#either way having the title at the end of the poem is really good to me. i like that a lot. ways i would format published stuff maybe.

[trickstersaint]

guilt, or; i imagine myself lady macbeth behind a confessional screen // january 23 2023

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 4 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Anna was afraid to face her new friends after the night out at the bar. Admitting she was attracted to Bob was easier to do than explain why she couldn't have him. When she finally sends him some book recommendations, she finds his taste in books familiar in an all too intimate way. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, eventually 18+

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Anna spent the rest of her weekend working on lesson plans and looking at Bob's number saved in her phone. She had compiled a mental list of titles she thought he would like, and she'd even pulled a few dog-eared books from her own collection and stacked them up on her narrow counter. She would absolutely love to have Bob borrow them from her, but she'd completely messed everything up.

Why, when confronted with a decent man, did she shut everything down and destroy all hope? Because of Kevin. That's why. She knew this crush on Bob was a bad idea. Nothing good could come of it, but she still caught herself looking at his contact information on Sunday evening with longing in her heart.

She made herself a sad sandwich for dinner and packed herself a second sad sandwich for lunch the next day and then she settled in with her computer. The idea of taking her sad sandwich to the quad and eating with her friends was making her anxious. What if they didn't even want her around now that she'd made a complete fool of herself in front of their friend? What if they looked up at her as she approached them sitting on the bench with their perfect, beautiful lunches and scowled with their perfect, beautiful faces? 

"Oh no," she groaned, covering her eyes with her hand. She really liked them, but they probably hated her now. And she really liked Bob, but he probably went home with that better looking woman who was at the Navy bar and hadn't thought about Anna one time since. 

She forced her attention to her computer screen which was prompting her for a password. She entered Kev1n1s@t00L and watched as the website she'd had open on her browser came to life. She sighed as she scrolled through her saved favorites on PoetsAmongUs. It was kind of pitiful that she knew what she was going to end up reading before she could actually admit it to herself. 

Your whispers call out in the darkest shadows, My heart answers like a flame, Igniting this shared space with every breath I take, Giving you a love that will never find the end. It binds me to you, pulsing through my veins, Emotions like I've never known before. I've doubted that I could reach this place, But I feel endlessly sure here now.

Anna whined from her bed in her sad little apartment as she looked at the pen name of her favorite poet before clicking on it. He either never finished filling out his profile or he was being purposely vague. Male, 30s, United States. 

"Sky Writing. The only man I would trust with my heart ever again." She read the poem once more. That was her favorite passage, but she knew everything he posted by heart and got excited every time something new from him popped up every few months. 

It was late enough that she could probably just go to sleep without acknowledging that she hadn't texted Bob and probably never would. She couldn't set foot back in that bar ever again. Maybe that other place that Jessica loved so much would be somewhere she could check out next time she had nothing better to do. Chippy's or something? She started to doze off.

When her alarm started blaring, it was almost like she had slept too well. She'd dreamed about a faceless man with beautiful hands reading poetry to her while he ran his fingers slowly up and down her bare thigh. She couldn't shake the delicious feeling even as her alarm got louder. When she managed to turn it off, she lay there wishing she had time to go on the poetry website and masturbate before work. 

"Stop it," she whispered as she got up and started getting herself ready for the day. 

At least she got to teach English 522 this afternoon. Feminist Literature was becoming one of her favorite classes, as evidenced by her well worn copy of Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu which was in her bag. When she stood in her kitchen and ate a peanut butter granola bar and drank some coffee, she looked at the books she had pulled out as options for Bob, but she shook her head and left for the day without dwelling on how disappointing her life truly was.

Relying solely on public transportation meant leaving a lot earlier than you wanted to, but Anna still barely made it to her office in time to grab her notebook and teach her first lecture of the week. Half of the students still looked like they were asleep while the other half were looking at her like she was a literary messiah. It was almost comical, and when lunchtime rolled around, she was in a pretty great mood. Until she realized she was still on the fence about going to the quad. 

"Just do a vibe check," she muttered as she grabbed her lunch from her office. "If they look pissed off, you can come right back here and never talk to anyone else again for the rest of your life." She could subside on sandwiches and online poetry and only speak when she was giving lectures. That sounded simultaneously amazing and also terrifying.

The college campus was bustling today. There were some guys skateboarding through the quad, and she recognized a few other faculty members from the English department who waved to her. But that didn't stop her palms from sweating and her heart from thudding in a sickening rhythm that Edgar Alan Poe would think was beautiful. When she spotted the two women on the bench in front of the weird tree, Anna was shocked to see them waving to her with smiles on their faces. 

"Anna!" called Jessica. "You'll never believe it! The vending machine just gave me my bottle of Pepsi and a bonus bottle of ginger ale! Like it knew I was about to see you!"

"Chaos Theory at its finest," said the other woman before she bit into her carrot stick and hummus. 

"It's really more of the Butterfly Effect," Jessica replied. Anna had no idea what they were talking about, but they scooted away from each other on the bench to make room, so she decided to stay.

Anna swallowed hard as she sat and opened her pack of peanuts. "How was the rest of your weekend?" she asked the two of them, and soon her nerves calmed down. 

"Excellent. Bradley and I took a tour of the library yesterday."

"Pretty good. I helped Jake make waffles for breakfast. Lots and lots and lots of waffles. What did you do with the rest of your weekend? After the Hard Deck?"

Anna accepted the bottle of ginger ale that Jessica handed to her as she said, "Um, well I did my lesson plans for the next few weeks. And I started writing my midterm exams. Nothing exciting."

She was met with a bit of awkward silence, and she could feel the two women sharing a look behind her head. "Did you happen to text Bob?" Advanced Calculus asked cautiously, and Anna knew this was the part where it was all over. The dramatic climax, except she was actually the villain in this story.

"No, actually. I think that ship has sailed," she replied softly. 

"Why?" Jessica asked, not unkindly. "When we figured out that you and he already met at the bookstore in North Park, we were ecstatic. He's the mystery guy you were losing your mind over, Anna! The handsome one with glasses who smells so good!"

"He really does smell good," Advanced Calculus muttered as she dipped another carrot into the hummus which was probably unfairly homemade. "Are you no longer attracted to him? Was it his nerdy tee shirt? Or were all the guys so obnoxious you couldn't wait to leave?"

Anna held onto the cold bottle of ginger ale a little tighter as she said, "It's not that at all. I mean, who in their right mind wouldn't be attracted to Bob? And I thought his shirt was kind of charming. And the rest of the guys were welcoming in a slightly intense way."

Now Jessica was turned to face her, eyes wide behind her glasses. "Bob thinks you ran away from him twice now because he's unappealing and boring."

Anna jolted and the pack of peanuts went flying to the ground, nuts rolling in every direction. "He does?" she asked, palms beginning to sweat again.

"Yeah. Big time. But he's quite attracted to you. Apparently the red hair is a thing."

"Oh my god," Anna moaned in embarrassment. Bob liked her red hair? "Oh no. No. No. He's just.... he's so.... and he's also.... I can't even." She took a deep breath as she kicked at the lost peanuts. "Bob is so handsome. It's hard to look into his eyes for too long, because you start to feel like you're going to break out into song. And I don't think I've ever been around a man who smells quite that nice. And he's funny and just a touch nerdy, but that's a good thing." 

There was another beat of silence before Advanced Calculus said, "I'm not really understanding what the problem is."

Anna shook her head and unwrapped her sandwich to keep her hands busy. "Listen, none of my weirdness is because of him. It's all because of me. I can't have a crush on him. I can't be interested in him. I can't be interested in any men whatsoever."

Jessica nudged her shoulder and said, "Maybe you could just text him? Maybe making another new friend wouldn't be so bad?"

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

"Well if you can't find a girlfriend, I hope you're at least getting your rocks off with an attractive lady."

Bob was cradling his forehead in his hand and trying to escape from Suzanne's house without having this conversation. Whenever he stopped to pick up dinner instead of cooking something at home, he always brought something for her, too. It was the neighborly thing to do, especially when your neighbor was decades older than you, but right now he just wanted to vanish. 

"I wouldn't tell you even if I was," he replied, earning a laugh as she opened up the container of soup at her kitchen table. 

"Sit down and stay for a while," she told him, pointing to the empty chair. "I'll pay you back for dinner with my charm and witticism since you won't accept any money."

His phone started to vibrate in his uniform pocket, and he dug it out thinking it was probably Jessica having finished mocking up her barbarian character for their campaign, but it was a text from an unknown number. He was about to pocket his phone again, but then he saw the words book recommendations and paused. He quickly unlocked the phone and started reading the texts that were coming through.

I have some book recommendations for you if you still want them. I'm sorry I didn't send them over the weekend.

This is Anna, by the way.

I should have started with that information.

Wow. This is already embarrassing.

Bob laughed and started to type back immediately, and then Suzanne's voice cut across his thoughts. "Are you sure you don't have a special lady? You're smiling an awful lot at your phone."

He looked at her and shook his head. "I'm sure. I like this girl, but she doesn't return my feelings that way. She's just sending me some recommendations." He started to back away as he added, "Enjoy your soup. I'll see you later, Suzanne."

"Good night, Robert."

