorice.

they’re leaning on the couch, lined up like soldiers catching their breath amidst pilgrimage to battle. the television blares high. jude notices heather has shifted her free hand to cover oak’s eyes.

she inspects the playing show more closely. one second there’s a wide shot of scenery, familiar in its medieval setting, and the next there’s a person. a striking young woman with silver hair like new iron falling in tresses across pale shoulders.

the figure is so intimate it nearly makes jude jump. “a princess,” she murmurs.

heather shakes her head. “no. oh no. well, sorta.” oak squirms in her hand, breaking free of her hold, to which she sighs and acquiesces. “sure, i guess, but more than that. it’s complicated.”

from her place next to oak, jude nods. “royals tend to be.”

her sister’s lover, or ex lover (certainly an ex something), barrels on. she uses hand gestures to further her explaining. “her father was the mad king, but she was only a baby when he got dethroned. she was exiled from her home, far across the sea. then she married a powerful man, leader of a tribe, and sorta grew into herself. after he died, his rivals and his people tried to disbar her. turns out she had more in her arsenal than was believed.” heather wags her eyebrows at the show.

jude couldn’t be more confused until a huge, black winged creature crosses the screen. “are those…”

“yup,” heather confirms. “the mother of beasts. and her husband’s people, they followed her. even though he was gone, and was their real ruler, and it was unacceptable that she rule on the basis of who she was, they still accepted her as leader.”

jude stiffens. “really.”

they made it seem so close, so easy to reach. the princess-who-wasn’t-a-princess straightens her spine, amplifies her voice. when she speaks, people heed.

heather slices her reverie. “because she has magic.” she points to the overflying monsters. “badass.”

ah. because. she. has. magic.

a non-magic girl slouches back in her non-magic couch, watching a non-magic box, consumed by baneful imaginings.

*

unprepossessing. that is what they called her. ugly, if wine or fury loosened their vocabulary. how had i let someone who called me that touch me at the collarbones? kiss my throat? call me his sweet villain? jude has no answer. she replays and loops the plethora of adjectives her dear husband and company had called her. wormfood. unsightly. repellent. direful. unbecoming. synonyms alike to the same derivative, final word.

mortal.

the circle of worms, she and taryn. daughter of dirt.

she wishes she were nobody’s daughter.

*

it takes her three nights after that to realize now she really is nobody’s daughter.

*

her exile hits the half year.

*

bride of faerieland. the mortal queen.

a fugacious dream, she finalizes. no more than a fleeting child’s wish. had she remained at home, no, in faerie , she’d never have been queen. not without the people’s approval and not with her mortality. a hollow crown, a fool’s wreath.

she cements it into her brain, sears it to memory. she never. would. have been. a true. queen.

oh, but what a vision they would’ve been. jude, stiff boned with graying hair, and cardan beside her, youthful as ever and tethered to her with ball and chain. unescapable. a fresh minted prison for him. he’d be gagged to ask for her kisses, much less beg for them. when her skin sagged and time plundered her heart, how quick he’d be to run from her. a bat out of hell.

when it processes that she’s thought of his name, written it to existence in the myriad of her thoughts, she breaks into a cold sweat.

*

she won’t call her exile a blessing. there’s many descriptors for the singular event that redefined the last leg of her fleeting teenage life, and blessing won’t cut it. recently, however, jude has had the chance to add timely to the list.

jude kills a troll. he’d been preying on humans the same time as her abscond to the human realm. this particular troll began his horror streak after developing a taste for the helpless glaze in their eyes at final moments before teeth sunk into shoulders, the way they rolled back or if the occasion came up that the eyelids would fall crookedly. the funny look of a drugged, passed out, mindless loon. except these were dead loons, victims to the desire of a beast. these humans had been lured into the abandoned subway tunnel, but jude had strolled there all on her own.

“that bitch carries the devil,” commented one of the fae. gathered in a ring, stealing glimpses of her over their shoulders.

waiting for her pay, jude kicked the tip of her boot into the solid ground, arms crossed. “that bitch can hear. i may not have fae hearing, but i’d abstain from testing me were i in your shoes.”

the fae she had spoken to was of the sea, and was barefoot. irony not lost on her.

sooner than expected, jude duarte developed a reputation. successful runs, frightening recounts of what she did to earn her money, it swiveled up and circled around her like a tornado. some fae considered testing if the legend was bigger than the person, and some fae had lost the use of a limb. she knew she’d been strong before, but this new world taught her what an unstoppable force she was. had always been.

they give her a nickname. fearful of evoking the name given to her at birth, though being human it had no effect on her. still, shadows shivered at her wake, watching, consuming jude duarte’s trail of defeated foes. in the damp, cold streets of maine, in a world she long since had cut true tethers from, she’s reborn as the wrath.

in her mind, somewhere in the bowels of the elfhame palace, the court of shadows laugh up a storm.

