#chapter two I guess

[dreemurrsightings]

Fighting art block with the help of art challenges and lesbians

Og image below + link ( ˙▿˙ ) 👇

[sukunasteeth]

The Pleasure's All Mine - Chapter One

Based on this post from @winterrbluess

If Shibuya had a pulse, it would be at the rate of a hummingbird's wings.

The human race operates at a speed that oftentimes seems too quick to catch up with. It had been that way ever since you moved to the city for work about three years ago.

You came for a corporate job made up of ink black suits and pencil skirts, smiles that felt more on the side of uncanny valley than they did of genuine kindness, and handshakes from skin cold with carpal tunnel. You lived a corporate life. Everything is muted tones of tan and relies heavily on the concept of "modernizing". You wake up, go to work, go home, work on what you couldn't finish at the office, fall asleep on your colorless coffee table, and wake up to your alarm going off what feels like hours too soon. It was a cyclical cycle.

And the day you broke it, happened to be the day you met Sukuna.

~

You noticed the new shop on the end of the street maybe three weeks ago. It was so out of place, after all. The building was the only non-skyscraper to be seen on the block. It was a shriveled up little thing, built out of chipping brick that seemed to teeter on the edge of dilapidation from the inability to meet building codes. Overgrown ivy crawled up the sides of it and it still had plots of dirt in the front for planting as opposed to concrete and metal benches. 

When you had first seen the For Sale sign a few months ago, you were sure they were going to tear it down and pave over it- happy to be rid of the only spot of character left in the business district. Then a new sign appeared over the door, one that looked hand carved out of wood and haphazardly painted over so that you could make out the words "Carnation King".

It’s funny, flowers had never been much of an interest to you. You had seen them as just another task to take care of when you returned home after a long day. Even filling a vase with water always sounded like more effort than it was worth. But as the days blend together from monotony, you find yourself desperate for color.

You changed your walking route to work so that you can pass by the shop everyday. You knew nothing about flowers. You could barely tell a rose bud apart from a tulip, but that didn't stop you from ogling at the new bouquets and potted plants that lined the sidewalk every time you passed them. Signs made out of toothpicks and painters tape said words like “Butterfly Ranunculus” and “Brown-Eyed Susan” and learning their names became one of your favorite things to do. You never stepped foot inside, and yet the flower shop was now one of your happy places. 

You would meander by on your lunches and watch the butterflies play. You would walk by in the morning and smell freshly watered earth still hanging in the air. On your way home, when the sun was at its fullest shine, you would walk beneath the misters hung under the lip of the roof, and the coolness of the water droplets left behind on your skin saw you all the home. 

You hadn’t realized how important the flower shop was to your daily routine until the day it was interrupted. 

It happened to be one of the only days you had been forced by your workload to stay past sunset for overtime. You didn’t do it for the money, you did it because your boss had asked you nicely. But as you finally exit the office building for the night, you find yourself regretting staying so late. 

You hated walking home in the dark. Even though Japan was notorious for its low crime rates, that didn't mean it was an innocent city. After 9pm, your street was notorious for being a ghost town. The only signs of life were the few work martyrs left in their floor to ceiling window offices- acting as makeshift streetlights. There were only a few lights on the way home, and their solidarity only seemed to pronounce the darkness along the rest of the empty roadside. When you were just an intern, before you got better hours and were finally promoted to the shining 9-5 that everyone dreams about, you used to take your heels off and sprint back to your apartment. Always weary of what you couldn’t see. At the time, you didn’t know that the scariest people don’t have to hide in the dark. 

You hadn’t planned on walking past the shop that night. It was closed. It had to be. Normal flower shops closed well before 7 pm let alone 9. But the moment you touch the sidewalk outside your building, you see light glowing against the dense night. 

The shop at the end of the street was draped in tiny fairy lights. Every square inch of brick was twinkling slowly, glimmering like resting fireflies. It looked almost otherworldly in comparison to the towering pitch black shadows of corporate offices surrounding it. In fact, the effect of the glowing lights against the mirror windows made it look like the shop was hanging in space. 

