#cyanide late

[tixdixl]

Tsumsitter Event, huh?

@cyanide-latte we'd talked about this MONTHS ago- and I finally felt the urge to put it on paper 😅🤣

Tag list: @ramshacklerumble @the-trinket-witch @rainesol @elenauaurs @winterweary

@cyanide-latte @boopshoops @theleechyskrunkly @thehollowwriter @inmateofthemind

@starry-night-rose @lumdays @twstinginthewind

[tixdixl]

WEI XINYIIIII ;w; THEY HAVE ARRIIIIIIIVED!!!

Profile: Wei Xinyi

Art by @tixdixl (left) and @rocky-road-art (right)

Species: Human

Gender and pronouns: Bigender and gender fluid, prefers they/them but accepts he/him and she/her

Arcane Academy: graduated from a smaller, private mage school in the Land of the Red Dragon

Unique Magic: “Girl Worth Fighting For” - as Xinyi is AMAB and developed their UM during their journey of understanding their own complex gender, their spell allows them to change into a female form for an extended period of time, often having a greater degree of positive influence on the people they interact with, more physical grace and a shift in their speed, reach and prowess in combat

Career/Future: one of the chanyu of the territory of Bàoyìng, co-leading alongside their cousin Wei Renqiao and their uncle Wei Gang

Floyd nickname: Ribbon Eel

Rook nickname: Monsieur beauté mortelle (this one is subject to change, I go back and forth on it)

Twisted from: Fa Mulan (Mulan, 1998)

Additional notes:

Chronically clumsy since childhood, often underestimating their own strength. Training in traditional dance and practicing presenting feminine allowed them to gain better control over this and overcome the clumsiness, though sometimes they still slip up.

Never felt happy in presenting solely masculine, and felt they would never be a perfect heir or a perfect son to their parents. Exploring their gender and understanding who they are did bring them joy, but at the cost of being disowned by their parents and all but one of their sisters.

Taken in by their youngest Uncle Wei Gang, and have been learning the duties of leadership since then. They also consider their younger cousin Ren like a brother, often calling him "Ren-dìdì."

Wishes to expand Bàoyìng's connections with peoples beyond the Land of the Red Dragon, without having the Imperial Capital monitoring and controlling the territory's every move.

Extroverted and very people-oriented.

Visits NRC frequently to check on Ren and interact with the students there.

Carries numerous silk fans of varying design, each with at least one (if not more) magestones set in the frame, allowing them to be used as magical conduits and mage weapons.

In a fic I wrote (which I may post later,) Xinyi is finally acknowledged as being ready to truly be chanyu when they are visited by a qilin, who offers them a single wish and shares a secret with them.

History of bad past romances, with partners often rejecting them upon learning they aren't AFAB. As a result this has led to Xinyi rarely using their UM these days, and they are hesitant about romance...but there IS a guy ready to heal their heart. (see below)

Shipped with my other OC, Chrysanthos 'Chrys' Shroud, elder cousin of Idia and Ortho.

(reminder to self to drop links here eventually)

Taglist: @elenauaurs @inmateofthemind @ramshacklerumble @tixdixl @winterweary

@distant-velleity @rainesol @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @twst-migraine

@jovieinramshackle @the-trinket-witch @treydia (DM me if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist for my TWST OCs stuff)

[pumpkinpaix]

library school is an unethical scam and I am 100% serious about that

[hearts4golbach]

help this took so long (tagsss)

[5tupidusrnam3]

Simple marker drawing that I made of the lamb from cult of the lamb yay

[tacos-and-doodles]

Drops this and skitters away

[emmsplaylist]

CYANIDE by Daniel Caesar

[daddy-ul]

I know I'm not posting much lately but I started a new job and--yeah

And it's not that I don't think abt Metallica, it's more like that my thoughts go like

"king nothing > memory. Which is not a unpopular opinion, per se, but like. Memory won the continuity live war till 2023. What a world we live in"

And

"WELCOME TO THIS LIFE

BORN INTO THE FIGHT

HERE TO CLAIM YOUR DREAM

Dreams..... No?

Dream SIGULAR. I forgot that it was singular, I sang it plural, here to claim your dreams. Usually in English don't you say "claim your dreamS"? Ohhhhhh, but it's singular bc for james it can't be anything else.

>>>>>'there was no plan b. Plan b, c, d was making plan a work'

This is autobiographical as UN1, which also starts with birth seen as something immediately difficult. But screaming Suicide is more Abt yourself -you, your voice- and something external giving you a hand; while UN1 is others, what others do to you-- till it transforms you"

[notthewriteryourelookingfor]

A thought about the LGBT+ people who are trying to get the TQ+ part dropped:

(You'll have to pry it from my cold dead hands and even then I'm coming back to stop you but -)

Alan Turing was the man who created the machine that decoded the Nazi's code and shorted the war but maybe 2 years or more.

He's the grandfather of computing and was a gay man.

He admitted to being in a relationship with his boyfriend (don't listen to the movie w Benedict Cumberbatch that was a lie) in 1952 after he was reported for having sex in his own home and they arrested him and gave him a choice: take take chemicals that castrated him or go to jail.

He chose the chemical castration and 2 years later killed himself.

If this man couldn't have sex in his own home to another consenting adult just because said adult was the same gender as him, what makes you think you won't meet the same fate?

As soon as the conservatives and anti-minority people kill every out and loud queer person, they will kill anyone who's quiet about it too.

They don't want any queer people, they don't want any minorities, theyre happy to use you to spread their hate and propaganda and agender. And as soon as you're usefulness is over, they'll turn on you.

Theyre the party of jaguars that eat people's faces and just cuz they're eating the faces of people you hate, doesn't mean they won't eat yours as well.

Either learn about the roots of your community or shut the fuck up and leave.

Stonewall was started by a biracial butch lesbian, trans people have existed as long as gender has existed we just didn't have the word yet.

Pluto wasn't discovered til the 1930s but it sure as he'll existed before then. We just didn't have the ability to see it.