*

oak grows less querulous and more capitulant to his role. jude in turn decides to do the same with her old-but-now-new home amidst mortals.

she watches tv. repaints her bike. buys new clothes. eats toasted waffles with peanut butter and honey.

when heather mentions a museum across town, jude no longer stares at her blankly. she doesn’t fumble or grasp for words. her foot’s planted on the ground, steady and strengthening.

she becomes inclined to music. an old trait, now in a new ambient. vivi glamours money to grant her a gift, a small excuse to cheer her up. the gadget fits most of her hand, sensitive to her tact and bright during the darker hours. heather hauls her laptop once in a while to upload new songs onto it, teaching jude how to sift through the list.

music player in her hand, jude sheepishly assembles a queue of songs that she likes. tunes that have replaced bards in taverns or notes plucked from lutes.

an aggressive song by a vexed wife goes first, the one with words that hit jude harsher than she wants to admit, the title saying not to hurt yourself. another one called once upon a time. a wedding song turned rock, a “strong electric guitar” according to heather, the singer belting about being loved tenderly. paint it, black by the stones that roll. where once her fingers would’ve stumbled over the gadget’s buttons, today she masters with ease.

the stunted child, the wraith of a human girl she once was rears her head in jude’s dreams. she gains color with each passing day.

*

by the time her exile hits eight months, jude begins the transition. she intends it to life, gives it air to breath.

i, jude duarte, will be happy in the mortal world.

she wills herself to change on a molecular level. when the desire of faerieland hightails back, she slams it to the back of her mind. she transforms the pain into power, into will. the scar left behind from her banishment becomes fuel for her new life. for the transformation into who jude could truly be in this wide, marvelous, enormous human world.

they don’t want you. they have not once wanted you.

he doesn’t want you. not like you do him.

he

doesn’t

want

you.

move on, she begs herself. move on. move on. move on. stop chasing after ghosts.

*

the wrath is elbow deep in a goblin’s guts. he swindled bryern a bagful of gold coin. it came down to her to rescue it back, and assure the impediment of a repetition. that’s when she met her.

“hnnnnggg…” moans a figure across the room.

jude ignored the drugged out junkies on her way in, leaving them in the back burner while working through the bulk of her job. but the turncloak goblin is dead, and was that noisy mound moving?

“help…” she hears.

jude rarely considers herself so altruistic. but the meekness of the plea pulls her across the room, tugs her legs to the sprawled person.

human. a girl, dirty blue hair all too reminiscent of nicasia, but not so polished as to pass for a sea princess. no, this girl appeared on the edge of a precipice, thin coat of sweat across her body.

“more,” the girl begs.

like clockwork. jude squats down to get closer. “want me to get you out of here?”

weakly, the girl nods. “she’ll find me.”

“what’s your name?”

the stranger smacks her lips, eyes rolling in her head. “lolli.”

lolli turned out to be an easy haul but a terrible map. jude exasperatedly dragged her through alleys and corners, hearing the laments of her companion through the journey. lolli got sidetracked from her ride-or-dies, see, shot up a bit too much powder - something she called never - and had an urgent need to return to the clan.

jude’s self-preservation rang high when she knocked on the selected door and met a fae two heads taller than she. his red skin shone bright in the doorway, his glamour invisible to jude’s geas.

“thank you for bringing pop back to us. i’m qylin” he says across from jude, having invited her in and given her a once-over. “uh, you mortal?”

she’s declined a drink, but accepted a chair. “as they come.”

qylin moves closer. “and you took out melbor? pop’s supplier?”

“is pop meant to be lolli?”

“her full name’s lollipop.”

“oh. i see.” a red flush runs across her face. “melbor huh? didn’t catch his name. i did catch both his kidneys though.”

qylin whistles.  “damn. a mortal.” he pronounces it with wonder. nothing like she’s used to. it falls with disbelief in her ears.