Outside, the flowers you had walked past in the afternoon had been replaced with new pots, overflowing with buds you had never seen before. The usual delicate smell of Honeysuckle and Roses was now one of the sweetest scents you had ever experienced, so sweet, you could almost taste it on your tongue. Warm golden light floods out of the shop's window and the numerous white and yellow petals seem to gather and hold onto its dull shine. 

You didn’t even realize you had completely abandoned your original plan of taking the shortcut home until you were standing in front of the Carnation King with your eyes entranced on the display before you. One flower in particular had caught your eye, a huge luscious display of delicate tow-colored petals, tall with endless growth and reaching towards the moonlight as though it’s been waiting all day to see it. You can’t help but reach out to touch, and yet just before your fingertips make it, you feel coolness trickling onto your hand, breaking the spell that the lights and colors had placed on you. 

 "Evening Primrose." 

The suddenness of a voice beside you should have put you in fight or flight mode. It should have been a cold bucket of water to the face. Adrenaline spiking, you should be sprinting in the opposite direction. Instead, you found the tranquil trance that the flowers had put you in to have a lasting effect. 

You blink at the man who seemed to appear out of thin air standing next to you, and the first thing you notice are his eyes. Such a dark shade of golden rich hazel-brown, they were nearly shining like two cuts of Cat’s-Eye. They gleamed suspicion. 

He was much taller than you, but where most are lanky you can see strong muscles and broad shoulders. Collared sleeves rolled halfway up his arms revealed skin kissed rich and deep by prolonged sunshine. Tattoos slithered around his wrists and had made their way to his sculptured face, meticulously drawn black lines frame an annoyed expression. When you see the rest of him, you’re certainly not expecting to notice tufts from a head of true strawberry blond hair hang in his frigid gaze.

In one of his hands is a water can, still pouring trickling water onto your momentarily petrified fingertips, and in the other hand is a cigarette, only a third of the way lit. 

The sight of him takes you so far back, if the sound of his voice wasn’t still echoing in your head you might not have remembered that he had even said anything to you. 

"I'm sorry?" You pull your hand away from the water spray, drying it on your slacks.

The man takes half a drag of the cigarette before he answers you. Slow and unrushed. "They're called Evening Primrose.” He speaks through a cloud of tobacco smoke, glancing at the flowers that had caught your eye. His lip twitches slightly, "Need full sunlight but only bloom in moonlight. Fickle bastards." 

Okay. Owner. Mean owner. Unexpectedly rough-and-tumble looking for being the caretaker of a flower shop. You glance at his apron, but you don’t find a name tag. He takes a step back while you’re searching for it, but he only moves far enough to start watering the next plant on the table. 

You look back to the Evening Primrose, and even the smell of the burning cigarettes is nothing in the face of the scent that had pulled you in earlier. The two flavors mix like a tea garden on fire. You caress the petals once more, unthinkingly. 

"They smell incredible." You mutter, mostly to yourself. 

"Not them.” His voice is colder than his eyes. He flicks a bit of ash onto the cement behind him, and tilts his head in the direction of a different bush, one that’s even bigger than the healthy Primrose, with hundreds of tiny buds that flutter in the nighttime air. “That'd be her." 

"”Her”?" You repeat, wondering if you heard the man correctly. 

"Night Jasmine." He answers in return. 

As standoffish as he was, you still found yourself making mental notes of the names he had given you. When you look at the Night Jasmine directly, it’s clear that the wind was sweeping that delicious smell straight from the direction of its honey-hued petals. You’re not sure you had seen plants like this at even the most expensive hotels and events that you had been invited to. Maybe tiny cuttings, but nothing to this size and level of lush. 

"Well she's very pretty." You reply softly, letting out an airy laugh through your nose at his use of pronouns. The man doesn’t even crack a smile in return, his eyes giving you a pointed once over. 

“And invasive.” He adds, resting his gaze on yours once again. 