Now we can.

Just like how we didn't use to have all the language and labels we use today, doesn't mean it wasn't there it was just unnamed.

(Also if you're a terf that hasn't blocked me yet, block me now, if your liberated future doesn't include Everyone it's pathetic, useless, and just as bad as now.)

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Dan and ellie or otherwise known as Crack.

Pt1 pt2 pt3. pt4

Jason was out patrolling Crime Alley when Clark called him freaking out.

Clark was currently in the doghouse with most of the bats and his sons. While most of it wasn't really his fault his family wasn't really the letting go type. He would know.

"What the hell do you want." He grimaced, that came out a lot rougher than he intended but sue him his brother had been missing for a week and they still were no were closer to finding him.

"Jason! How can you tell which rich men are predators?" What the hell.

"Get here now."

Which is how he came to be sitting across from a crisscross apple sauced Superman in his nearest safe house nursing a beer.

"I overheard something today at work." Kill him now. He was about to pull out a cyanide pill if this fucker didn't stop beating around the goddamn bush.

"What don't you overhear." He took another swing of his beer. He'd need plenty of it if Clark was gong to pester him for some fucking story while his brother was out there who knows where with God knows who, doing fucking anything. He could feel the green starting to rise and he did his best to push it back down but his vision was still tinged. It was happening a lot more often lately.

"Lex Luthor is apparently a sex trafficker." Atleast he was no longer beating around the bush but what the fuck? He knows the top suspect is Luthor and he's going to make a fucking joke about that. This was so not funny.

" I don't know what your playing at but you better explain yourself before I put a kryptonite bullet in your head." This fucker was going to singlehandedly destroy all his hardwork in therapy.

" One of my coworker's moms works at lexcorp, she called him today talking about the fact lex had two sick kids hanging around but disappeared and that a new one apparently showed up sick as well, last week." That got his attention.

"I also overheard her say he was experimenting on all of them and that the newest one spent time in Luthors own bedroom." He was going to cut Lexs dick off and shove it so far down his throat it was going to come out the other end. The green was suffocating.

"You think it's Damian."

"Who else? But the other kids I'm not sure." The other kids could have been surrogates for Damian but he was missing something. Kids because Lex has now kidnapped two other kids and experimented on them. And was probably hurting or experimenting on Damian in all kinds of ways he didn't even want to think about. The green spiking and flooding his senses, urging him to put down down anything that hurt his baby brother his...fraid? What the hell? He shook that thought off, that's never happened before. The green never allowed him to have such clear and borderline strange thoughts before.

"We need to go to the batcave." Shoving his helmet on, not even waiting for Clark's response, he'd beat him their anyway.

‐------------

Jon was sat perched on the rocks high in the cave, listening for even a hint of wherever Damian had gone. His dad who he was absolutely pissed at bad arrived and asked everyone to to 'please listen to whatever he and Jason have to say before you interupt'. Which led to a lot of shouting and arguing he was ignoring. He already knew what it was about he had been straining listening to every single person mentioning lex luthor.

He couldn't imagine Damian in that position. It wasn't that he didn't understand it could happen to anyone it was just disbelief that it could happen to... his best friend, who he's had a crush on for years. He obviously knew that no one was infallible, much less Damian, but he couldn't help think it. Damian always seemed untouchable.

Eventually, everybody quieted down again and went back to their own things. The quiet was unwelcome. He'd been having strange dreams since before he heard of Damian's disappearance.

They always started out normal enough. He was walking in a park that seemed familiar, but he knows for a fact he's never been to. After a while, he comes to a picnic table with various snacks and drinks thrown around in smaller piles like they were transfered from someone's arms to quickly care.

A boy with bright orange hair, covered in freckles everywhere, he can see wearing a basketball jersey attempting to twirl a ball on one finger, his hands are covered in colorful markers, both drawing snd wikd splotches. He instinctively recognizes him as 'Wes' even though he has no clue who he is. 'Wes' briefly tries to wave at him but loses his grip on his ball and has to chase it down the hill, cursing all the way. When he turned the back of his legs, have punctured, looking scars on them like something grabbed him and dragged him around, seering fangs into his flesh.

Another boy 'Tuck' is typing madly at what he can recognize as a PDA even though he's only seen them on old TV. He's placed in the center surrounded by tools most on his left and right side like he picked them up and threw them back down too quickly to care. His hands have several scars, but his left arm is the worst, 3rd degree burns healed, but still looked painful. His tongue is sticking out the side of his mouth, and he keeps pushing his dreads underneath a red beanie, but before his hands even touches his device, they've already slid back out.

There's two other girls side by side, one shooting airplanes and attempting to get the other to 'play with her'. One 'Val' his mind supplies somehow, has darker skin, and wears a typical y2k outfit complete with a flip-phone she secured on her body with a yellow ribbon. Her face has a huge jagged scar running from the side, almost touching her mouth as if her head slammed on something sharp, then dragged downward purposefully and other smaller scars on everywhere else. She looks straight out of one of his mom's old photo books rather than a 2000s fashion enthusiast. She smirks at him and waves her finger at him in a 'come hither' kinda way.

The other girl 'ellie', wear more baggy clothes, the knees are torn and darker from wear and tear rather than on purpose like what he himself has worn. From the little skin she shows he can see both bruising new and old with quite a few 'narley' looking scars. She sees him and waves, smiling brightly, she grabs one of the paper airplane and throws it into the sky. 'Ellie' then waves her hands around in a motion that looks like it was practiced for more effects than practical. Wind billows past her making the paper go soaring for a brief minute before it self-destructive under the stress of the wind. She pouts and stomps her foot before grabbing another one and trying again.

He continues past her and sits near 'val'. Val grabs his shoulders and snaps a phota on her phone. "Say cheese," she says through her teeth, smiling joyfully. For some reason, he obeys her command and smiles softly at the camera. He feels happy and peaceful. Val shoves the phone in his hand for him to inspect, but something is wrong.