“that’s quite a might you got in you. here.” in an outstretched hand, jude finds a tiny acorn that no doubt has a message inside it. “if you ever quit meandering for coin and want to run with the real wolves, i’ll answer.”

wolf. she’d been a girl and she’d been a mortal. then she’d been wormfood and after that she’d been a queen. couldn’t say jude once considered herself a wolf, or imagined running with them. then again, she had become so many things far from her imagination.

the ward. the mortal. the queen. the wrath. her list of faces ran endless, each mask pressing heavier and heavier on her fragile composition.

*

in the beginning, vivi congratulated her like a preschooler with a trophy. “look at you, making an effort. i told you home wasn’t so bad.”

months later they’ve turned to “you are too far out” accompanied by the tapping of her foot, a face riddled by concern. “you’re jumping into danger again.”

vivi didn’t know how jude missed being afraid.

*

if she dreams of cardan, the sting pulls her awake and breathless into the chirping crickets of the dark hours.

*

ninth month. her exile is a baby somewhere, born and breathing. a marking reminder of her incipient rule cut short.

jude duarte makes a decision. she steps outside of the girl she used to be, the teenager latched to a world that had not once been hers.

the acorn is light in her hands. she splits it open, unrolling the paper inside, and when she sees the address and phone number it takes her a total of eighteen minutes to pack.

*

saying goodbye without telling them it’s goodbye cracks a new wound in her already shattering heart.

*

oak thinks she’s going to the gym. vivi thinks she’s babysitting oak. heather might’ve had a clue, but she kept silent while jude hugged her, muttering a quick thanks for watching her brother while vivi came from the post office.

it appears, after years, she’d learned to say farewell to all things that were close to her.

*

qylin refrained from asking questions, just as jude liked it. she watched, studied, learned, kept to her rank while scheming for more. the room and cot qylin offers is as home as any she’s had.

*

when she urged cardan to inveigle the princess of the undersea, it led them to a hidden alcove draped with vines, to a couch where she’d bared more of jude duarte than she had in her entire life. the memory is both a memory and the dream that recurs most in her sleep. their tryst, their unculminated tumble, their fumbled connection, whatever people would want to call it. in her sickest hours, jude allowed herself to think of it with a tender gaze, with a pink shiny filter, with the dreaded word she’d been on the run from for years.

that you hate me. tell me that you hate me.

“i hate you,” jude whispers. “i hate you and i married you and i hate you.” the two phrases weren’t mutually exclusive.

*

lollipop has been gone for weeks, but her junkie spirit is alive.

the wrath evaded nevermore like cats did water, but the gradual acclimation to qylin’s ring fills her with misplaced ease. it took them damn near six months, but jude finally surrendered her arm.

it pricks, the needle, like the pinch on her finger when cardan stabbed her for the salt in her blood. for the antidote to faerie fruit.

she’s high. she’s at a revel in new york and she’s vulnerable and she’s high.

it doesn’t take long for jude to cement her decision to never do drugs in her natural life again. but once that’s been engraved in her think tank, the world turns mellow and technicolor. it tells her to enjoy while it lasts.

she’s surrounded by leaves, platter of fruit, dancing pixies and slender fae. painful reminders of the home she direly tries to forget.

in a mirage, she pictures black curls under a golden crown of flowers. cruel lips forming a smile.

as if underwater, ears plugged with chlorine liquid, jude hears a seductive voice to her side. “what a pretty thing.” a woman. tall and thin, fae ears and slit green eyes. eyes that fall down to jude’s chest. “busty.”

not all quite there, jude struggles but succeeds in recognizing the tone coming from her courtier. and before she can respond, to her surprise, a second woman emerges from the back of her new companion.

she’s got beautiful straight teeth and straighter talons. “careful. saphine can bite.”

after being called hideous half a life, this come-on douses jude awake like a bucket of water. she studies the two girls and the raking nature of their eyes. she thinks perhaps if she paid more attention she could’ve recognized that in cardan’s eyes. could’ve told it apart from the hatred, the arrogance and the disgust.

without preemptiveness, without pause to think it over, jude tugs both girls to her. her body busts in sensation.

she remembers cardan in a maze, draped in languor and gold faerie drug and girls. black shark eyes watching her while horned girls had their way with him. one kissed his neck, she remembers, and another his knee.