Bob ended up standing just inside his front door as he saved Anna's number and typed back a message to her. He thought keeping it simple would be his best move. Anything more than that and he'd embarrass himself once again by getting ahead of himself with his feelings. 

I would love some more recommendations from you. You're the expert.

He only had to wait about a minute for her response, which was just a list of book after book after book that he'd never even heard of. The first were the ones she'd given to him verbally on Friday night, but the rest were just as foreign to him.

Anna Webber: Persuasion by Austen. Northanger Abbey by Austen, Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence, The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton, Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy, Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell, and The Black Tulip by Alexandre Dumas (because you like poetry so much)

Bob quickly ate his own container of soup while he read the list over and over again. Then without changing out of his uniform, he grabbed the keys to his beat up truck and headed to the bookstore in North Park to see if he could find any of these titles before they closed.

The store was virtually empty, and when he climbed the stairs up to the slightly dusty loft he could practically picture Anna's pretty hands and painted nails gliding along all of the spines. He could imagine her pretty, wide eyes looking up at him before she figured out he was boring. He could hear her laugh as he made his way to the spot where they had been standing together.

That horrible Vonnegut book was still there which made him chuckle. "Figures nobody else would want to read it," he muttered as he reached for it. Then he backtracked a little bit to start collecting everything from Anna's list. He referenced his text messages several times, hunting all over the Classics section until he had almost everything in order. Then he spread them out along the shelf and took a photo. He texted it to her before he could second guess himself after he added a short caption. 

Did I miss anything?

He was walking back down to the poetry section when his phone vibrated.

Anna Webber: You're at the bookstore right now? The one in North Park?

Bob froze in the middle of the stairs. He embarrassed himself without even knowing it. He must seem desperate right now. Running out to the store as soon as she sent him the list. "Shit," he groaned softly. When he got another message, he was almost afraid to look at it.

Anna Webber: I LOVE that store. I wish I were there right now, too.

Bob thought that sounded perfect, actually. Maybe if she were here now, she wouldn't run away this time. He'd been playing those kinds of scenarios over and over in his head, ones where she liked him back the way he liked her. Ones where they left the bookstore holding hands.

He continued downstairs to look for the book of poems she suggested for him, which he found quickly, along with Votive by Keiran Goddard. Would Anna like a copy of his favorite book of poetry? Did he even want to ask her? At this point, he had nothing to lose. She wasn't going to suddenly want him, but that shouldn't stop him from sharing a recommendation of his own. Especially when she might really enjoy something he found so spectacular. 

Bob held the book up and snapped a quick selfie, sending it away into the universe before dwelling on it too much.

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

Anna was preparing a piece of toast with jelly for herself or dinner, desperately wishing she were back at the bookstore. Bob was there, probably smelling so nice and luring everyone else who was shopping closer to him. Perhaps he was wearing another Dungeons & Dragons shirt like he'd worn to the Navy bar. Perhaps his biceps were straining against it.

She didn't have to use her vivid imagination for very long, because suddenly Bob was staring at her through her phone screen with his crooked little smile and his beautiful eyes. And his uniform. 

"Oh my god." The toast slipped from her fingers and landed jelly side down on her plate as she took in every single detail. Navy uniforms were khaki? Why had she assumed they were all navy blue? Why didn't she know more about the Navy? She was going to take the time to learn everything she could about the United States Navy. 

When she realized her mouth was dry, she reached for her glass of water and downed it. She was in a daze. A Bob Floyd induced daze. Even all the little pins on his shirt were distracting. She wanted to count all of them. She wanted to touch them. She wondered what they would feel like if she pressed her lips to them. 

"Stop," she gasped. But she couldn't. Now her eyes drifted up to his face again, and she thought she'd only really ever seen the exact color of his eyes in a Kandinsky painting at the Guggenheim. She couldn't look away. "No. No. No!" she moaned. And then she finally read the actual message he'd typed out after gawking at his photo for five whole minutes. 

Bob Floyd: Have you ever read Votive by Keiran Goddard? It's my favorite collection of poetry. 

Anna laughed a little hysterically. She hadn't even noticed he was holding up a book at all. His graceful fingers were wrapped around the damn thing, but she'd been too distracted by him to actually look at the book. But now the fact that she'd never read Goddard before had her flushed and flustered, because Bob had sent a book recommendation to her. Nobody ever did that, and all she could think about was how she absolutely needed to get her hands on a copy and devour the whole entire thing if it was something he liked. 

Very calmly and rationally, she typed back to him.

I have not read it yet, but I'll add it to my list of things to check out of the library. 

When she set her phone down and realized her toast had become a casualty to this text conversation, she moaned and flipped it back over. Her heart was still beating a little erratically from looking at Bob's photo for too long, and she didn't think she could even eat. There was no way she could waste any food in her current financial state though, so she took a bite anyway as he texted her back.

Bob Floyd: I'll just pick it up for you while I'm here. I hope you'll like it, but if you hate it, that's okay too. It's a bit of an acquired taste.

Oh no. She couldn't let him buy it, because she didn't have any extra spending money at the moment to be able to pay him back. But admitting that to him would be excruciatingly embarrassing, and she didn't even think she could do it. Perhaps she could scrape together twenty dollars if she skipped a few meals, but then she wouldn't be able to join the girls in the quad at lunchtime. They'd notice her lack of food right away. 

"Why are you such a disaster?" she asked herself as she scarfed down the rest of her toast and typed back to him.

Thank you. I can pay you back for it later.

She would figure it out. She always did. Even when she didn't want to, she managed to find a way to solve her problems. Even when it hurt.

Bob Floyd: It's my treat. I can give it to Bradley or Jake at work tomorrow. I'm sure either of the ladies wouldn't mind getting it to you when they see you. Or if you feel like it, we could meet for coffee one day and I could give it to you in person. Just let me know.

"Oh, Anna," she whispered, already typing out a response before she could think better of it.

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

Bob was surprised Anna took him up on his offer to meet for coffee, but he found himself looking forward to it in spite of the fact that he was still pining a bit. He'd get over it in time. He'd find someone new to crush on, or maybe he'd meet another girl that he was interested in, and maybe she would be interested back. But none of that stopped him from being excited at the prospect of being around her again. And none of that prepared him for the way he felt when Anna pushed through the door of the coffee shop on Wednesday evening and looked around tentatively. Her red hair was in another loose braid, and her freckles were so endearing.

As soon as her eyes landed on him, she looked less apprehensive but also more resigned. When she approached the table where he was sitting with three books, he stood. "Hey. Anna. How are you?"

"Hi, Bob." Even her voice was soft and sweet as her eyes swept along his face and body. She blushed a pretty shade of pink as she said, "Thanks for the book. Will you let me buy you something to drink?"

He didn't respond beyond nodding and leading the way toward the counter. He listened to her order a small coffee before he ordered a large hot tea, and when she reached for her wallet, he was already handing over a twenty. When she looked up at him with wide, brown eyes, he just smiled. "You don't have to buy me a drink."

She watched the money leave his hand as she said, "Well, you don't have to buy me one either."

"Too late."

She was quiet as they returned to the small table with their hot beverages, but as soon as she sat, she said, "You'll have to let me pay next time."

Bob slid two of the books across the table as he asked, "Next time?" But she didn't respond as she let her fingers brush along Votive before she picked it up to reveal the one underneath it.

Anna's laughter filled the small space as her eyes darted back up to meet his. "You bought Cat's Cradle? I didn't think that was the kind of thing you were looking for?"

He glanced down into his tea. "Uh, it's not. I got it for you."

"Bob," she said quietly, her fingers tracing the spine now. He liked her nail polish and wanted to touch her hands. "You did not have to get me two books."

"Yes I did," he said with a smile. "Vonnegut sounds horrible. I felt bad for it because nobody else was ever going to buy it. I couldn't just leave it to rot on the shelf when I know the only person who would be willing to give it a nice home."

When she laughed again, she seemed resigned to the fact that the books were both hers. "Thanks. Money is a little tight for me right now. You know how it is when you first move," she told him while she fidgeted a bit. "But next time, I'll buy your drink. Or your book. Or something."

"You keep saying 'next time'."

Anna poked at her coffee cup and said, "I thought maybe.... we could be friends."

"Friends." His voice felt and sounded stale. The word made him feel sadder than it should have. "Of course."

She looked even more relieved now as she took a sip of her coffee, but Bob was busy trying not to memorize the pretty pattern of her freckles across her nose and the way her lips were pursed. He wouldn't look at a friend that way. 

"Which book is that?" she asked, nodding toward the last one in front of him. 

He flipped it over so she could see the cover, and he said, "Oh, it's The Age of Innocence. I'm almost done reading it, and I was just hoping to get your opinions on a few things."

Anna's eyes went wider. "You're almost done reading it? Already?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded like a groan, and he knew he should be embarrassed since she recommended it two days ago, but he said, "Once I start a new book, I can't put it down if it's good."

"So you like it?" she asked, leaning a little closer to him as a smile played along her lips. 

"It's fantastic," he replied, and her foot brushed his softly beneath the table.