He-she has dark black hair that seems to have a purple hue to it. Her makeup is dark and shadowed, and her clothes are shorter than he's ever worn before. They look sewn together cruedly but with an attention to detail he often lacks. She has quite a few scars ranging from scrapes to jagged cuts. Somehow, the girl holds a peace sign up, and he can see her claw like nails. The black paint was patchy in places, making him able to tell those were real nails, not just fake acrylics.

He looks down, and he sees her. Before he starts to spiral,'Danny' calls out. "Sam! There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you!" 'Danny' has even worse scarring than anyone else the way he leans over him he can see inside his shirt, a large autopsy scar is healed rough and jagged edges make it known he fought the whole time. He has litchenberg type figures from his right hands palm all the way up to his throat. Weren't they supposed to fade? He knows logically that he can't be Damian, but he also just feels like he is, like he's just like Jon's best friend, like he's known him forever and loves him. 'Danny' appearance then starts to shift from looking even more like Damian his eyes and face stay carefree, but his harsh scarring looks even more profound against his darker skin. 'Damian's' head comes to rest on his shoulder and he feels 'Sam' start to lean down and kiss him, but as soon as they lock eyes the dream is over leaving him in a panting mess, trying to catch his breath.

He's had that exact same dream for a week now with no change. All ending in the exact same spot. He wasn't sure who to talk to about it. It felt important, but what if it's just a dream?

"Jon? Hanging in there?" Kon floated up, he staying in the air probably in case he reacted negatively. He hates how they treat him like a ticking time boom, Damian never treats him like that. Come on, just say it. He's your brother.

"I just...miss him." he buried his head in his hands like the coward he was. Kon floated closer until he was landing right next him, bumping his shoulder.

"I know Jon, I get it." No you really don't. Cause i don't let you.

-----------

"So there is a boy you like?" Vlad pestered him rubbing his back.

"I never said it was a boy." He snarked before throwing up his entire stomach up in the toilet.

"Please Damian, I went to school with your father. Both of them now actually." He said matter a factually.

"Gay." He said in between hurling. Finally after not immediately throwing up as soon as he even moves slightly Vlad places a water bottle in his hands.

"Thank you." He mumbles, mind your manners young master.

Vlad was nice and all sometimes, but he missed his family. Pennyworths chiding, Richard's easy smiles and praises, Father's lessons. He missed it all.

Vlad really wasn't the best at emotions or parenting really. He... cared for him but he was more that fun uncle you realize was really just crazy. Not he'd ever tell Vlad that.

"Let's go back to work."

"Are you sure? We can take a longer break?"

"We both know we can't afford it."

Things weren't going all that well. They had realized fairly quickly that the incubation was going to follow a real pregnancy timeline if not a little shorter up to the birth where they will just faze out when their ready. Vlad theorized it was a protective measure his body was doing to make the pregnancy less ghostly. He couldn't handle even a half-ghostly anything. The flight to the island drained him of all of the ectoplasm he was able to accumulate over the years despite the corruption.

Due to the corruptedness of the pits he was basically severely ecto-deprived and any ecto he gains goes to the two extra cores or fixing the corruption. He can't even make any ectoplasm anymore because of the corruption stopping it. He needs to get to the Infinate Realms as soon as possible or else neither him or his kids will continue to exist. Vlad was also weaker using his own ectoplasm to power things because the purified ecto was so much weaker than just natural.

The ectopods give him a boost but he was getting worse. The ectopods had failed Dan and Ellie to.

Vlad was starting to get a little protective and by a little he means not wanting to let him out of sight at all. Barely for a bathroom break. Ancients forbid he takes more than five minutes and Vlad pulls a sledgehammer out.

He may or not be going a little stir crazy. It was agonizing he's not used to dealing with this much attention. His parents in his first life were mostly focused on the portal or their work in general until they suddenly realized they had kids then showered them with affection just to forget about them just as quickly. The league of assassins and his mother don't need any explanation really, between training there wasn't much time for affection his mother sometimes did but it was always behind closed doors when noone was watching at all and that didn't happen near as much as you would think. His father wasn't really affectionate on anything, the most he would get for a mission gone right was a pat on the back and a "good job chum" and it often felt more forced with him than the others. Richard was quite affectionate with both his words and his actions. Getting a passing grade or winning a fight or even losing a fight seemed to be a cause of celebration. He was physical with his affection, hugs and kisses on the forehead, but even the second he started feeling uncomfortable he would pull away. Sometimes it was nice sometime he just wished he would push just a little further.

Vlad didn't have any of that. He was all antagonistic words, he didn't even always seem to mean it, it just happened with him. His attention nice for a while but got tiring and he couldn't just ask him to leave him alone because Vlad would take it wrong. He also never knew when to leave him alone. Like he didn't need to sleep in his room just cause he was having headaches and occasional nosebleeds he had that plenty with concussions before and had been able to treat it since he was 4 years old. He thinks if Vlad says one word more on 'taking a break' or 'drinking some more water' he was going to punch him in the face.

"You dont need to push yourself! you'll only end up in more pain just take a five minute break? Please think of the kids I'm also there father to you know!" There it is.

Damian while around and punched him in the face. The force and the surprise knocking him onto the floor.

"Damian! What the hell is your problem, young man!" He attempted to get up but he didn't let him. He easily swept his feet from under him and pushed him back down.

"I'm sick and tired of you always thinking you know what's best for me! Well news flash. You don't." He punched him in the face, expertly evading Vlads dodging. Vlad was powerful with powers but without them he was much more skilled.

"Stop this right now!" He'd have to make him.

And make him he did. Shit. He overestimated just how much ecto Vlad had been giving him because he stopped holding back his strength and shoved him off.

Crack.

Shit Vlad definitely either broke or cracked one of his ribs. He must of really pissed him off because that didn't stop him. He ran at him and kicked him in the throat. He gasped for air.