“here,” she scoffs, pushing down sapphire or whatever’s head to her knees. “above my boot.”

a chuckle. “feisty, huh?” she hears, and she truly doesn’t care.

next, jude unceremoniously pulls the second girl up to her neck, leading them exactly where and how she wants them. she’s a constellation of heat and brief spikes of libido.

does cardan think of her? when he’s in bed or bedding someone new, whichsoever activity he performs at night, does jude cross his mind? does he remember her? sometimes in the ridiculous seclusion of her mind she thought cardan would be faithful to her once upon a time. she could slap her own cheeks for such foolishness.

his face appears stark in her memory. deep hollows on his collarbones, raven black hair and eyes devouring her like fruit. his lips, they’d been so soft.

jude leans her head back and laments her ghosts. she inhales sharply.

after the hot spell passes, after jude feels the trickle of tongue make its way up to her thigh and another down her chest, she pushes them away.

why? she doesn’t know. jude is only sure of the fact that she’s tired and doesn’t want this and instead wants a glass of water then maybe a bed.

saphine tilts her head, rolls her eyes, and waves her off, moving along. jude is thankful, for the first time, at being so easily discarded.

*

a month later makes two years since her infamous exit.

“unless cardan has a child,” oak said. many moons past.

the memory of him brings upon a dream. the opposite to her listless, watered-down dreams she grew used to having.

she sneaks through the palace, it’s name near forgotten to her, crawling against walls or chasing shadows.

he’s there. he’s in many of her dreams and he’s there in this one. hair astray. tilted crown. reclined on a couch, his tail freely swishing left and right.

if he remembers their pact of marriage, he doesn’t bother to show it. no mourning, no sadness, no desperation. unlike the other dreams of him, in this he’s placated. joyful, even, in a way so seldom his character.

jude’s understanding is little.

something squirms in cardan’s arms. when she gets closer it nearly takes her breath away to a fault, threatening to kill her. it’s a baby. older than a newborn but small enough to fit in his arms, to paw at his chin and gargle.

no test could prepare her for this sight.

and cardan. he’s absolutely changed. reinvented in the light of this babe, this creature jude hasn’t seen the face of. because that is his spawn, the tiny tail swishing from its rear indicates as much. that, combined with the black tresses, leaves no doubt that she is looking at a king and his heir.

in the depths of her shriveled dignity, jude duarte senses another break, another disgusting branched crack.

her husband is inconsolable in love. his bright smile slashes wide across his face, softening his sharp cheekbones. he lifts the baby to his face, pressing their noses together, cooing. she hardly recognizes him. but she recognizes the lack of a need for her.

this was a nightmare.

cardan lets the child descend, adjusting them in his lap with heartbreaking gentleness. to her horror, the toddler turns and pierces jude in place with raven black eyes.

she runs cold all over. the child has the look of a girl.

her coloring is unique, darker than cardan’s and any fae’s. it’s closer to… jude’s own. and below the black curls, which she realizes now is actually dark amber brown, there’s ears. rounded, untipped, human ears.

jude is utterly unmoored. the scene melts. she wakes up to hands descending upon her, to frightened questions of why she was screaming and that she’s woken up half of the gang. they cannot get a straight answer from her, and after plowing her with cups of water and aspirins from a quick run to the mini-store, the most they get from jude duarte is a somber face and a fall into her pillow.

*

jude becomes a gallery of girls. she’s judy, and she’s martina, and she’s amelie with the occasional latika. running in qylin’s underworld gang requires her to. police don’t catch her, fae detectives don’t either, and if by chance she needed to run an errand the name she gave was one of a basinful of fake i.d. cards.

“i once had a twin,” she offhandedly told someone.

“what was her name?” they asked.

jude slurped from a tall gas station soda cup. “doesn’t matter.”

*

three years. the earnest smile she’d lost a number of winters ago returns tenuously but surely. as a sliver, as a tiny reminder, as a planted seed showing the very smallest evidence of root.

*

a pixie joins their ranks. young and limber. her cerulean skin reminds jude of a blue court under the sea.