Anna licked her lips and shifted in her seat as she made a soft sound that just made Bob want to get closer to her. She clasped her hands on the table in front of her and cleared her throat before she blurted out. "You're really handsome." His lips parted wordlessly, unsure how to respond, but he didn't have to as she immediately said, "And you're not boring. Not at all. I could have stayed in that dusty bookstore all afternoon, tucked away in the loft, talking to you about book after book."

"Oh," he replied, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Really?"

"Yes. Really," she said, and it sounded like she meant it. "I didn't disappear because of you. I disappeared because of me. And I'm really sorry about that."

Then he realized what was going on. His friends got to her already. He'd told Jessica on Saturday night that he was sure Anna ditched him because he's probably not as handsome or interesting as she's used to. And now he was going to have to text her and tell her to lay off. This whole thing was embarrassing enough without having to hear Anna pity him like this.

"Don't worry about it," he told her softly with his best attempt at a smile. "We can be friends."

When he got home, she texted him to thank him again for the books and the coffee. But he was still thinking about her freckles and how far down her neck they might go. Maybe they made a pretty pattern across her shoulders, too. Maybe they would disappear into her bra, a perfect treasure for another man to find. But not Bob. Bob and Anna were just friends.

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

When Anna finally got home after taking two buses, it was so late, she knew she should go right to bed. But she was wishing for another cheap bottle of wine to try to take her mind off of Bob. He was perfect, and she couldn't let herself have him. They could be friends, but nothing more. She could send him texts, but they couldn't flirt. 

She already missed his soft voice and the way he gave her his entire focus when they were together. He bought her two books! Nobody else ever bought her books! And he read the ones she recommended to him! Maybe Kevin was to blame for most things that had gone wrong in her life, but literally no man she'd ever known was as kind and thoughtful as Bob.

She collapsed back onto her bed in her sad apartment were she could look at her kitchen and her bathroom at the same time, and she opened the book of poetry. Bob's favorite poetry. Within minutes of reading the first few pages, she felt warmer and maybe a little flustered. The passages were romantic and insightful in such a familiar way. Something was tickling at her brain, trying to trigger a memory. She kept reading, making it fifteen pages in before she gasped and realized what it was. 

"Sky Writing," she murmured, reaching for her computer in favor of the book. She was reminded of her favorite novice poet from her favorite website. The poetry in the book sounded a bit like the poems written by Sky Writing, and now Anna was even more of a mess knowing that this was the kind of intimate literature Bob preferred to read. 

She wanted him. She wanted to know what his big, sturdy hands would feel like on her body. What his lips tasted like. She wanted to erase that pinch of doubt she saw on his face when she tried to reassure him that even though they were going to be just friends, she definitely found him attractive. 

The next time she went shopping, she was going to need to stock up on some more bottles of cheap wine.

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

Just friends. Okay, Anna. Sure, babe. Let's see how long that lasts. Bob's wingwomen are powerful. Thank you @lauratang for the book/reading list! And thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 5

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[digitalagepulao]

Sun Wukong, the Monkey King: my design notes [!! click here for the full line-up !!] [click here for just the goodies on tumblr]

also titled, "I underestimated my file sizes" TAT Separate images and info below the read more, beware this is LONG <3

Stone Monkey: himbs baby, that is all <3 he's mostly based off the François Langur, but some of his anatomy and proportions lean more on the Gray Langur and Macaque side of things. His facial fur sort of forms a pentagon shape for the five elements, and I gave him ginger fur cus it's a common depiction for him but also baby langurs are very bright orange, and him not growing dark feels like an apt display of his more childish side, both good and bad. His nails are golden for a bit of a "hidden gem" from a stone egg. Also keeping the tail either in a spiral of C-curve when "engaged", and when droopy it has a feel of a heavy rope. Old World monkeys don't have prehensile tails, he can use it for balance and basic mobility but it's not a third hand for the sake of keeping his monkey-ness.

Handsome Monkey King: in one of the poems the monkeys are said to weave grass for mattresses, so I can see them coming up with a crown of woven grass and never-fading leaves and flowers for their king at the very least. His face skin is darker as an adult, but not much else changes overall. The fuzzy upper lips and sideburns are a feature of the species I'm basing him on and it felt like a good fit to add. I also love the forest langurs are so long-furred, makes for a good way to give him dimension but also, the linework style reminds me of old woodcut shorthands for fur. Added a jade coin for the symbolism, and it feels fitting that the king of such a miraculous mountain would have a treasure like that on him. Placcid chill eyes are imperative, dude's not had an existential crisis yet, he's straight up vibing.

Sun Wukong: during his odd-ten years away from home, he learned human manners so he can stand but, I can see him still needing to lean on his tail to keep up his balance here and there. As he reaches the Western Continent (India) and learns the Way under Patriarch Subodhi, he adopts proper clothes for an apprentice and eventually becomes a Rishi. He dons his facial paint from then on, and after he masters the Way, there's a brightness in his pupils to show his cultivated immortality. The beads are purple solely to stand out over the deluge of oranges that is his design.

Great Sage Equal to Heaven: really went all out on this one orz this is Wukong at his most egotistical and ambitious, and I wanted his fit to truly embody that. Took bits from Peking Opera costumes and common depiction elements of him, with some bit of extra for appropriate levels of flair, like the phoenix feather design. I wanted to go for a mountain pattern mail but I couldn't figure out how to draw it, so I winged a pattern. I,,, doubt I'll ever draw this armor as detailed as here, but I wanted it to feel a bit overwhelming to look at, while also seeming like it doesn't quite fit him perfectly like it's swallowing him. Bit of a "baby wearing their parent's shoes" kind of vibe; he's stupidly powerful but he doesn't have what it takes to sit on the throne of Heaven. Also I leaned his expression to how he might appear during the Havoc in Heaven and then his bet with the Buddha. Full unbrindled rage murder monkey <3

-- Ruyi Jingu Bang: can't quite move on without my notes on the golden-hooped cudgel, now can I? The secondary hoops are there for further design appeal and for my own visualization of how the staff changes size (the hoops move over the staff's length as if to push it outward or inward). The metal is dark damascus alloy, though the pattern can be omitted for ease of drawing. One hoop end depicts a dragon, the other a phoenix, and in the middle of the staff is the canon inscription as described in the books, in seal script. Glow is optional and mostly for aesthetics.

Sun Pilgrim: out of his stolen armor, Wukong seems to swim in his robes but in a less overwhelming way. Went for the simple fillet headband cus his face is busy enough as it is. I know he's skilled enough to skin a tiger into pretty decent squares, but after one too many battles, anything would get tattered. He wears red, teal, black and yellow, four of the five cardinal colors, while white (the West) is still missing. His red and black half-robe doesn't fully cover the yellow underneath, a call back to his golden armor; he tries to use his wisdom and teachings to fight back the impulses of his past, but they still shine through at times. I kept only the leg bangs for dynamic elements to better show movement, but also one could say he's got.... golden hoops (haha get it, like his cudgel?? :oD)

Victorious Fighting Buddha: leaned hard on the actual portrayals of the Buddha. Seeing that he's depicted with dark/blue skin, it felt appropriate to let the guy grow out of his baby ginger fur and into adult black, but a patch remains where the golden headband used to be. I didn't want to give him long hair so no bun, but instead, his fur has a sorta lotus-petals shape now rather than his single point. His face paint changes into a more domino-mask style, and his brow white line resembles a teardrop urna. I made the mail piece he holds longer to keep the flowy bits of his previous outfits, and I turned Ruyi Jingu Bang into the sword he wields.

Hello hi, this robbed me of three days of my life and I'd like to receive compensation x.x Anyway hope you enjoy this lad, I know I do! Also if you wanna send me asks about him pls feel welcome to, I'd love to chat about this bastard monkey (affectionate) (loving) (i`d die for him)

[leoizkool]

TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES 2012 ..BUT THEY GET TO BE ACTUAL TEENAGERS (let them be happy please..) PT 2 !!

LEO LORE !!!

-Leo was placed as the role model by master splinter since day one, tho his father never really meant any kind of harm to Leo, this costed him his stability WAY TOO MUCH, Leo is NOT a born leader..tho he was (unintentionally) tricked into believing that he is one. Any time he would fail to lead or help his brothers he’d be too hard on himself, asking why couldn’t he just be the perfect leader he was supposed to be! The one he always wanted to be..and ended up finding comfort in Tv shows and cartoons, which began his love for Space Heroes ^_^!

As time went on, Leo realized that trying to be something he wasn’t was really just taking a toll on him..to which he decided to split the leader title between his siblings, Leo would be the front man, and whenever he had no plans,one of his brothers would take on the leader title and get all of them out of a situation together..Nowadays Leo is still learning to be a good leader by himself , tho taking his time and actually enjoy what being a leader is.

LIKES !! : cartoons, old animes or indie films, traditional Japanese culture, SPACE HEROES, Space!, his brothers ^_^!

DISLIKES : having too many pressure on him, loud noises, spicy food..

FUN FACTS BOUT LEO !!!

Leo likes to use traditional Japanese clothing, mostly cuz he thinks it’s really cool, plus Splinter wears it too..so..yeah

Daddy’s boy, he can do no wrong in splinter’s eyes

Sweet tooth! He loves candy in general..