"Are we done yet?" Fuck you. He grabbed his legs and pulled him down. Almost straddling him and started to beat his face in. Vlad spit out blood but started to heal quicker than he could hurt him. Switching their positions he stsrted to choke him out. He choked for air but remembering his training, he quickly administerd a move that would have taken down any regular human down.

Vlad quickly recovered even angrier and threw him roughly at the glass of the lab shattering it and landing in it. He could feel the glass prickling against his skin. Bloody streaks painting his hands, glass embedded. He tried getting up but heard a loud gasp.

Susan stood hand over her mouth. Her skin pale and her hand gripped her tablet so hard he could hear creaks. He laid his head back down. He suddenly didn't feel like fighting anymore.

"Take him to the physician." Vlad spoke, voice distant and echoey. He couldn't resist the pull of darkness and fell under.

--------

After Clark shared his findings with the cave a month ago, Tim and Barbara have been hard at work trying to track the call, but meeting dead ends all around. Lex's security to tight and better than ever before.

Until, a new call came through.

"David! Oh David it's horrible!" She cried, her sobbing evident even through the poor phone service. They quickly got to work, everyone joining in around them. It had a two months since the last time they saw their littlest bat. No way where they letting the opportunity slip through their hands again.

"That little boy! He threw him through a window! He's been in and out of emergency surgeries for a week. A week! He had a punctured lung, an almost crushed larynx, a broken collarbone, and five cracked or broken ribs. Not to mention, he's covered in bruises and srapes from the glass! It's terrible! That little boy, just laying on the operating table, his heart stopped twice. Twice! Oh, David! I don't know what to do." She was in hysterics. Oh god, that was his brother. His baby brother.

He ignored the broken sobs around him and pushed his down.

"I've got it." Barbara announced, hse didn't sound relieved in any way but he understood they still had to save him and from what they heard from her, he may never fully recover.

"Supers, fly ahead, scout out. This is Lex, he's bound to have plenty of kryptonite." The supers flew out without even acknowledgeing their orders.

He paused. Please don't say it. Please

"Evrybody else... to the batjet."

It didn't really matter what he said anyway everybody in the cave was ready to go war, with or without Bruce.

A/N if yall think for one second that a relationship built from the ashes of one of the most traumatic moments in their lives is going to be perfect, yall kidding yourselves. Vlad is never going to be perfect he and damian/Danny will always be archenemys who may or may not have some fluffy moments they'll still have met because he wat trying to kill his father so he could marry his mother. Vlad desperately wanting him to be son is so obsessive and insane he creates a clone of him to be his kid. They may care for each other, but vlad will never truly be a good choice for Danny in general.

[teddybearsandspaceships]

This is yet another "watch Cleo´s streams they´re awesome" propaganda post.

Some highlights from today´s crafting stream with Joe:

The Hermits agreed on when to announce the start of the new season and then... nobody did it first. Eventually Joe announced it first on LinkedIn but nobody noticed.

Cleo was surprised to find out Doc apparently put them on his hit list, presumably after they pointed out that he made a big hole last season. "If he didn't want to be mocked he shouldn't have teamed up with me."

prompted by a comment in chat and I forgot the phrasing, but something along the lines of how Joe needs a certain amount of antagonism and Cleo just wants to make sure Joe has a good time

Cleo finding out live on stream about an apparently unexpectedly high amount of money she'll get from the TCG cards

Cleo provides cake to new subscribers because once they get cake they fight back less, because of the cyanide. (No cake if you un- and then resubscribe but you can steal the new people's cake.)

Iskall told Cleo in a private message that he´s scared of them and Cleo was like, that´s fair. Then talks a bit about how they´re not scary but good at appearing so. Joe calls never being scared of Cleo one of his most foolish attributes (Cleo was thinking it´s quite nice.)

Some reminiscing about how their friendship started with Joe threatening Cleo and later he changed her life by inviting her to Hermitcraft (an invite that wasn´t a big of a deal back then as it is now)

and more.

In conclusion, watch Cleo´s streams because Cleo is awesome and the streams are fun and chill.

I haven´t watched many Cleo streams lately because of the games Cleo played during the HC break (mostly because I didn´t want to be spoiled for them) so I´m especially looking forward to Hermitcraft streams coming back soon.

[tixdixl]

A Merry Christmas and Happy Yule from the Ignihyde Found Family!

As a little gift to @cyanide-latte I thought I might draw the found family tormenting Idia, as is deserved. Hope you like it!! 💚

Ortho is over here going "Ah, but big brother!! We could match!!! And then we'll both be embodying the [Christmas Spirit]."

[tixdixl]

First off, again, this is PERFECT! I love it so so so much. It made me INCREDIBLY happy to read this. And I hope you know it means a lot to me that you wrote it 🫂💚

Second- no no, thats canon. Sebek absolutely "feigns ignorance" in that way that he's feigning nothing. He just refuses to acknowledge that Kingsley is allowed to have a celebration. Which is funny as hell when you consider thats kind of exactly what Kingsley wants lol

Thank you again so so much 💚💚

TWST Ficlet: Happy Birthday Kingsley!

Words: 1.4K

Warnings: none

Characters: Kingsley Tyr ( @tixdixl 's OC,) Copper Benoit and Jackie the monkey (my OCs,) Gia Yugo ( @ramshacklerumble 's OC, briefly mentioned,) and Sebek Zigvolt

There was something rather…morose about the Diasomnia dorm, Copper Benoit reflected. Dignified, but morose. He supposed the sense of that came from the green flames that burned in the sconces along the walls and the candles in the occasional chandelier. It was meant to honor the Thorn Fairy's own fire magic, he knew that, but Copper couldn't help but also think that the green flames meant something quite different in his particular circle, and therefore carried a slightly different mood for him.

A small whoop by his ear and tiny tugs at his hair broke his musing as they walked along.

"Oi, calm now, Jackie," he muttered, but the monkey shifted his weight on Copper's shoulder and stood on his little feet, leaning like he was about to climb onto the young man's head. "What's up with you—ah, Sebek!"