“fand,” she greets the mismatched group. “newborn nomad.”

jude welcomes her by the form of a nod, turning back to the display of headshots splashed on the table, organizing it into a semblance of order.

she feels fand dance around her, suspicious to her presence. she thinks for a hot minute that fand might want to cause trouble. jude focuses her attention to the knife hidden between her breasts.

the pixie stares at her, unabashed, and right as jude thinks to reach to her chest, fand grows the courage to ask. “you. do i know you?”

the question falls flat. “i don’t believe so. there’s little chance our paths crossed.”

fand squints. “well, i’ve just left elfhame. finally broke from that unruly mess.”

lightning forks in jude’s chest, attacking her nervous system. an old phantom possesses her body, causing her to still.

the pixie moves closer, inspecting. “your look, it’s so familiar.”

jude understands in a minute.

taryn. fucking taryn. always, forever, impossible-to-be-rid-of taryn.

summoning years of falsehoods and acting experience, jude breaks eye contact to laugh and feign offense. “all mortals look the same to fae, i’m sure.”

that is not a lie. she learned that from the wickedest prince himself.

*

when fand slips away from the gang two nights later, jude forces herself to block it from memory.

*

she’s almost twenty-one. in faerie she might have died since she was eleven.

here, she’s got a family. a rough knit circle of confidants, people she rarely thinks twice about trusting anymore. her music keeps her company, and her growing arsenal of skills, of wins, it warms the smallest piece of her soul.

how could she have hated such a place?

*

���counterinsurgents. we calculate two dozen below the bridge,” jekka, qylin’s second, explains over a map.

jude’s focus is precise, uninterrupted.

the years, the lack of practice from a simple lack of need to, makes it so that she doesn’t religiously check the perimeter, doesn’t spot a green face. his dark tuft of hair and hooked nose, spying from the window, hidden among leaves and wind.

if she had seen him, she might’ve remembered her old friend. if she’d seen him, she might’ve broken down in tears, or begged for a word, or done none of those things to help jekka figure out their positions for the next day’s raid.

*

“watch for the sniper!” one of her gang yells.

jude ducks, experienced muscles leading her across the space, the shielded street with broken streetlights. abandoned houses repurposed for criminal night creatures sprawl one after the other. they’ve chosen one a stone throw from the river, so close they could taste the salt while counting bloody fae or human scalps.

five, six, seven leaps and she’s out of shot, crammed into a wedge in the building. she took down three counterinsurgents already. the wrath ran rampant today.

another figure jumps out the window, two yards from her, and takes off running through the backside of the house, the one facing the water. swift as the wind, jude pursues in fervor.

bam.

first the noise like thunderclap. then the pain.

oh.

when they screamed sniper, she expected an arrow. she expected a taut bow and a sharp, easily removed tip of metal. not a bullet.

*

in the end, jude has been a galaxy of abridges.

she’s had abridged parents, gone before her eighth birthday. that led to an abridged innocence and an abridged life in their rudimentary home in maine. she’s had an abridged relationship with her sisters. an abridged sense of belonging.

she had an abridged romance with a prince and king. that chapter being severed short was, as they all were, not her fault.

she had an abridged marriage. an abridged kingdom rule.

to be culminated in an abridged life. thin and meager.

she hopes no matter how small her garden has been, that each poison flower and cherry blossoms she’s sowed has done its best to enrich the tiny piece of universe allotted to her.

*

she should’ve known when she saw the river.

in water all began, and in water it ends.

there are no screams. no chaos. the gang has left her, chasing their foes further up the street, looking to corner them. jude? she’s going for a dip. a passage to the next life. she’ll float to it. gargle on the last of life.

“huh,” she whispers.

the ache is pungent in her back, the bullet hitting close to the spine but not quite. deadly, though. deadly for sure.

she wasn’t queen of nothing. she was queen of death, the hierophant of misery. her whole life has been a string of it. well, no longer.

jude duarte reaches the water’s edge, using each fiber of her strength to not fall in quite yet.

*

in the haziness of all that she’d done and all that she’d run from, he comes to her. in dream, in flesh. she’s not yet in the water.

“jude.”

this has to be the mark between. the straddling line of life and death. because somehow, impossibly, she hears him.

“jude!”

or?...

her brows scrunch in confusion, a naked toe in the river already. she wants to turn, but the seeping life at her back won’t allow it.

she doesn’t need to. long arms surround her, someone moving in front of her to read her face, to see what lies there.

it’s him.

jude’s lids droop. her back is on fire, and she burns in the flames. he’s barely changed. matured into his looks, if she had to put it into words. his tar eyes, slender lips, pointed nose and legendary black curls suddenly remind her of being seventeen.

there’s so much in his face she can barely read any of it. “is it you? is it really you?” he demands.

she’s always been jude. who jude became, that was a different question. one she no longer cares to ask.