WOULD’VE been emo..If splinter allowed him to, tho splinter never let him and he grew out of it really quickly..

Drags Raph to see old animes with him

NERD ..like..”I’m gonna into dump you about my favorite show cuz you’re awesome!” Kind of nerd

Has begged Donnie to make him some space heroes related stuff..(Donnie has NOT done that)

Mostly listens to indie music, would like Alex G

“GUYS CAN WE PLEASE STOP STARING AT EACH OTHER AND DO SOMETHING WITH THE BROKEN VASE IN FRONT OF US…PLEASE? GUYS!!??”

Would totally write poems

They suck, but he tries..

Was pretty selfish for some time..due to his older brother status, but he turned out to be a really sweet lil guy

Undiagnosed neurodivergence probably

“What? No I don’t have any hyperfixations..I just really REALLY like space!”

Refuses to cut down his hair cuz it makes him look like a “Real Samurai” or something…?

Tried picking up an instrument cuz he wanted to have an excuse to talk to Raph more

In his mind “If my brother plays an instrument..and I try to play an instrument too..maybe we will have something in common and he will talk to me!”

That failed

The main reason He and Raph’s relationship is so rocky is because of stuff that happened between the ages of 6-13 yrs old..I will elaborate later on..probably 

Listens to vocaloid..his favorite is either MIKU or Gakupo (idk if that’s his name ..)

Really talented with his katanas! Tho he has tried using other weapons before

Likes pineapple on pizza ..

“ I love my brothers!..I might’ve been a bit of an idiot when we were younger…but I’m trying my best to be the best older brother ever now!..PLEASE BELIEVE ME PLEASE PLEASE PLEAS-“ (He has improved a LOT..he is getting that best big bro title!)

[magicalmischel]

WIP TAG GAME 🌿

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have wips

thanks for tagging me @regulusrules ! 💖

I have a lot of wips too 😂 most of these are for BBC Merlin, a few are for classic who. I hope I don't forget anything, I keep a list but I haven't updated it in like a year 😂

BBC MERLIN WIPS

The Crystal Hunters; 45k

a canon era time travel fic with merthur and morgwen, set during the Great Purge. There's lots of plot, magic, crystals, old castles and running.

Layers of Dusk; 17k

a darker fic where Arthur dies and so Merlin tries his hand at necromancy

Give Me Your Hand, I'll Give You Mine; 1300 words

canon era, merthur, magical injuries caused by the great purge and a magic reveal.

"the medieval roommates valentine fic" (untitled); 2500 words

merlin is forced to stay in arthur's chambers 24/7 bc of plot. Not sure if I'll ever finish this one tbh

Rhythm of Love; ??k

glastonbury festival fic where arthur returns + musician!merlin. I have no idea how many years ago I started this, definitely pre-2018 though. Idek if I still have the draft somewhere ;-;

Suddenly Flames Everywhere; 77k

;-; i think abt this fic every day and try to work on it at least once a week ;-; i wanted to post it for acbb 2023 but i ran out of time, and then once the deadline was gone, so was most of my motivation 😂 it's a merthur enemies to lovers dragon!merlin soulmate canon au that I care about very very much. pls ask me abt it if you want maybe it'll kick me into working on it more 😂

The Light of Knowledge; ?????k

oof this is an old one. started it way back in 2014 and I'm honestly not sure if I still have the draft saved somewhere. All I remember is a big maze, lots of bad poems that I wrote in like the 9th grade and merthur 😂

Falling into Empty Space (??); 400 words lmao

basically a s1!merlin vs s5!merlin epic fight with time travel to 1x08 bc obviously killing kid!mordred is wrong, right? Right??

"ghost!merlin canon au fic" (untitled); 9k

exactly what it says in the title. damn i need to return to this ;-;

"cat!merlin fic" (untitled), 1000 words

canon era, merthur, magic reveal. Merlin transforms himself into a cat bc of course that is the absolute best way to get arthur to accept magic. it only makes sense in his head lmao

Burn Us Away (But Keep Me in Your Heart); 11.8k

canon soulmate au with a LOT of angst and a magic reveal

"the bird!merlin fic"; 1000 words

first written for merlin bingo 2021 but I never finished it ;-;

No Doubt in My Mind Where You Belong; 12k

a canon era trans!merlin fic with established relationship merthur

"cuddle fic" (untitled); 1300 words

written for fluffalooza 2023 but never finished ;-;

"one bed fic" (untitled); 1900 words

also written for fluffalooza but never finished bc it felt too ridiculous/cracky/ooc, but it might be worth reworking

"the weird tarot crack fic" (untitled); 2.8k

written for tarot fest 2023 but abandoned bc i came up with a better idea for the fest. I remember it was very cracky, I might return to it. Canon era merthur.

i might be forgetting some tbh, I've written a lot of drabbles that I later wanted to expand but never did ;-;

CLASSIC DOCTOR WHO WIPS

"jamie/10 + 11 fic" (untitled); 3.5k

the 10th doctor visits all his companions before regenerating into 11 including jamie <3

"twojamie war games "make it worse" fic" (untitled); 849 words

this is theoretically a fix-it but also i make it much worse first lmao, and i'm not sure yet how it ends either, so is it really a fix-it??

ok and I think that's it!! ;-; i did write a little something for each of the titles but hopefully not too much so if anyone sees this and wants to know more feel free to dm me

i'm not gonna tag 18 people though that's way too many 😂 I'll tag @insane-ohwhyfandoms (good luck) @lair-of-the-dragon @lesbianlefay @invisibility-superiority @queerofthedagger @wolfiery @haventacluewhatimdoing and @twojamie-o-clock <3

absolutely no pressure to do this though of course! 💖

[grovyrosegirl]

Questions 1, 2, 3, 5, and 6! (Sorry if that’s greedy haha, pick whichever ones you’d prefer to answer!)

1. What would your Tav’s greetings be (at different levels of approval)?

Neutral Approval: "Hey leader. How can I help?"

Negative Approval: [mutters] "Blessed be he who endures..." [clears her throat] "Yes?"

Positive Approval: "I was hoping we'd get to chat today. How can I help?"

Romance: "How are you faring, love? If you need anything, just shout for me."

--- 2. Describe their tent setup! What’s on the outside? The inside?

Connie's tent would be a pretty basic one. It's small, plain, and a bit worn out from years of use. But she makes it home anyway. Outside the tent you'd find a lot of practical items like her sword, a water bucket, and some rope. Inside is where she keeps her more personal items. Alongside her bedroll, you'll find some adventure novels, a few snacks stored away, and her diary.

Be warned though, reading her diary without her permission can be an easy way to get her to disapprove of you. And if you pick the really condescending or mean dialogue options when she catches you, she'll punch you.

If you manage to sneakily read it or she gives you permission at high approval, you'll find her thoughts about you in the diary. If you're romancing her, it'll be a sweet little diary entry about how much she admires you, alongside her failed attempts to write a love poem that she crosses out.

--- 3. What would their character quest be titled? Why?

Connie's quest line is called, "The Lost Lionheart." It's a reference to not only her father's guild name, but of her messy journey to find herself.

When you meet her in Act 1, Connie's at a point in her life where she's really struggling to figure out what she wants, who she is, and where she belongs. She doesn't want to return to the suffocating domestic life that she ran away from, but being a solo adventurer has left her deeply traumatized and lonely. She wants to do good in the world but so often feels like she's powerless and not good enough. Meeting the tadpole gang starts to give her a sense of belonging and purpose. And it's up to the player to either help her overcome her insecurities or lead her on a path where she succumbs to them.

Her major crossroad occurs in Act 2. You run into Connie's father and brother at the Last Light Inn, the former of whom insists that she not continue on this journey and instead return home with him so he can keep her safe. She's pissed off and wants to prove him wrong about her once and for all. But her doubts start to get to her, and during a long rest one night, you'll find her about to consume a tadpole to gain more power. (If you don't have any tadpoles in your inventory, she'll admit that she took one from a cultist when you weren't looking.) Your options are this:

A. Talk her out of it, help her build self-confidence in much healthier ways.

or

B. Encourage her to consume the tadpole, and watch as she gains new ilithid abilities. Every time you find a True Soul parasite from then on, you'll have the option to give it to her instead.

If you choose option B, you'll still have opportunities to talk her out of it later, as it soon becomes clear that she's relying on them too much. However, if you allow her to consume 3 tadpoles in Act 2, then she becomes addicted and you're locked onto her bad ending route.

Her good route will have her learn to value herself more, and she starts to mend bridges with people in her life. She'll stand up to her father at the end of Act 2, and encourage her brother to do the same. In Act 3, her quest will revolve around helping the people of Rivington, first by solving the murder at the Open Hands Temple and then by standing up to the Rivington Rats gang, who have been terrorizing both the townspeople and the refugees. She'll also reconcile with her mother and her ex-fiancée, realizing that she doesn't have to give up parts of her life nor herself to be whole. And that she can do good just by being herself and helping where she can.