There’s a thick silence that follows after, during which you consider apologizing. For what? You were unsure, but somehow standing in his towering shadow and feeling his accusing eyes had you feeling like you were in the wrong for merely existing in his presence. 

Before you can think to just turn around, take off your heels, and sprint home like you had years ago, his voice demands your attention again. 

"So,” he says, “you gonna tell me why you’re stalking me, then?"

Now, surely, you were hearing things. 

"E-Excuse me?" 

He seems to take in your shock with some thought while he takes another languid puff, "You come by here every single day,” He lets the smoke go from his lungs, ”but you never buy a thing. In fact, you never even come in." The tone of his voice tilts towards annoyance. “You just stand at the window and pout like some sad puppy.” 

"I-I work in the building next door?" You offer, bewildered by the entire situation. Were you dreaming? Had you fallen asleep at your desk and given yourself some sort of stress-induced nightmare?

"Hmm," The man takes you in without breaking your gaze, tilting his head to the side while he takes another drag of his cigarette. "You don't seem like the pencil pusher type to me."

You’re not sure why that comment makes you defensive. In retrospect, it was even a compliment to you. You hated sitting at a desk all day, watching the sun rise and set over a stack of papers. But you had worked hard to get to the position you were in now and it wasn’t the first time a man had told you that you didn’t look like you belonged. Before you can catch yourself in the name of politeness you find yourself scoffing out, "Sorry, but you don't seem like much of a florist to me."

The silence returns. You watch as the disdainful glint to his eyes shatters, and is replaced with a split second of surprise. He blinks and it’s only then that you realize how much larger this man is in comparison to you. If you had seen him walking down the street, you’d probably think to yourself “I wouldn’t want to be on his bad side” and yet here you were, on his bad-getting-worse side from the moment your eyes met. 

Or so you had thought. But, as the antithesis of anger crosses his hardened features, and an unexpected bitten-back grin takes the place of his glower, you’re not sure what to think anymore. 

He snorts out a laugh, finally releasing you from the cold grasp of his unbreakable gaze. He takes another step back and focuses his attention on watering the flowers again. "Touche." 

The cigarette gets flicked from his fingertips and he smears it beneath his boot into a tiny canal of rocks separating the soil of the garden beds from the cement of the sidewalk. 

"So, you gonna buy something then? Or just stand there with that strange look on your face all night?" He tilts his head to mirror your stance, but the amused grin remains in place of your confused gape. “I close in five minutes.”

“I have to hand it to you, you’re a fantastic salesman.” You’ve never met a stranger more brash and uncaring, so you were giving it a shot in return. It only serves to further his easy smiles.

“Am I not offering the right thing?” Now apparently after confirming to himself that you weren’t a threat, his tone of voice seems almost playful. It only serves to further your confusion. “Hmm, a lock of my hair maybe?” 

“I am not a stalker!” 

“Then buy something.” 

You take a deep breath through your nose. Feeling the need to save face when you haven’t done anything wrong in the first place. Yet, the thought of turning away empty handed had embarrassment threatening to heat up your neck and cheeks. You didn't care if you had to drop a pretty penny, you just didn't want to boost this man's ego.

"Those." You point to the nearest flower, another pot of proud blossoms sprouting from a stem unseen past the abundant greenery of strong leaves. Soft moon colored petals unfurl at the top, and sprouting from the center are tiny, deep yellow pollen covered buds. 

The man follows your pointed finger and graces your choice with all of one second before he turns back to his watering. "Not those." He decides flatly. 

You’ve never made a more difficult purchase. "Why not?" 

"Casablanca Lilies need constant care. A white-collar like you couldn't keep up. And I don't raise 'em so people can kill 'em."

"I think I can take care of a plant, thank you." You retort, sarcasm oozing off your sentence. 

It seems you can only really catch this man’s attention when your tone has a touch of negativity, because suddenly he’s back to watching you. 

There’s a pregnant pause before his next words. He searches nothing but your eyes for a moment, as if to gauge. 

"Wanna bet?" He cocks a brow. 

And it angers you how handsome you find this annoying, pompous, self-entitled stranger. 