“i found you. i finally finally found you.” his voice is incredulous.

is he the harbinger of the beyond? was that his role to play this entire time? her thoughts eddy and murk the more time passes with a hole in her back.

it is an arcane thing, in truth, to be held by a creature she’s craved and despised. her body responds on its own by pressing closer, seeking warmth.

he might be crying. could also be the angle of the sun.

“please,” he whispers.

she hasn’t said his name in years.

“cardan.”

his eyes fall closed.

her mouth repeats the motion, recognizing the familiarity of his name. cardan. once her king. her husband. the sight of him brings forth a wave of emotions, cascading through her like a waterfall.

cardan tugs her close to a punishingly tight degree. “i thought you dead.” he speaks into her ear. “we searched for years. i thought you were gone. gone, jude.”

the word pulls her back, creates distance between them. jude lets herself get lost in his eyes, those splendid eyes, bottomless and infinite, a serene look on her face as she responds:

“almost.”

the fractious prince too arrogant to be a ruler does not stand in front of her. this man is similar, but a sense of strength she hadn’t seen is forefront and shining. jude wishes she could appreciate it.

if only this weren’t the last time.

“so it is you.” she says it with wonder, with a detachment that lets her turn away from his arms and face the river.

cardan’s intake of breath indicates he has finally seen her wound. he twists his neck, shouts to someone far back, hidden in the houses. “shes hurt! SHE’S HURT!” his voice is raw and desperate.

jude walks into the water.

a hand at her arm stops her, keeps her in place, but she shrugs it off with newfound confidence and turns around. cardan’s incredulous face sparks memories of faraway lands and kingdoms.

“what are you doing?” he demands.

jude’s lips break into a smile. how she missed his voice. she walks back until water reaches her waist, then her chest, then the crown of her head.

“stop!” she hears.

the layers of the girl she was, who she is, who she could’ve been, they merge. yes, she had missed faerie. yes, she had wanted cardan. yes, she had wept tears of rage at knowing she could not have either of them back. if she cried now, her tears would turn to river water, melding into the beautiful greater whole.

a hand grips her chest. another tugs on her neck, urging her up, up, up.

air. sweet air in her lungs.

jude gasps, her plans interrupted. the bulletwound at her back sears at the salt water, the sensation so intense it actually numbs her and leaves her feeling very little.

cardan presses her flush to his body. he raises her up, and his face is marked with horror and betrayal.

“how could you?” he weeps. his features are anguished, desperate. he’s shaking her by the shoulder. “how could you?”

jude smiles a wet smile. “remember when you pushed me into the rapids? and you forced my twin to abandon me and kiss your cheeks? i can’t remember a time when i’ve been warm since then. the water, it was cold. like a leech.”

“the roach is gathering for a salve. jude, you will be okay. you need to get out now.”

she realizes there’s something wrong. “wait. no. that’s a lie. i am a liar.” she tilts her face to his, eyes meeting. “you were warm. behind the throne room and in your bed. you kept me warm. but you ripped me from my home and i've been cold since.”

cardan does something she didn’t imagine him capable of. he didn’t do so when balekin beat him. he didn’t do so when his family was slaughtered. he did so this moment, with her encircled by his arms. cardan sobs.

maybe this is when he understands he’s been forever her herald. the marker of her death. their destinies, interlinked, but only for this.

as he bares himself open, jude candidly studies his face. there’s freedom in allowing herself to admit she missed him. missed all of it. her kingdom that never was.

“i’ll heal you,” he implores. his hand runs down wet and shakingly down her face. “you’re my queen. we’ll use our magic. we will, jude, if you stay with me. don’t you get it? the exile was fake. i never meant for you to vanish. i’m begging you, please, help me heal you.”

her forehead falls on his. waist-deep in water, she feels his short breaths fall on her cheek. “you held hatred for me once.”

slowly, miserably, cardan shakes his head. the motion makes her pull away but he doesn’t let her, staying together. “love. i held love, jude.”

love

four letters.

years of running. and it caught up to her all the same.

his words hit her worse than the sniper did. she staggers in his embrace.

“hold.” he says the word with intensity. “i hold, jude.” cardan refuses to let her go, won’t let her fall. “you walked away with my heart.”

thoughts swirl in her head. they swim around like the fish crossing in between their legs.