Her bad route is... the opposite. For starters, the tadpoles may enhance her strength, but they change her too. The hot-tempered yet sweet swordswoman you met in Act 1 is slowly chipped away, replaced by someone who is numb, apathetic, and is only focused on becoming stronger. In Act 3, Connie will still face off against the Rivington Rats, but instead of fighting them, she'll either kill or brainwash the gang with her psionic powers. Afterwards, her mother will come looking for her, but Connie will tell her that she doesn't need her anymore, and to stay out of her way. Additionally, when the final battle comes, Connie is an option for someone to turn into a mind flayer instead of Orpheus. She'll do it without hesitation, and if you go down this route, you'll find that she's well on her way to becoming the next Emperor.

So pretty please. Do not let her eat the worms. :')

--- 4. What would your Tav’s romance scenes look like? How many would they have?

Probably 3 scenes like most companions have (excluding quest line cutscenes that can have additional romantic options). I haven't thought them out completely, but there would be a scene where you train with her, and a scene where she bakes something sweet for you. Plus a scene in Act 3 where she takes you to the Open Hands Temple's bell tower to look at the sunset and reflect upon your journey together.

--- 5. Describe their idle animations!

She'll polish her blade, sit down by her tent to read a book, and sneak a snack when she thinks no one is looking.

--- 6. How would the player go about meeting them in Act 1? What is their introduction?

You'll find her at the bridge before you go into the Blighted Village. If you punched Aradin Beno and he left the grove, you'll find her arguing with him there. Basically calling him out for being a coward and a racist. He'll insult her before he storms off with his gang, leaving you there with her.

If Aradin is dead or didn't leave the grove, you'll find her at the bridge alone. She'll see you coming and say she recognizes you from the nautiloid.

Either way, one tadpole connection moment later, she'll warn you about the goblins up ahead and offer to help if you're traveling that way.

[garden-ghoul]

Happy Gushiwensday Sunday, everyone! Tonight we have a social criticism poem by Song Dynasty poet Mei Yaochen, titled "Small Village."

The River Huai is wide, dotted with islands--- you'd easily miss this village on the shore. Thorn fence so full of holes you might be tricked and think the gaps were put there to be doors. A shivering chicken calls out to her flock, wondering if there's food around the barn. An old man, barely clothed in thinning rags, clutches his grandchild tightly in his arms. A small boat's bird-tail tilted in the air plucked of feathers, broken mooring-line. Dried-up mulberry trees are washed away, parched yet drowned, roots drinking only brine. I have no words, only a helpless sigh at calling this poor life of theirs a living. How absurd to call them citizens of Song, to tax them when they've nothing to be giving.

original text and notes under the cut.

小村

淮阔洲多忽有村，棘篱疏败谩为门。 寒鸡得食自呼伴，老叟无衣犹抱孙。 野艇鸟翘唯断缆，枯桑水啮只危根。 嗟哉生计一如此，谬入王民版籍论。

Whew! This was a fun one. While it's in a poetic form, the way Mei Yaochen uses imagery here is really starkly different from the way most of the other poets we've translated do; this is from the standard set of "moved to poetry" emotions, and it doesn't conceal its meaning in metaphor or allusion at all. Therefore, I felt it was actually more important to translate it as verse, because I wasn't sure I could make it sound like a poem otherwise. So each couplet here is rendered as one stanza. Anyway, some notes:

might be tricked --- I just want to point out 谩 from this line and 谬 from the last line as words for deception and confusion. There are only two in this poem, but they make a big impact on me! The first can be read as deceive, disrespect, or slander; the second as deception, confusion, or absurdity. In the first line there's also 忽 neglect, ignore, or overlook. Those are the tone words of this poem, to me: Mei is making the point that the way these people are treated as citizens is ridiculous, unfair, and hypocritical.

around the barn --- in the literal, the chicken just calls out for food. The barn is an invention so I could get this line to rhyme with the end of the couplet.

boat's bird-tail... feathers --- okay so actually what it says is 鸟翘, which is the word for a bird-tail-shaped bow ornament/mooring cleat, but I read it literally as "a tilted bird" and got the image of a boat that's heavily tilted as if the water has abandoned it. The image of a plucked bird isn't in the original either but I liked it too much to get rid of it once I realized what was going on.

roots drinking only brine --- actually reads "[leaving] only dying roots." Brine has a couple good qualities, though: 1, it rhymes; 2, it's water that only makes you thirstier. I think the original has more of a sense that the river has abandoned this village, whereas my translation has more of a sense that the river has turned on the village.

I have... living --- the literal reads something like "sighing 'ah!' that people are living this way."

call them citizens --- I really like the way Mei uses bureaucratic language here, but I couldn't replicate it in meter. The literal is tricky because I don't completely get what's going on with all these characters in relation to each other, but it's something like "It's absurd to include them in 'the king's citizens' and write them down in the tax registry." ie, there is an official record of the fact that the emperor owes them help, but instead the court is taking taxes and no help materializes.

[fractured-shield]

Five lines tag

Thanks @honeybewrites for the tag!

Rules: Find five lines based on the prompts you are given, then change ONE of the prompts at the end.

Lines are either from my current FS draft, or from the random scenes jumbled together in my notes that *might* be in FS eventually

A line about food (pov you're too stressed to have an appetite and your friend isn't going to let you pass out in a meeting)

He sighed as they stopped before the door to their room. “It’s always the same. The young ones are afraid of me, and anyone else treats me like I’ll break, or as if I already have.” “Well, Aestarn said that you aren’t frightening, to be fair, only that you look like it at first. So it seems they’ve figured out that you’re too nice for your own good, and exactly as threatening as a mouse. And not even the kind of mouse we have in Tarnuvin, those little skittish field mice they have here in Rhorn. …Oh, you stubborn bastard, you never even finished your fucking soup, did you?” In spite of himself, Idhren found himself laughing at the absurdity of Hal's question. “I'm sorry, I don't think I did.”

A sad line

"I couldn’t blame him, I couldn’t ask for more, but I… We parted ways on good terms, and then the war ended…and then he died. …That’s a story for another time,” he ended weakly. “Oh,” she said quietly, looking up from where she was trying to untangle the tarnished chain. He wasn’t quite happy with how much of himself he saw in her, but she had always had her mother’s way of understanding people in an instant. She looked at him like she knew so much more than he’d said. “Oh, you loved him. Didn’t you?” “I did,” he answered, so much more easily than he’d expected. “...I still do. And your mother, and every friend I shouldn’t have outlived, and…” “Don’t put it that way.” She spoke with surprising conviction, without any of the stumbling hesitation he was learning to expect from her awkward teenage years. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He took a slow, measured breath. “My point is that you don’t stop loving people when you go your separate ways, or just because they die.”

A line about a book/reading

"Besides, thinking you’re good at something has nothing to do with whether or not you actually are. I don't know how it is for your parents, but I’ve never once felt like I was good at any of the council work.” He smiled just a little, like he was telling her some great secret. “Wait—really? Aren’t you Tarnuvin’s senior councillor or something?” “The title doesn’t mean much,” Idhren admitted. “It’s all an act, really. I’m terribly shy, I always feel like I’m less qualified than the people I speak with, like I’m afraid they’ll find out.” Waith looked away. She wasn't used to adults being honest about that sort of thing. She wasn't sure what to do with it. "I…it’s nice to know I’m not the only one who feels unsure, when Therien and Oenith the rest always seem like they know exactly what to do.” “Just one day at a time, if that’s what you need, alright?" Waith looked at her book, running her thumb along the edge of the pages idly. “Is that Fairalmin poetry?” He leaned closer, just a little “I can’t really speak it, I can only read it. So far.” She shrugged. “That’s right, you’re from Fairalme, aren’t you?” “I am. If you want more practice, we’ll have plenty of time on the way north. Therien’s halfway fluent, herself. Ah, I always liked this one,” he read the poem’s title. “Where did you ever find a book of old Fairalmin poetry?” “Someone gave it to my parents. My mother says it's not a very useful language to know anymore, but you know how she is.”

A line about the weather

The plains below were bare, stretching out northward from the city gate. The brisk wind tossed the dry grass in waves, empty of any passers-by. Even the farmers and hunters coming for the market from Durnthain’s outlying plains had all arrived by now. “What’re you looking at?” She heard Condel’s voice behind her. “The regional council starts today.” Oenith joined her at the wall. “You know how she gets.” Therien kept looking into the distance, as if a cluster of riders would materialize out of thin air, grey banners snapping in the wind and guards’ armor catching the glint of the sun, if only she looked hard enough.  “The weather's nice today—it's the perfect weather for this kind of thing, don’t you think? It was a little cold when I was putting out Ealrid's laundry this morning, but the wind fills out the banners when everyone gets here, and they're so nice to look at.” They didn’t answer. She could feel them staring at her. “Therien, who the hell has an opinion about what kind of weather is best for a council meeting?” Oenith gave her a teasing jab with her elbow. She rolled her eyes and didn’t dignify it with an answer. It made perfect sense to her, after all, so what was the use in explaining it?