His fellow freshman had rounded the corner, walking stiffly upright and serious as ever, and when he saw Copper there was a brief flash of surprise across his face before he relaxed the barest fraction.

"Benoit," he said, always speaking a little louder and firmer and with more direct eye contact than was necessary, like he was overcorrecting at all times. "What brings you to Diasomnia? Normally visitors aren't allowed in without being checked at the front gate."

He said this last with a slightly testy edge, as though to remind Copper that he too, was subject to scrutiny even if they had good rapport. Copper tried not to be too surprised; Sebek took his duties as one of Malleus Draconia's bodyguards more seriously than was expected of anyone.

"Ah, no worries, the boys at the gate let me in after I answered their questions," he said, turning slightly to face Sebek and lift the package in his arms for emphasis. "I just need to drop this off with Mr. Tyr."

Sebek immediately narrowed his eyes and scowled in irritation, drawing an anxious chitter out of Jackie.

"Hmph! Tyr? I won't ask what business you have with him, but I suppose if you're looking for him, he's probably shut up in his room."

Copper nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral as much as possible. He considered both Sebek and Kingsley to be allies, possibly individuals he could potentially call his friends, but you couldn't be around either of them for more than two seconds without being aware of their mutual animosity for one another. This proved to be plenty of reason on its own to avoid saying exactly why he'd come all the way here, as he couldn't predict how Sebek might respond.

"Thanks, Sebek," he said, nodding and turning away. "Good to see you, I'll drop this off and be on my way."

He hadn't gone very far when he heard a quiet mutter that sounded like "be careful", but when he paused and looked back, Sebek crossed his arms and added in a quick, louder tone, "K- keep hold of your monkey, too!"

"Aye, don't worry, Jackie'll behave," Copper said with a shrug and a light chuckle, even as Jackie grumbled and twisted around to keep watching Sebek. He gave it a couple more strides before, just for good measure, he hissed at the monkey, "You make a liar outta me, I'll hand ya t'Vil and say 'have at' for a few hours."

Instantly Jackie became the picture of domesticated innocence and sweetness, and Copper felt satisfied that he would stay that way. At least for a couple more minutes.

They reached Kingsley's door in record time, and Copper adjusted his grip on the box so he could free up a hand to knock on the door.

"Oi, Kingsley, it's me. You in? I'm here, like I said I'd be," he called out.

There was a considering pause, and then a brief, "Enter."

Copper opened the door and stepped in, unsurprised to find Kingsley seated at a desk and turned to face him, mask still on his face. As Copper looked briefly around the room to take it in—and found he was unsurprised at how militant Kingsley's side of the room seemed to be—he smelled something unexpectedly sweet and appetizing. Apparently Jackie smelled it too, because he gave a little hop and stood upright on Copper's shoulder, letting out a warbling trill.

"Oh don't you even think about it," he warned, but Kingsley seemed to already be considering this and placed a hand over something covered in foil on the desk.

"They're from Yugo," he remarked, staring down the capuchin. "Not for Jackie."

Normally he might have gotten a hiss of thwarted displeasure, but Kingsley had already been moving as he spoke and, with the same deadly accuracy he threw his hand axes with, he pitched something at the monkey. Jackie caught it and left out another troll, hopping from Copper's shoulder to his head and dangling his new prize down in front of his master's face.

"Woe," Copper remarked as he looked at the apple before the monkey yanked it back out of sight. "He's got your number now, ya furry blackguard." In truth he felt a smidge of affection at the display and thus used it as an opening to proffer the box he held to Kingsley. "As I promised. Whether or not you're concerned with celebrating, least I can do is acknowledge the date today."

"January fourteenth," Kingsley said pointedly, but he took the box anyway. It was plain, unwrapped, but it rattled slightly and he gave Copper a sharp, questioning look.

"You remember when ya first approached me and we talked?" Copper asked, folding his arms. "What I pointed out to you?"

A flare of recognition in the Diasomnia freshman's eyes, then a nod.

"I should be careful not to tip my hand," he said, the words a little hushed.

Copper nodded, then gestured to the box. Without a word, Kingsley started to open it, methodical and precise.

"The phrase is used in card games mostly," Copper said, watching as Kingsley revealed three sizable cups carved from wood and wrapped with leather, and a large velvet pouch with its drawstrings pulled closed. "And most people turn to chess for a game of strategy. But if you're going to be running with pirates—" here Copper took a moment to smile wryly and flip his hand in a sweeping gesture to indicate himself, "—then I say ya need to learn our game. Liar's Dice."

Kingsley gently lifted the velvet bag, listening to the soft, churning rattle-clack of dice spilling over each other and clicking together. "A bluffing game," he guessed without looking up from the bag.

"And a battle of wits," Copper said. "Given the fact everyone downstairs seems to be settin' up for a party…"

"Pointless," Kingsley commented without an ounce of affect, and Copper had to restrain the urge to roll his eyes before he continued.

"Then whene'er ya wanna learn or test out your skill…well, I'm not hard to find."

Jackie gave a chirp at this, and Copper held out his arm so the monkey could hop onto it. Kingsley looked up as Jackie moved, and the monkey reached out to him, holding out a small object and making soft cooing sounds. Kingsley gave him a look, but accepted the object anyway, setting the box aside and turning this new thing over.

"A new whittling knife," Copper explained, seconds before Kingsley opened the blade. "Jackie wouldn't leave the Mystery Shop without it, and Sam…encouraged it be given to you as well. Cups for Liar's Dice like those you've got can be carved, personalized. And, if ya don't care to, never hurts to have a new tool, right?"

Kingsley said nothing, but he looked up at Copper with a nod and, if there was no change to the set of his mouth or his brow, his eyes said plenty. The Pomefiore freshman gave a crooked little grin, brought Jackie in close to his chest, and offered Kingsley a brief salute.

"Whenever ya feel like it," Copper said as he turned to leave. "Ya already know the first and most important point anyhow. Never tip your hand."