"Bet?” You repeat incredulously. “Are you making a sale or trying to fight?” 

Instantly, as if you were offering the two scenarios as possible options, his smile darkens and he takes a step forward instead of continuing his line of watering. 

That was all the reply you needed. You had seen the movies. The documentaries. Handsome men, provoking women, hungry eyes, it never added up to something good. So that was your que to keep walking straight past him and go home. 

“Right, I don’t need this.” You scoff. 

And yet, just before you're able to step aside him, like a true businessman, he says just the right thing to keep you there.

"So I'm right then?" 

The sound of the droplets from the watering can against the cement in place of your footsteps has you cringing in self-disappointment. You force your head to turn and meet his infuriating amusement. 

"What's the bet?" You grind out from clenched teeth. His eyes fall to your mouth, and he takes a pointed second to look at your bite before he steps away from you and back to the place where your interaction began. He reaches beside the huge Evening Primrose bush to reveal a small green potted sapling with the same leaf pattern. 

He holds it out to you and you reach out to take the little thing like you’re scared for its safety. 

"Come back in two weeks. If it's alive, I'll give you the lilies for free." The calmness in his tone of voice doesn't match the excitement glittering in his dark hazel-brown eyes. "And if it's dead, you owe me." He adds, rather nonchalantly. 

"Owe you what?" You squint your eyes at him, maybe then you could see the little horns that match his devilish little grin. 

He shrugs, almost too innocently, "A favor. Haven't thought of it yet." The stranger gives you one last once over, but this one leaves the strangest chill running down your spine. His eyes seem to follow it, as if he can see it rattling through you. "Should I? You're so confident you'll win, I didn't think I'd have to."

Now it was your turn to look him up and down, tattoos, scars and a face that seemed too comfortable with that murderous look he had first given you.

"...There's no way you're just a florist."

The comment is completely ignored as he leans forward, invading your airspace a little too close for comfort, and murmuring the words "Yes or no?" with a thick sugar coating. 

"You're on." You hope your own words convey your complete disdain for him… and not that tiny glimmer of attraction you feel prickling under your skin. 

A surprised laugh seems to escape him, as though he didn't expect you to make the deal. "You're either quite confident in yourself or a damn fool." 

Like a rabbit bearing tiny teeth in the face of a lion, you mirror him and lean in closer until there's only a small space between the two of you. "Maybe I just like showing up cocky men."

"Oh, and I'm gonna love a favor from such a mouthy brat." You're lucky he pulls away from you after he practically purrs his threat. There's another thoughtful pause before he reaches into his apron pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes again.

"Two weeks. I know where you work too now." He lights another, and examines the cherry after he takes the first drag, smiling like it just told him a joke. “Don’t forget.” 

[carpetbug]

having a wee bit of a style crisis so enjoy some little feline blue doodles while I try to get my shit together <3

[ajwalkerartblog]

i'm very obsessed with skip and loafer atm

[shovson]

@hypersoft-fest week 3: detective stories

IT TAKES TWO

After an impromptu race briefing in Shov's hotel room, Jenson and Bono are woken up by a loud banging on the hotel door in the dead of night.  They open the door and discover an equally anxious Rubens and Riki that meet them with odd and worrying news.  Almost the entire paddock is missing. Engineers. Drivers. Team principals. Team heads. Car designers. Gone. With only twelve hours until the race begins and the press catches on, the surviving pairs must investigate the whereabouts of every missing person in order to ensure they're found safe and alive.  With Jenson and Rubens leading the charge, Riki and Bono hope to help push their drivers in the right direction before time runs out. Every second counts. As the four dig deeper into the mystery, they uncover a web of crimes and corruption behind the motorsport they exist in and begin to answer the question: in Formula One, who really wins?

[skcirthinq]

Donnie's turn for trauma! as his 5-years-presumed-dead twin who hasn't actually been dead sneaks in his intended last goodbyes!

Whiiile Donnie is trapped in a purple hamster ball.

Guys please.