A fun line (not sure if it counts as fun but it's got Malin in it and he's always fun to write)

“Gods, it’s been ages, hasn’t it?” he called out in a friendly tone that seemed to Therien much too casual for the current situation. The sun glinted against the gold scrollwork on the breastplate of his armor and he raised a gloved hand in greeting. “What are you doing here, Idhren?” Her papa gave a slight smile, answering more quietly. “The trade council just ended. We were leaving, until we ran into the hunting party. What about you?” “Oh, you know how it is,” he shrugged, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, ornate and polished until it sparkled. Therien didn’t know how it was, actually. “I’m just keeping an eye on the Lochieru. It’s not like they’re going to declare war on Vailra, are they? They’ve enough enemies, with the whole alliance at their throats, they won’t risk adding another—and a city of mages at that.” Therien looked at him. “You don’t look much like a mage.” A moment later she realized her mistake. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just—” “Gods, no,” Malin laughed easily. “I’m only a swordsman. The only magic I know is how to light a candle, and it took me near a decade to learn.” He looked closer at her. “...Therien? Last I heard you were toddling around with a wooden sword and starting fights with your playmates. We’ve never met, have we—how old are you now?” “Seventeen,” she flushed timidly at the amiable attention, realizing already what her papa had meant, how everyone Malin met was treated as a friend.

Tagging: @ryderwritings @leahnardo-da-veggie @just-emis-blog and anyone else who wants to join, for the following prompts:

A line about music

A sad line

A line about a book/reading

A line about the weather

A fun line

Tag list: @just-emis-blog @orions-quill @honeybewrites @leahnardo-da-veggie @robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle

[tarabyte3]

The Devil Makes Us Sin

Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun

Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader

Chapter 1/? (5.2k words)

Chapter 2 ->

AO3 Link

Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.

At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship

A/N: Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from the poem "Saint Joan" by Louise Glück, The Seven Ages

(There's a more indepth note below the cut)

A/N pt 2: I know those warnings seem like a lot! I try to tag everything, no matter how small, because I want to make sure no one is blindsided by anything in my fics.

But remember, David Robey is not a good man. He's a murderous psychopath, he's cruel, and he feels no remorse (though I do REALLY flex the boundaries of all that because this is fantasy and fanfiction after all.) This reader character is also NOT a good person, just to a lesser extent than he is. Therefore this is going to get quite dark on occasion. Though if you're here because you want David Robey smut, I suspect you're well aware of what you're in for. Still! Heed all tags and warnings. I will continue to expand them as they come up in the story and try to point them out as I add them, but always check the end of the list for anything new.

If you're worried, know that I have personal boundaries I will not cross in my fics. No gratuitous descriptions of violence, murder, gore, or torture in my smut fics unless specifically and clearly warned. No noncon or SA. No physical or domestic abuse. And though it is a smut fic about a fictional serial killer, any mental or emotional manipulation will be in line with what exists in canon, so no wild cards there either.

Pregnancy scares, worrying about or fear of getting pregnant, taking steps to avoid pregnancy through the use of contraception or other means, or having my reader character get pregnant—all as the result of unprotected sex between the characters—will also never come up in anything I write. They won't even think about it. I want my fics to be a fun escape for myself and for you all so I say no thank you.

Finally, there is some shame from the main character and problematic language used about sex work in this and I want to be clear: We respect sex workers in this house 👏😤 Sex work is work. Anything that suggests otherwise in this fic is because the characters are assholes.

Chapter 1 - I heard a dark prediction rising in my own body

You're always very careful not to show your face on camera. It's not what's for sale. Certainly not for fifteen pounds per monthly subscription. These men watching aren't paying you enough to risk your career.

Or worse, to risk your mother finding out.

She's always harping on you to settle down, get married, and have children. You don't have the stomach to tell her how absolutely horrible all of that sounds. Most men bore you with their undeserved egos, horrible ties, and inane chatter about sports clubs. Or the way they smother the spark that drew them to you in the first place because afterwards they want a good little wife instead. And you definitely don't want children.

So no, you don't want to marry any of them. Instead you'll gladly take advantage of their desperation to escape their dull lives and their tired, jaded spouses. Likely women who thought marriage would be different, only to find out what you already know: most men can never give you what you truly need.

Now you've been doing this for over a year. For an hour a night, you sit in front of your webcam in low cut blouses and secretary skirts and undress down to your lingerie and panties. You run your fingers between your breasts and whisper lies into your microphone.

At first it was out of desperation.

Your flatmate had moved out with little warning and left you scrambling to make rent. Your job didn't pay enough for you to afford the entire sum by yourself until you found someone else to take her place. Sure, you could have moved or downsized, but you didn't want to. The location was perfect and to get the same rate, you'd have to move further to the edge of the city. Your morning commute would be longer, and you didn't want to spend so much time on the tube with the smell of sweat, crying babies, and creeps brushing up against you.

It was a pop-up ad that gave you the idea. "Live women on camera. Watch now! Get your first month at a reduced rate!" It declared over a scantily clad young woman who was pushing her cleavage together with her arms and fluttering her eyelashes.

If only it were that easy, you had scoffed.

Then you opened your laptop and did some research. Because what if it was? Which is how you ended up making an account on a smaller camgirl website and sitting uncomfortably with your webcam pointed at your torso and nothing but a white wall behind you.

After a few days of no activity, you unbuttoned your blouse a bit, wore a push-up bra, and finally got your first viewer. So you unbuttoned it further and further, and, as your numbers rose, your top came off completely.

You learned to tease them after that.

And degrade them.

"BigDaddy47 wants to know if I'm wearing panties. Mmm, what do you all think? Should I take off my skirt and let you find out? If you were all very good, I could show you what's underneath, but you don't deserve it, do you? I know how filthy you all are, asking me to take my clothes off. You disgust me."

Oh, but then you apologize and beg for forgiveness for being so mean to those poor, overworked men that no one else appreciates while bashfully covering your body with your hands and telling them you're just a little shy. That's what really boosted your numbers. They ate it up. Because more than seeing a pair of tits, they love being told exactly what they want to hear. And they especially love believing it.

That's why they're really there. To forget. To pretend.

You made enough extra money to keep your flat. Barely at first, and it completely wiped your savings, but with each new paycheck there was more leftover. Eventually you also bought better lingerie. More strappy numbers to hide under your office girl persona. More ways to hint at your bare breasts without showing them. Because you will never get naked on camera. Ever. The thought of all those men seeing your full body repulses you. They repulse you. That part, at least, is never a lie.

Then the empty second bedroom became your recording studio. You put a feminine, silky comforter and fancy pillows on the bed so you could pose in different, carefully pre-selected positions. You draped a blanket over the back of the chair so you could cover yourself while you pretended to be shy and repentant, and they all begged you to take it back off.

It was almost too easy. It took less than seven months for your stream to be featured on the front page of the site as a hot new account, and another two for you to make the top fifty. Now you're making as much in seven hours of streaming a week as you do in a week and a half of full-time work at your day job. And you keep nudging your way closer to the top twenty.

So you could say things are going well.

At least, they were.

The first time you got a strange text message from a number you didn't recognize, you shrugged it off. All it said was: How are you doing? Which could be anything. A wrong number, a phishing attempt, or an old friend you deleted the contact information for ages ago. Of course you ignored it.

But a few days later you got another one from the same number.

You don't want to chat?

That one had made you a little uncomfortable, but you could still tell yourself it was a mistake. Maybe even a guy you gave your number to for a hookup during a rare night out that you never followed through on. You set your phone down, went about your day, and managed to forget about it quickly.

Then today it buzzs again.

You're not even this shy on camera.

As you read it—and reread it to be sure you're not seeing things—your heart leaps to your throat with your first rush of fear. How had they gotten your number? You never entered a phone number into the website. You've been so careful. You even set up a separate bank account.

"Who is this?" You finally text back.

A fan.

You quickly fumble with your phone to block them, but a new message appears on the screen before your trembling thumbs can manage to tap the correct buttons.

I wouldn't do that.

And then there's a video.

You hesitate.

You know you should just block them anyway, but something about the blurry still of the preview seems familiar. Naggingly familiar. So you tap play.

There's a figure standing right in front of the camera. They're so close, all you can see at first is a plain black shirt and a bare arm. Then they move away, further into the room. It's your spare room, you quickly realize with horror. You can see the familiar layout and the blush colored comforter on the bed. After a few more seconds, you also realize the person in the video is you. You're folding the blanket you use during your stream and setting it on the chair. Except it wasn't taken from your stream because there's daylight coming through the lacy drapes covering the window. You only stream at night. And your face is visible as you bend over to pick up a pillow from the floor.

It's you in your pajamas, tidying up the room the morning after a stream. When your camera isn't supposed to be on. When you aren't being careful.

You feel sick.

Now would you like to chat?

"What do you want?" You type out with shaking hands.

I want a private show.

"If you don't stop harassing me, I'll call the police."

Now now. No need for that.

Because if you do, I'll have to send a few videos to your mum. This is her contact information, isn't it?

Then you're staring down at your mother's phone number and home address. You let out a sob.

"Why are you doing this?"

I told you. I want a private show.

"I don't have a private stream."

Your phone buzzes with another notification, but this time for a new email. In your personal inbox.

You have fifteen minutes.

You reluctantly open the message. It's an invite with a link to a private chat room.

Wear the black nightie with the same bra and panties you wore two nights ago.

You don't respond. Instead you throw your phone down onto the couch and you pace.