And though he didn't see it and doubted it was an actual physical thing, Copper got the faintest impression by some subtle shift in the air that perhaps, in his own way, Kingsley was giving him a grim, lethal smile, pleased enough.

Yes I wrote this and immediately pictured the Protagonist Trio (Kingsley, Gia and Copper) playing Liar's Dice with Grim. Also I headcanon that Sebek keeps intentionally acting like it's not Kingsley's birthday, but also, he probably doesn't genuinely know that Copper is forming a friendship with Kingsley. So there we go. Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @elenauaurs @inmateofthemind @ramshacklerumble @tixdixl @winterweary

@distant-velleity @rainesol @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @twst-migraine

@jovieinramshackle @natsukishinomiyaswife @the-trinket-witch (DM me if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist for my TWST OCs stuff)

Dividers used

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter four | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | Coryo being Coryo, elitism, panic attack (nothing too graphic), mentions of death, mentions of blood (just a tiny bit), male masterbation near the end of the chapter | lmk if i forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 they meet up in the library, Coryo has a panic attack, and low-key has issues 💀 but hey, he fucks his fist in the end of the chapter also let's his paranoia win lmao

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 reposting this!! Hope y'all like it!

beta read by @nowitsmissing

series masterlist | navigation | previous chapter

You didn't disappoint.

He couldn't help the heavyweight leaving his chest, his shoulders relaxing and his face in a smile (which he quickly hides) as he sees you. You were sitting on a chair, a stack of books in front of you, parchments all over the table, cookies in a box and you were writing something with your pen.

Was it instinct? Was it the bond? He will never know but you look up and meet his gaze. Your eyes narrowed at him, for being late he reasoned but he noticed that you relaxed as well, your body nearly sagging into the chair.

“You're late,” you greet him as he sits across from you. He shrugged, his eyes looking at the cookie and he ignored the clench of his stomach. He had cabbage soup again for dinner, the tasteless veggie didn't do anything to satisfy his hunger. It served as a reminder instead of why he needed to win the Plinth Prize.

He replied, “Death does that.” He tried to keep his voice sad yet composed. How sad could one be when you lose a family who is poison with perfect teeth.

“Should have stayed at home to mourn then.”

“I plan to do that at the funeral.”

Your eyes meet his briefly when you hear his answer, he notices that your eyes are red. Like it would be when you're crying. He couldn't wrap his mind around why you would be crying. Arachne was never a friend to you, a district girl, if anything you were the one who received most of her scorn. And yet you were with tears in your eyes, instead of him, a Capitol boy, someone with the same blood as hers.

What does that say about him?

“I plan to do the same too… She's family after all.”

Not yours. He wanted to reply but didn't. He gave you a nod and went back to his work. Ignoring the way your hand subtly (not so much) wiped the tear away from your cheek, and the growl of his stomach when he smelled the chocolate chip cookies sitting right in front of him.

Hours bleed and both of you were still working with minimal talking. He wanted to ask what you were so diligently reading and jolting down. His mind is plaguing him with the fact that you have better ideas than him. You seemed well prepared enough with all of the books that were left open around you.

You make a soft humming noise, “Your father was a co-founder of the Hunger Games.” You chuckled, though Coriolanus didn't know what was funny. “And here you're writing a proposal on how to improve the Games. Like father, like son.”

You give him a small smile. And then it turns into a frown when you notice that the cookies remain untouched. “I made these for us, ya know. I promise that they don't have cyanide in them. You can try but no promises if it's good or not. As the cook I am biased but I would love your opinion.”

His lips quirked up at your joke. You always had an uncanny sense of humor and you were never hesitant to showcase. He was glad to finally have permission to taste those mouth-watering cookies. “Thank you,” he manages to reply cordially as he takes a cookie for himself to munch on.

Your eyes were innocently wide as you watched him eat the cookie. You had stopped your writing, the quill resting on the side of your proposal. He realized that you were waiting for his comment, waiting for his approval. And he squirmed in his seat as he realized that you were hanging onto his words for something as simple as a cookie.

“It’s delicious,” he said, his tongue licking his lips to get the remaining cookie crumbs. He smiled a smile that wasn't calculated like every one of his interactions with his peers were. He smiled a smile reserved for a soulmate he couldn't have.

He sees your grin when you hear his opinion. Your face brightens up and you give your attention back to your work with vigor. It made Coriolanus realize your confidence was a facade, just like his perfection was. There was a certain joy in knowing that for Coryo.

And the bonus point is the fact that you asked for his opinion on nearly everything since childhood, even after getting closer with Sejanus, it's his approval you sought.

It was such a heady feeling that always fed to his ego and calmed his mind down from jealousy. Even if your proposal was better than his, in the end, it didn't matter if he simply lied to your face about it.

Soon, he was over with his proposal. The cookies were now finished and his body filled with the rare satisfaction of not having an empty stomach. He looks at you and sees that you are revising your written proposal now.

He bites his tongue to distract his mind from the fact of how pretty you looked like this. Your lips parted, your eyes focused (will it be focused on him like that if he ever kissed you, or will your eyes glaze over with pleasure?). He hated how he felt at that moment, like a teenage boy with a crush.

He decided to distract himself with something better. Your proposal. “I check yours. You check mine?” He suggested, quirking his eyebrow for an extra measure to convince you.

You frown for a moment and he has to fist his hand to make sure he doesn't come forward and smooth the wrinkles away. “Sure,” you reluctantly agree, a hint of hesitation clear in your eyes.

“What?” He smirks, leaning forward a bit (close, close, but too far). “Afraid I will steal your ideas?” He asked his tone just a tiny bit condescending.

You looked down. Backing away from his challenging gaze, taking the fun out of it. “More like you'll laugh at my face,” you muttered.

Now it was his time to frown.

“That was one time.”

“One time too many,” you replied.

And then you add, “Give me yours first, and then if I like it I will give you mine.”

He grits his teeth, already knowing that your district stubbornness won't have you backing away. “Fine,” he said and he held the assignment in front of you. Yours for the taking.