“hold,” she says weakly.

hold love. he loves me.

impossible. and true.

“huh.”

*

“hold me,” she asks him. and he does.

he does.

he appears vacillant to his actions save for holding her.

jude can’t remember a time when she wasn’t running. from her parents’ demise. from madoc’s threats. from the cruel fae. from her sister’s betrayal. from cardan’s torments and, apparently, his ministrations of love. from her own shadow.

they haven’t moved from the water. it’s been a minute. it’s been four years.

jude feels her body slag, the water making up for the new deadweight.

“i wish you’d never left me,” he murmurs.

gratingly, she lifts her hand to trace a finger along the hard, straight line and point of her husband’s ear. “cardan, are you here to ask me for a divorce?”

his face breaks. she’s fully leaning on him, his long arms cradling her to his chest. amidst their soaked clothes, she feels the thudding of his heart against her cheek.

jude’s eyes flutter open and closed. “i want to tell you i will. i want to tell you i’ve waited for it. i - ah…” a jab of pain causes her to pause. “i want to tell you it hasn’t been eating me alive to be apart from you. i want to tell you… so… many… lies.”

through her misty vision, she sees cardan shake his head. “you are not leaving me.” the conviction in his voice draws a laugh from her.

“oh, cardan.” it’s the last good breath in her lungs. in the distance, she feels the ripples of someone entering the river, racing towards them. she sees only pitch black eyes. “i already have. i already have.”

they are esoteric, rendered in numinous light. from their entwined bodies in the water, there grow white flowers at the riverbed, their petals straining for the sun.

[blindrapture]

a union-mandated break post

(okay, let’s see if I can type this all over again after losing the post. gotta remember how it all went.)

Hey there, the few mutuals who Like all of my posts, the lurkers who occasionally make their presence known, the lurkers who I also hope are there, and all you folks who come across this post naturally before scrolling on (that’s fine too, please have a nice day! remember to take a deep breath and unclench!). I wanted to make a post giving a casual update.

Things have been going. You know how it is. Time proceeds onwards at a pace that is a crawl to some and fleeting to others, depending on relative perspective. The average of all these observations may be Objective Truth, a hazy mythical and abstract prospect which to this day no living human has ever known (due to the nature of perspective). We still try to know it for some reason, an endeavour which may be “a good thing” or “a condemnation of our species,” but that’s relative too. See above. Still, it is possible to take an approximation of what we figure this average to be and find ourselves (mis)balanced on a knife-edge in between all perspectives. This narrow path, the knife-edge between fast and slow, between good and bad, between ecstasy and despair, seems precarious at times, yet at other times is like a garden, wide and spacious enough to sit awhile. Our perspectives cover this garden from us with the shrubbery of Can’ts and Shouldn’ts, and the way to the garden is fraught with the misty cloud of Look-Like. And yet, ultimately, these shrubs and mists are but prismatic scenery colouring our time on this Earth, a perspective which is easy to see from within the garden. The Earth is brown and grey and immortal, though wearing an impermanent coat of blue and green. One day, we will slip out of our perspectives and return to the Earth, join her mounding’s mass, and that will be death.

So that’s the weather. Sometimes cold, sometimes mild, sometimes wet, sometimes dry, sometimes bothersome and sometimes the only backdrop I could ever want. I’ve been up to the usual, cycling between interests like a bat between haunts.

- The other day I got around to playing Smile For Me, an experience which took me about three hours to more-or-less complete 100%. Really cute game, I fell in love with all the characters, and the budding horror elements made me excited to see where it’d go.

- Currently I’m playing A Monster’s Expedition Through Puzzling Exhibitions, a game often cited in the same breath as Baba Is You and Stephen’s Sausage Roll. I think those two games are puzzle masterpieces, and A Monster’s Expedition is hitting me in the right spot. It frequently fills me with awe, which is impressive considering the game is just a long series of oblong block-pushing puzzles. It has scope, though, and it has the guts to hide that scope from you until you’re able to discover it for yourself. I’ve played for about 10 hours so far, beaten over 200 islands, and yet I feel I’m only getting further away from the end goal. Hard to describe. It’s a good game.

- When I’m done with that game, next I’ll be checking out Spelunky 2. I’ve wanted to try the original for a long time but never got around to it; I picked up the sequel. I know very little about the games (with a rough idea of what gameplay is like), and I intend to keep it that way for as long as I can. I like games that rely on discovery.