What do you do? Do you block the number and call the police anyway? Do you call your mother and tell her not to check her messages or answer the door? But then she'll ask why. And what do you tell her? That you have a stalker? That they're threatening her, too? God, she's so stubborn and nosey! She'd look at her phone anyway to tell them off and then it'll be over. She'll see. You were raised Catholic! She'll disown you.

You stop pacing.

Would that be such a terrible thing? You're very much an adult. You're not dependent on her for anything. You have every right to do what you want. It's not like you're doing anything that bad! Not really. You're just trying to survive! If she can't handle that, then that's her problem. You're doing just fine. You can live without her nagging and berating you all the time. Making you feel small or as though you're wasting your life by not doing what she expects. Asking you, "What will people think?" after everything you do. Plus, it's her religion, not yours. It stopped being yours when you were very young, even though the guilt still rears its ugly head every once in a while. Usually because of her forcing it on you. No more.

With renewed determination, you pick your phone back up and go to block the number.

The buzzing of a new message startles you.

Did I mention that I also have the contact information for your boss and the passwords to all of your social media accounts?

Fuck.

Ten minutes left.

You start to cry. Because you feel truly helpless now. You think for a brief moment that maybe this person is bluffing. Surely he's just counting on you to obey immediately and doesn't plan on doing anything. But he filmed you without your knowledge and he had your mother's personal information. Finding where you work would be even easier than that. Plus, are you willing to risk your whole life and your career to find out?

No, you realize. You aren't.

With tears streaming down your face, you run to your bedroom. You have to upend your hamper to find the specific bra and panties he requested since you hadn't washed them yet, but you manage to get changed faster than you ever have before.

Are you supposed to put on make-up? He didn't say. You check your phone for the time. Four minutes. And you still have to boot up your laptop. So you grab your eyeliner and a tinted lip gloss off of your vanity and sprint towards the other bedroom.

While your computer is starting, you use your reflection in the screen to hastily put on the eyeliner. It probably looks horrible and uneven thanks to your puffy eyelids and lack of mirror, but if he wanted something better, then he should have been more specific or given you more time. Or not harassed you at all. So fuck him.

You click over to your inbox with one hand and dab the rouge color onto your lips with the other. Then you're staring at the link with a minute left. No use stalling, you think. It won't make this go away.

You take a deep breath and click it.

The chat window pops up and then, after a brief second of loading while your heart pounds in your chest, your own scantily clad breasts and lace covered torso are displayed onto the screen. In the corner, there's a black square icon. Both the video and audio indicators have Xs through them.

He's here, then. Of course he is.

There's a chat window along the side, and, as you're looking at it, a message pops up from the username YourBiggestFan.

Fix your camera. There's no reason to hide your face any longer. Not from me.

You swallow and reach forward to tilt the camera a little higher. The video is shaky for a moment, and then you're staring at your own image on the screen. Your full image. It's unnerving.

There's your lovely face.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Your voice waivers. "There are millions of women on the internet. Thousands that do what I do."

They aren't you.

"I'm not that special."

You don't do nudity on your stream. Why is that?

"Because…" You hesitate. You really don't want to talk to this man, but not doing so feels risky, too. He does have all the power here, after all. "Because I don't need to."

You would make more money if you did. Or if you moved to a better site.

"I'm getting by just fine." You glance up to glare into the camera.

You could quit your job.

"I don't want to quit my job."

You want to be a glorified secretary for the rest of your life?

"Fuck you," you hiss. 

Answer the question.

"Of course I don't! But I don't want hundreds of men seeing my tits every night, either! So if that's the trade off, I'd rather keep being a glorified secretary, as you so kindly put it." You start to roll your eyes, but stop yourself from reacting this time. You may already be pushing your luck as it is and there's no need to piss him off. "I don't do either of them because I enjoy it. I do what I have to so I don't have to worry about money."

You certainly seem like you're enjoying yourself every night.

"It's called pretending," you sigh irritably. "Surely you've heard of it. Do you think all of those men would tune in otherwise? Tell me, would you? You're one of them, after all."

I'm not one of them.

"Aren't you? Mr. Your Biggest Fan," you scoff. "Sure you aren't."

No. Because I see you.

"That is rather the point."

You're very clever. You know exactly how to manipulate all of them into staying without giving them what they want.

"I have to be. All of the women that do this learn how to keep the audience interested."

But yours comes from a place of hatred.

You blink in mild surprise, but quickly school your features. You don't want him to know he's caught you off guard.

Your stream is the only one in the top 50 that doesn't show their face and the top 100 that doesn't include nudity. Did you know that?

You shift in your seat. "I…I didn't, actually. I knew I was the only one with my numbers, but not that many."

You're an anomaly.

"I'm good at my job," you correct him.

Yes, you are. You know how to manipulate all of them because you find them rather predictable, don't you? Predictable. Pathetic. Dull. Beneath you. They make it easy for you.

You aren't able to hide the shock on your face this time as you stare at the chat. He doesn't wait for you to respond.

You don't take your underwear off because you and I both know that's beneath you, too. And you're right, you don't have to. It's quite impressive.

"Is that so?" You don't sound as dismissive as you hoped.

I told you. I see you. And you intrigue me.

"Fine, you can see through my bullshit. And?" You cross your arms. "Am I supposed to be impressed? What's the point of all this?"

I wanted you to show me the real you.

"And me angry at you is the real me, is it?"

Yes. Because you aren't lying to me.

He has a point there. This is arguably the most honest you've ever been sitting in this chair. Sure, you're being guarded considering the circumstances, but otherwise you haven't lied to him.

Tell me, have I gotten anything wrong?

You bite at your lip as you consider whether or not to continue being honest. But if you change tactics now, he'll sense it. You know, instinctively, that he will. Because you would in his place. So you finally look into the camera and say, "No. You haven't."

More honesty. There's a good girl.

Your heart skips a beat while there's a brief flutter of interest in your stomach, and you're disgusted with yourself for your body's reaction to that. He's a creep just like the rest of them, you tell yourself. Worse because at least the rest of them are harmless. To you, anyway.

He doesn't type anything else and his silence feels almost smug. Like he knows exactly the inner turmoil he's caused you and he wants you to stew in it. The flutter spreads lower.

"Now it's your turn to tell me how you guessed at any of that since I don't even show my face," you blurt out, desperate to think of anything else and not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking he's won somehow.

It wasn't a guess. I can hear the difference in your voice. The only time you mean what you say is when you berate them.

You think back to all the times you've snarled into the microphone and called them despicable. Disgusting. Useless. The one slip in your act.

You enjoy it. You enjoy getting to tell them exactly what you think of them while you take their money. You enjoy it so much, you have to stop yourself from pushing it one step further. But you want to. I can hear how much you want to. It feels good, doesn't it? To not have to hide, even for a moment. To treat them the way they deserve.

"Yes," you breathe out before you can stop yourself. Because it does. It feels incredible. The fluttering between your legs has grown into a slick heat now from his words alone.

How could he know that, though? How could he know that you've dreamed of telling them their only worth to you was their wallets because there at least they had a use. That having to read every horrible thing they said through the veil of anonymity made your skin crawl. That they're the reason their own lives are so miserable. Sexless bedrooms. Loveless marriages. Endless failed relationships. The inability to find someone to look twice at them. And you're glad they came slithering to you rather than have the self-awareness or brain cells to look in a goddamned mirror. Pathetic.

You've never even admitted that out loud to yourself. Only in your darkest thoughts. Now this man is typing out those inner thoughts as though they were written plainly on your face.

"You enjoy it."

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

Like he understands.

You both sit in silence for a minute that stretches out for far too long while you read his message over and over again, until your sex starts to ache.

You should feel ashamed, you realize. This is the moment you should feel horrible for thinking those things. And for being turned on by the way he told you that you enjoyed it. Only you don't.

"I don't know what you expect me to say," you whisper.

You've said enough. That was all I needed.

He knows, you think. You've given this man too much. "So what now? You still haven't said where all of this goes."

Yes I have.

"Right. A private show. How could I forget?" You mean for it to sound sarcastic, but it comes out confused because you're a little dazed from all of this. "You really still want me to flutter my eyelashes at you, push my cleavage at the camera, and say some insipid bullshit, even though it's all lies?"

No. I want to see ALL of you.

Your face flushes in embarrassment and anger, and you have to squeeze your thighs together to quell the want that is continuing to build in your core. "You're blackmailing me just to see my tits?"

You're going to talk to me as well.

"And say what?"

More of how you really feel. I want to hear more of the truth from your lips. As I said, I want to see all of you.

"Well, right now I'm feeling quite pissed off."

And as you're talking, you're going to touch yourself for me.

There's a swell of panic in your chest and it's as though you've been dunked in ice water because you've gone from hot to bone chilled. "Fuck you. I'm not doing that."

Why not?

"Because it's a violation! I'm not consenting to any of this. You're not giving me a choice."

You have a choice.

"Oh, choosing between masturbating on camera for you or you ruining my life? My mistake! Nothing dubious about that."

You're beautiful when you're angry.

You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to stop yourself from throwing your laptop across the room. You will still need it after this, after all.