Your fingers brush his as you take over the papers. The touch sends an electric jolt down his spine as he retrieves his hand back quickly. His breaths are shallow and cheeks burning, eyes diverted away from yours as the soulmate bond flares up.

It happens rarely, often in the comfort of his home that he feels his need for you. Like an addict. His need to be close to you, his need to hold, kiss, and love you.

It's a phenomenon restricted to those who try to reject their partners despite knowing who they are. And what better example was for that than Coriolanus Snow.

He could feel the blood rush. A high that was crashing, and he was the urge to just fuck it. Fuck you, claim you against the shelves, kiss you. Something, anything that would calm his baser instincts. But it didn't work like that.

He wasn't a District animal, he was a Capitol boy and he won't be losing control in this manner.

But he was so close to it and the worst part of it all? You weren't even doing anything except reading his paper, your shoulders relaxed as you leaned back in your chair. Your tongue peeking out to lick your dry lips, as you flick over the next page.

One of your hands on the table and your fingers tapping an unknown tune on the wood of the table. It was overwhelming. He felt his senses going haywire and he needed to be away, alone from you.

He stood up, ignoring the sound of a chair scratching the expensive floor. “I'll be back,” he said, his mind anxious but his face had no expression whatsoever. You didn't even look at him, just nodded, and that somehow frustrated him.

‘Look at me,’ he wanted to yell, ‘Look at the state I am in because of you.’

But he didn't, so he rushed to the bathroom. Closing the stall with the lock, and pulling down the lid so he could sit on it. He takes in deep breath, pulling his sleeves up as he begins to feel his legs shake, tapping the tiles with a tic, tic noise. He begins to pay attention to the noise more than his chaos of the mind, letting everything simply fade away as his breathing gets to normal. It takes a while, his shirt now sweaty clinging to his skin, and his curls now messed with his hands constantly running through it. But he was feeling better now, despite his throat being parched.

After washing his face several times in the sink, he gets himself outside of the bathroom. He frowns when he notices the time. He was there for nearly twenty minutes. Embarrassing, how was he going to explain that? Fuck.

Turns out he didn't have to because you were gone. He feels bewildered as he reads the note you left on the table.

‘Had to go! Will submit your proposal along with mine by tonight!’

He grits his jaw, he hadn't permitted you to do such a thing. Even though a part of him did feel grateful that he wouldn't have to walk the extra mile to submit his work. He still felt angry though, and it wasn't admittingly your fault.

But you were the cause of it. And with the current circumstances, it's not like he could punish you for it. He wanted to, there's no denying that.

When he reaches home, his anger boils, waiting to be spilled around those around him. Grandma'am was asleep, he ignored Tigris when she had sweetly asked if you were present. He locked his bedroom door, it was a miracle he hadn't slammed it shut.

He was mad. He was frustrated, so much so that he couldn't explain. He lets out a growl, his hands in a fist, as if he wasn't sure that the wall would break had he punched it. He would have.

You weren't a drug (you were). He wasn't an addict (he was).

So why did he crave you so much? Why just a few moments alone with you has him in ruin?

‘District, district,’ he repeats in his mind, ‘You’ll never be Capitol. No matter how many proposals you write to damn your people. No matter how much money you have, or how many years you have lived in the Capitol.’

Even when he was lying on his bed, his breath was labored, his skin too hot. He couldn't stop replying to the time he had spent with you today. It was impossible not to.

You were so you.

Perfect. Flawed. Beautiful. Horrible. Everything and nothing. You made him feel like he had fire in his heart but he was a Snow. It was so jarring.

He was simply a teenage boy, and you made everything so complicated just by existing. You made him hot, burning, and fuck, he hated how he felt right now. That the anger melted away but the fire didn't. That the blood rushed from his head to his cock. He couldn't help it.

It's your fault that you made him succumb to this state. It's in you that he had one of his hands under his blanket, his eyes shut, his teeth digging into the flesh of his lower lip. He muffled a whine, as he gripped his hard cock.

The pain he felt as he bit his lips couldn't compare to the relief that came as he slowly began to stroke his cock. He strokes it slowly, savoring the sin he was indulging himself in. When he felt blood in his mouth from how hard he had bit himself, he used his free hand to muffle his soft groans instead.

He felt so boyish as he continues to fuck into his fist now, his hips rolling upwards as he continues. His pre-cum coating his length and acting as the lube. His thumb rubs against his sensitive, leaking cockhead. It makes him groan so loud that for a moment he feels like Tigris has heard.

He stops for a moment, his breathing heavy as he waits to hear footsteps. He doesn't hear one and sighs in relief. He begins to stroke his dick again, this time the pace quick and rough. His other hand wandered down his body to cup his balls, his face buried into his flimsy pillow, his teeth biting onto it. His saliva dampens the pillow, creating a wet stain that he would later feel embarrassed about.

He whines into the pillow, wanting to cum. He was so close, he just needed… needed…

You.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He groans and then moans your name as the mere thought of you has him cumming. His eyes roll back and he gasps, his blanket ruined. His cheeks burn as he realizes the cycle he's in but he couldn't care less when his bones are jelly and his mind is filled with euphoria.

When he did come back to his senses, he didn't let his shame overwhelm him. Instead, he changed his sheets, the stained ones in the laundry basket (it was his turn to wash tomorrow). He sat in front of his desk, ignoring how early light seemed to be sweeping into the room from the window. He takes out some parchment, quill, and ink.

He begins to write.

Just in case, you steal his work.

No point in trusting someone from the district, right?

NEXT PART

[bleedingintogold]

The medic leaned over his captain, wiping away the sweat on his forehead with a damp cloth. The man himself was out cold, as he had been for the past day. Tan skin had become a pale shade and a strong body had been reduced to a limp shell of itself. Heavy breathing became the only thing that showed he was still alive and struggling to be.

He wasn't getting better.

The wound had festered and the infection must have gotten into his bloodstream. Medic had been too late to notice and the captain had been too occupied trying to keep as many of his men alive as he could whilst completing their mission. The platoon stopped advancing yesterday when their captain collapsed right in front of them.