- Book-wise, I’m, y’know, reading Finnegans Wake as I fall asleep, occasionally inching through other books too, but my main reading focus at the moment is The Familiar. I went and picked up a new copy of Volume 5, and I found the Volume 3 I had kinda lost for a while, so now I have the full Season 1 again. And it’s been long enough since I read any of them that it’s finally time to reread them. As a unit this time. I am... so happy to be in their headspace. I’m currently in the second act of Volume 1, taking in a lot more details this time (and I do still remember a sense of where the whole plot goes), really cherishing the commitment to physicality and aesthetic. There’s not many authors out there like Danielewski. House of Leaves kickstarted my book obsession, y’know. And The Familiar is about as grand as a project can be. It’s supposed to be 27 volumes, each one 900 pages long, and the design of these books is goddamn sublime. The publisher only let him do the first 5 volumes, which is sad, but luckily those 5 volumes make up a “Season,” so they’re still a whole thing, a complete story arc for each of the nine protagonists, and plenty of secrets and details that give a good sense of the true scope. And did I mention the series is fucking scary? Profoundly so, each new volume weaving you deeper into its conspiratorial web of eldritch coincidences and patterns. The story is full of cats, immortal cats, God-cats. There’s a scientist who keeps a freaky magic orb and is known as Wizard. There’s an Armenian taxi driver who’s one of my favourite characters. And you can probably get all the volumes Used for fairly cheap on Amazon now. ........please, somebody join me in loving this series.

- Creative-wise, I’m working on music as always, putting notes next to each other until I get a result I can do something with. There is one piece that’s definitely done, a collaboration between Lindsay and I, but it’s going into Nine Is God so you won’t hear it just yet. Speaking of, that’s coming along. I haven’t even started making any codes or cool connections yet; I want to finish the... Core of this update first. Let’s be deceptive and call it the Main Blog. I have proven to myself that I definitely can do this; I keep stumbling on new mechanisms I can add, and I have a pretty vivid idea of what the whole thing will look like. It’s gonna be maybe a decent size for a Blog, all told, but it’s the form of the thing that mandates a lot of care. Luckily I have made Viceking’s Graab, so this isn’t the first time I’ve done something this mechanically ambitious. ...look, just. Of course I’m excited to Actually Talk about this thing, but like with the Graab, its nature requires me to keep it secret until players finally discover it for themselves. I like making that kind of thing, I want the sense of discovery, of climbing up a hill only to reach the summit and see an even bigger mountain looming over you that you hadn’t realized was there. Like Frog Fractions, or its sequel, even if you know there will be more than meets the eye you still get surprised and filled with delight. This concept fits neatly into an ARG format.

- Oh, also, I’m super excited for the Braid remake. It’s gonna have a comically thorough amount of developer commentary, and that’s all I want from this world. It’s even coming to Switch!

Media can be used as a tool to assist with the experience of life, and that is the way I want to approach things. I have spent time adapting myself to feel comfortable in these boring aesthetics (of understated puzzle games, thoughtful pretty books, blogs as art) because this means I am less susceptible to getting burned out during contemplation and self-examination. It may seem like a matter of taste, but taste is relative too; it’s not hard-wired, it can be adjusted, it does adjust all the time under the hood. ...I don’t know where to go with this one, other than that I should be careful not to condescend. I am not above anyone, I am confused too. I just.. like confusion and mazes, and I try to speak these aesthetics in an approximation of how I see others talk about theirs.

Right. I think that’s the bulk of it, that’s what I wanted to say today. I hope you are holding on, reader. It’s a wild and lonely world out there, and it’s our world; it’s yours just as much as it’s anyone else’s. You are important to it.

I leave you, mysteriously, with an old Genesis song. It’s called “Can-Utility and the Coastliners,” which is a silly way of saying it’s a song about the myth of King Canute. Sick of flatterers claiming he was equal to God, he went to the sea shore and said “If I truly am equal to God, then let the waves halt at my feet!” They didn’t. An astute demonstration, but it just prompted his flatterers to praise his ingenuity. “But he forced a smile, even though his hopes lay dashed where offerings fell.” I’m not really sure how the story ends. But it’s a wonderful song, starts off very folks-y but quickly takes a left turn down Mystery and Beauty. And it’s freaking Genesis.

See ya.