Please read @sugarpasteltmnt 's The Neon Void.

[sesamenom]

the "what-to-do-about-the-ring" chapters, but from the perspective of elronds oath-related trauma

all text from Fellowship of the Ring (council of elrond + the ring goes south), except the snippets of the Oath, which i believe is from the Shibboleth of Feanor

inspired by this post

[puppyeared]

moshi moshi..

[hiorintruther]

Dragging myself out of inactivity to grossly overanalyse/scream about the chapter 213 Kunigiri stuff coz I’m so mentally unwell and it’s their fault.

First of all, I love how in order to get into the other stratums, players first have to submit a request form. Presumably they’d have to state a reason for going and I doubt “I want to see my friends” would be allowed because some people would end up using it as an excuse to slack off, so I wonder what Chigiri said to get his request accepted? Obviously he was actually coming just to see Kunigami but he probably needed to make up an excuse (either that or Ego/Anri let him through because BLTV really is just football Love Island atp).

Anyway, I love the intro panel for Chigiri in this chapter coz it says SO MUCH about him.

It’s the hair.

Chigiri barely ever wears his hair up, not even while playing football (and I’ve made my thoughts on that clear in the past so I’ll refrain from any ranting). On the field he’ll have that weird half-braid thing going on, and off the field he usually just wears it loose. One of the only other times we see him with a ponytail is in chapters 150-151, during the 2-week break post U-20 match. I think this shows that Chigiri is putting active effort into his appearance for his visit with Kunigami. He puts his hair up when he wants to make a good impression — in the Shibuya chapters he’s also wearing a rather nice outfit, so he was focussing on his appearance then too. This time around, he’s specifically doing it for Kunigami because he’s unsure about what Kunigami thinks of him after “ghosting” him during the MC match. This is Chigiri going all-out to impress through subtle gestures and small changes that are consciously made and will subconsciously be picked up on.

(There’s also Kunigami’s canonical thing for the napes of necks (egoist Bible) to take into account which… listen we have no proof that Chigiri is aware of it but we also don’t have any proof that he’s not. Who’s to say he didn’t choose this hairstyle specifically because he knows it shows off his nape, which is usually kept hidden under his hair? He’s already a bit of a flirt after that “such an insensitive hero” comment back during the Second Selection. It isn’t impossible.)

Next, the iconic “keep an eye on me” line.

First off, Nomura really decided to make Chigiri look that pretty when he said this. Boy looks absolutely gorgeous. I’m aroace but I would’ve folded. Kunigami is stronger than me.

Second off, I like how this shows Chigiri being attentive towards Kunigami. When they first reunited, it did come across a bit like Chigiri was being dismissive of what Kunigami went through in the Wildcard, saying that he’d treat Kunigami as exactly the same person he was before (although it’s arguably understandable since they’d only just met again and Chigiri has no idea what happened in the Wildcard). Now though, it’s clear he’s observed the change Kunigami went through and a) wants to make amends for his previous comments, and b) still wants to be with Kunigami. While there’s never a direct apology given, it’s clear he doesn’t think of Kunigami the same way he did before the Mc match and wants to make amends. Honestly, idk if a direct apology would’ve been a nice addition or would’ve just made Kunigami feel worse — Chigiri is a proud person and Kunigami doesn’t want pity, so this less direct approach was probably the best way to go about things.

Thirdly, when Chigiri says “from now on, I’m gonna be keeping an eye on you”, it’s not just a promise to acknowledge Kunigami’s skills as a footballer. It’s also a subtle way of saying “you’re not getting rid of me. I’m staying right here”. Adding to that the “so, you better keep an eye on me too, got it?”, it’s both a declaration that Kunigami shouldn’t underestimate Chigiri and a “you’re gonna be seeing a lot of me so get used to it”. (Side note: Isagi’s face on this page is so fucking funny to me he’s just like “yeaaaaaah, these bitches gay. Good for them” lmao.)

Last thing I’ll scream about is this:

FIRST NAME BASIS!!!