But the general had had enough. One man wasn't enough reason to abandon their assignment.

"He can't even sit up by himself, sir! He won't survive if we-" "We aren't bringing him. He will stay here," "With all due respect sir, this platoon needs their medic with them-" "I said that your captain is staying here. Not you," The medic's heart dropped when the general's words started to register. He was being ordered to leave behind his captain. His brother by everything but blood. "Look at him, medic. I doubt he will still be alive by tommorow. You're wasting your supplies," "General! He isn't dead yet! He just needs time-" "Time that we do not have, soldier. We will move by sunrise tommorow. We are advancing without him,"

A small whine answered the general before the medic could, making both men turn to the weak body on the cot. The general sighs as he walks to the young man's side, placing a gentle hand on a too warm forehead. The captain's eyes were hardly open, but he was conscious and had heard the whole conversation. "I'm sorry, son. You were a good soldier and one of my best men. But this mission is of higher importance," "My men...take care of 'em, sir," "I will. For your own good, you need to let go. You don't need to hold on anymore, son. You've done your part," The medic's hand trembled as he watched the two high ranks.

"m' sorry, sir...dying...is not as easy as I thought," "I know. Which is why I will help you. You don't have to suffer like this anymore, son," The general said as he passed the medic a small packet of white powder. "Sir?" "It's cyanide. Mix some into water and feed it to him tonight," "You're...you're asking me to kill him, sir?" "He's in pain, soldier. You're going to do him a favour,"

The captain was partially conscious now but he had seen the powder. Medic made the mistake of meeting the captain's eyes, seeing the fear in them under the haze of sickness. "I will allow you to bury him properly before we depart. Make sure it is done by sunrise," the general said before leaving the tent.

-----

Medic cradled his captain's upper torso, the mixed concoction of poison ready in a canteen. The captain's head laid limp against Medic's shoulder. Medic noticed that his captain was trembling.

No, wait. It was him.

He was trembling.

A weak voice pulled the medic out of his haze. "Medic...I...I don't want to die," a voice he didn't recognize said, soft but shaky. "But...you're in...pain. You won't survive anyway-" "I don't wanna die...please...I'm scared..."

Medic put the canteen down, instead wrapping his arms tightly around his captain. The captain was built bigger than medic, but he seemed incredibly small in his brother's arms. "Okay. Okay. You're not going to die, alright? I'm not...I won't do it," "But...the orders..." "Fuck the orders. I am a medic. Your medic. My task is to keep the men alive, not kill them,"

The captain didn't answer, savouring the warmth of his brother holding him.

[iifishizzleii]

a 141!fanfic, except it’s told from the point of view of the reader’s best friend— you. like, actual you.

(pt. 2)

you, who sees neighbor!simon while walking the reader to their apartment late at night, catching simon as he steps out his apartment, locking the door and dressed to the nines in black and a balaclava, and you immediately drag reader into their apartment. you don’t even let them say hi to him because he’s a fucking behemoth dressed in “bitch what the FUCK” and with a hint of three “hell”s and four “naw”s. and there’s no way in hell you’re standing within ten feet of him without your mace. and when reader decides to bake him goodies anyways to be a ‘good neighbor’ despite your protests of “you think it’s cute until your fucking underwear is going missing when you do laundry and that guy is suddenly at every store and shop you go to”. (reader calls you an asshole for that, and you say you’re being realistic while holding back from putting cyanide in the brownie mix) and it ends up with neighbor!simon opening his door, eyes darting down to reader’s bashful smile and freshly baked goods, before widening a fraction when he sees you standing not too far behind with a metal bat behind your back.

you, who spots drunk!soap flirting with drunk reader at a bar and immediately whisks them away, arms wrapped around their sides like a mama bear carrying their cub. you ignore the pointed look the scottish man sends you, obviously annoyed at your interruption, so you flip him off and threatening to pin his dick to a wall if he so much as tries to follow you guys out. and when he persists, giving out his help to drag poor reader, intoxicated out of their mind, back to your car. so you start barking at him like how those girls would bark at unwanted attention from men in the tiktoks u see. and it shocks soap silent because one— he’s never been refused before. and two— he’s never been refused by a fucking bark. but he’s too flabbergasted (and drunk) to do much more than watch you toss reader into the passenger seat of your car and speed off. if he memorizes your license plate in that span of time, you don’t know that yet.

you, who’s visiting reader at the diner they work at. you’re sitting by yourself at one of the smaller booths— you don’t mind because you’re only there until reader gets off their shift so that you both can go hang out after. but, it’s five minutes before they can clock out when a man with skin the color of fresh soil and the roundest brown eyes knocks their drink on accident, a full pint of beer spraying all over the countertop. customer!gaz notices the spilt he caused, but only gives reader— who’d already changed out of uniform and had their bag slung over one shoulder— a glance and a quick smile before returning to his seemingly important conversation with a man in a boonie hat. and, that’s all it takes to get you rising from your seat and storming toward the scene, snagging a bunch of paper towels from your table and rushing over to help reader clean the mess up. you don’t care if you’re not supposed to— they’re off work, which means they shouldn’t be cleaning up after grown men who can’t spare their own mistakes a glance. and that’s exactly what you spit at both men, watching them both snap their heads at you as you loudly hiss, “you think you’re too fucking good to at least apologize for your mess? fucking dickeads”, then turning around to give reader a reassuring smile and helping finish in cleaning the mess. when customer!price begins to apologize and so does his companion, both looking equally apologetic, you only roll your eyes and guide reader out by the hand while also ignoring the way reader seemed to gush about both of the handsome men. as if they had conveniently forgotten about how it was their fault you both reeked of beer now.

you, who runs from hell and back to keep reader away from the 141 because they’re sketchy as fuck, even from a civilians standpoint. but, all that energy you put in redirecting their focus somewhere else, only puts it on an entirely unexpected target; you. like, actual you.