Obviously Chigiri is specifically using “Rensuke” as a little jab at Kunigami to get him riled up. Chigiri is just like that when it comes to teasing. Still, it’s nice to know that he feels comfortable enough around Kunigami to say something like this without Kunigami getting angry or making things awkward between them. We’ve seen Bachira do this with Isagi too during the Barcha match, so that’s nice little bachisagi parallel. At the very least, Chigiri is showing that he wants their friendship to continue and is going to continue to treat Kunigami as a close friend, no matter how much Kunigami might try to push him away.

Conclusion to my ramblings: Chigiri is putting in the work and I respect him for it. Kunigami is in a bad place rn and what he needs is someone as stubborn as Chigiri to see him through. Chigiri knows what it feels like to feel depressed and push everyone else away because it happened to him too. He thought for a time that everything was over for him. No doubt he’s recognising those things in Kunigami and wants to help him out, especially since the two of them had grown pretty close before being separated.

Kunigiri has my whole heart!!!

[yes-asil]

Hi! I adore your Clone Conan AU. Out of curiosity, will Heiji ever learn about Conan being Shinichi's clone? Or like, the Black Organization in general? I'm also just really curious to know his role in this and how he will interact with Conan and Shinichi(since they are two different people). Keep it up!

He will, just later than in canon! For the AU I'd like for Heiji to get to know Conan, to actually gain his trust and become his friend first before figuring out anything. By the time Haibara enters the picture and confirms the clone theory for Shinichi, Heiji is still pretty oblivious. Only after solving a few cases in he's like "Alright, Kudo, you are a nervous wreck and you Kiddo, you are way smarter and way too gloomy than you have any right to be, what is going on."

I don't want him to just go "Oh, you're Shinichi 2.0, of course I like ya then" as soon as they spill the beans, but actually have him argue the point. A corny "you are your own person" speech is always so fun!

[dreemurrsightings]

It probably hit him pretty hard

Their friendship is underrated like Noelle would totally be there for him emotionally

[shitposting-hobbits-to-gallifrey]

Cute little farcille bit in the manga chapters for the latest episode

[ranticore]

my personal copies of my books are a little different from the widely distributed versions and i have to visually distinguish them so i don't send the wrong files to people, and i've done that by omitting the poem at the start of each book and instead putting in a quote from my very favourite article that matches the energy of the book's focal character

Said the Black Horse

The Viper Mourned

Book 3

[strawberriesinmoominvalley]

in celebration of landoscar breaching top 10 pairings in formula on ao3, have a tiny snippet of a coming fanfic:

“You knew?” Lando screeched. “Well, yeah.” At Lando’s flummoxed expression, Oscar continued, a grin creeping at the corners of his mouth. “You were trying to court me, Lando.” “I didn’t think you realised.” Lando looked away, gaze flickering into the copse of trees that bordered the edge of the garden. Oscar bumped his shoulder, and Lando met his eyes for a brief moment. Oscar’s cheeks were pink. “It’s- well, you didn’t exactly say anything, did you?” “I didn’t,” Oscar agreed, looking down into his lap. His hands twitched slightly, a nervous gesture. Lando pressed the side of his cheek against Oscar’s shoulder, rubbing against it. He felt Oscar visibly relax under his touch. “I didn’t want to pressure you.” Oh. “But I was trying to court you!” “It wasn’t that I didn’t want you.” Oscar’s voice was steady. Despite that, Lando startled at the words. He turned to look at Oscar, seeing the other look more flushed than he’d ever seen him. “God, Lando- I want you more than anything. But I didn’t want you to go with it because I’m an alpha.” “You’re not like them.” Lando reached out a careful hand, taking Oscar’s in his. “You haven’t done anything to pressure me - you haven’t even commanded me-” Oscar recoiled at those words. “I wouldn’t command you. That’s to save someone’s life, not for control. God, it’s- I wouldn’t.”

[margieargie]

[demonslayedher]

Gosh dang it, I'm so glad I did the bulk of finishing fanfic projects right before my busy period started, 'cause the busy period is gonna keep going, I guess