When you open your eyes, you look up into the camera with a serious, pleading expression on your face. "I don't want to do that. Please don't make me. I'll get undressed for you. I'll let you see all of me. But don't make me do that."

You shift your attention to watch the text box. There's a pause.

A long pause.

You start to think maybe you've finally angered him by saying no and he's in the process of messaging your mom and your boss. Just when you begin nervously shifting in your seat, a new message pops up.

What if you wanted to touch yourself for me? Then would you?

You stare at the message in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Answer the question.

"If I wanted to, then…" You hesitate as you consider how to tell the truth. "I guess, yes I would. But that's different. I don't want to."

You don't want to yet.

"So you won't make me?"

No. I won't make you.

You exhale in relief. "Thank you," you whimper.

But I will make you want to touch yourself for me, that I promise.

"I highly doubt that. You've given me plenty of reasons to want literally anything else, the most important of which is that I'm still here because you're blackmailing me."

There is that.

I could delete all of it. If you ask nicely.

You furrow your brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

I could delete it. Then there would be nothing forcing you to stay.

"And I'm supposed to just trust you?"

Yes.

You scoff. "Yeah, right. Besides, if you delete it, I'll just leave."

And go back to lying on camera?

"Surprisingly, I do still have to pay my rent after this."

What if you didn't have to?

"Didn't have to pay rent?"

No. Go back on camera or back to that laughable firm you work for. What if you didn't need the money?

"I already said I'm not doing either of those things because I enjoy them. Of course I wouldn't go back if I didn't have to."

Check your bank account.

The OTHER bank account.

You sit there and stare at your screen in horror. Because you've only just now realized that, in your panic, you'd been thinking too small before. You were worried about phone numbers and addresses. Such little things to keep you distracted and focused so you didn't have clarity of mind to stop to wonder at what else he could find and hold hostage.

"Why?" You whisper.

Just look. No reason to be afraid.

You frantically pick up your phone and swipe until you find the banking app. The last time you checked, you had over eight thousand pounds in that account after paying rent. Nothing extravagant. But it's reassuring knowing the savings is there if you need it. That you're relatively safe and comfortable. Because it's yours. You earned it.

The balance reads £308,218.72.

Three hundred thousand pounds more than should be in there. It's more money than you've ever seen in your life. It's more than you could ever hope to have at one time in your life.

"What is this?" Your voice sounds small from the shock.

A gift.

"I can't accept this." You look up into the camera. "I won't accept this."

Why not?

"Because I'm not a whore!" You snap at the lense. "And I refuse to be beholden to you. I won't let you own me."

No strings. You can take the money and run if you like. But we both know you're not going to.

"Won't I?"

No.

"And why not? Are you going to say something ridiculous like, 'There's more where that came from?'"

No.

"Why then?"

Because whatever you run off to do will bore you just as much as what you're doing now since the money doesn't change what's making you miserable. But you're starting to understand that I could offer you so much more. And I don't mean the money.

You clench your jaw in frustration and rage. You want to yell. To protest and deny it. You wish you could. But deep down you know he's right. Your world has been upended and laid bare in the span of, what, half an hour? From the moment he forced his way into your life, it has been many things, but boring is not one of them. Because, you realize, he does see you.

"I still…" you start helplessly. "I don't understand."

I told you. You intrigue me. No one intrigues me.

"For some reason that doesn't feel like a compliment."

I know I intrigue you, now, too.

"What do you really want from me?" You say quietly. "I know this isn't about getting a private show. It never was, was it?"

You.

I want you.

"Then why the money?"

I don't want you distracted.

You know nothing about this man. You don't know what he looks like and you can't hear his voice. But there's something about the way he referred to your entire life as a distraction that sends a shiver of fear up your spine. And something else rekindling inside of you that you now refuse to acknowledge.

"So I'm not giving you a show."

Oh, you'll give me one. Eventually. And I'm going to enjoy myself knowing I'm the only one who's ever seen you like that.

"How do you know I've never stripped on camera for anyone else before?"

It's beneath you. Because there's never been anyone on the other end deserving of it.

"You think you are?"

Am I?

"You seem like the kind of man that thinks he is."

That's not an answer.

You mentally curse because he's so damn perceptive. Your usual tactics don't work on him and that throws you off balance.

Am I?

"I don't know yet," you finally admit.

You really are so beautiful without the mask. Honesty suits you much more than the lie.

"My honesty suits you, you mean."

I'll never deny that I'm enjoying it. But you deserve to know that what's underneath isn't hideous like you fear. You can always take it off in front of me.

"And you'll enjoy it whenever I do," you murmur, almost entranced by the thought.

I will. Immensely.

"How do I know you're not just some creepy slob in a basement somewhere that's really good at hacking?"

You would have seen through me if I were.

He's right. Something about him seems sophisticated, but effortlessly so. Too effortless to be an act. Which leaves, what, bored rich guy? Well, at least you have one thing in common.

"Who are you then? And don't just say a fan. The only way you'll get me to even consider not running the second I close this window is by giving me something that isn't money or text on a screen."

I'm a man that knows what it's like to live with the mask. How do you think I saw through yours? I also know how good it feels to take it off. But even better than that is to be seen and embraced for what's underneath.

Does that satisfy you?

"Not nearly enough."

You'll learn more next time. The link will stay active. When you come back here, I'll know.

"When," you huff in disbelief under your breath.

When.

"We'll see, won't we?"

Before I go, is there something you're forgetting? Something to ask me maybe?

"Something to ask…?" You trail off in thought because you have no idea what he's talking about. But as you replay parts of the conversation in your head, you remember that he said he would delete everything if you asked. Nicely.

You clench your fists and take a deep breath to prepare yourself. Because you know he added the "nicely" specifically to see you squirm and you refuse to give it to him. Then you look up into the webcam, and, with all the sincerity you can muster, you ask. Nicely.

"Please delete it. All of it. I want you to. I won't promise you anything in return because I don't know if I'll come back, and I won't lie to you or myself with a false promise. But it would prove to me that you mean what you say. That you want me. Because if you have all of that to hold over me, if I can't make this choice on my own, you'll never truly have me, will you? There will always be parts of myself that I keep back and I'll never look at you or talk to you as a man. Only as my captor. So please, I am begging you. Delete it."

You look down to the text box and wait.

His video comes to life then, surprising you and splitting the screen in half. But what's there isn't his face. It's a computer screen with a desktop so basic, it almost looks unused. There's also an open folder, and it's full of video, image, and text files—far more of them than you would have guessed. He's been observing you for a while and you had no idea he was there. You can see your own face and your lingerie in a couple of the video and photo thumbnails. Then you watch as he highlights all of it and, without fanfare or hesitation, deletes it. The folder—which you now realize is titled after you—sits empty.

You open your mouth to protest because you aren't an idiot, but as though he anticipated that, he shifts over to the trash can and empties that as well.

It's done.

"How do I know there aren't backups?"

I guess you'll just have to trust me, won't you?

Then he leaves the chat and you're left staring at your own face on the screen.

Before you close the window, you have to wonder if you aren't truly seeing yourself for the very first time.

Chapter 2 ->

A/N: I hope you enjoyed and are now properly buckled in for this trainwreck of a gratuitously smutty and fucked up romance. Please keep your arms inside the vehicle at all times because I have already lost complete control of this. But I promise it's gonna be a lot of fun. 😌😏

[nonexistentbooks]

random rec list :)

These are various things that I have enjoyed a lot over the years. Check under the cut for more thorough notes/warnings, because some of these are really built for specific audiences. Linked to book titles is the storygraph page, where you can also find TWs. Link to poetry are the poems themselves.

books

House of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski

Piranesi, Susanna Clarke

The Trial, Franz Kafka. (I don't have access to my copy anymore, so I don't know the translator of my edition, unfortunately)

The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky. I have read both the Pevear & Volokhonsky translation and the David McDuff translation. Don't have a preference between the two, I think.

An Iliad, Lisa Peterson and Denis O'Hare.

Beloved, Toni Morrison

poetry

If You Call a Wolf a Wolf, Kaveh Akbar

Hanif Abdurraqib's writing, particularly They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us and A Little Devil in America.

"Miss You. Would like to take a walk with you." Gabrielle Calvocoressi

"I Didn't Apologize to the Well," Mahmoud Darwish, tr. Fady Joudah

"Angels," Russell Edson

"On the Death of Friends in Childhood," Donald Justice

"Chou Nu Er: Composed on Wall at Mount Bo on Way," 辛弃疾 Xin Qiji, tr. unknown.

Poem 66 in Hidden Music, Rumi, tr. Maryam Mafi and Azima Melita Kolin.

manga/comics/etc.

The following works by Nihei Tsutomu: BLAME!, NOiSE, Abara, Biomega, tr. include: Melissa Tanaka, Stephen Paul, Sheldon Drzka, John Werry.

Mushishi, Urushibara Yuki, tr. William Flanagan

Witch Hat Atelier, Shirahama Kamome, tr. Stephen Kohler

Uzumaki, Ito Junji, tr. Yuji Oniki

Mob Psycho 100, ONE, tr. Kumar Sivasubramanian (might not be the only translator, but I'm not looking through all the volumes)

shows/movies + one podcast:

Revolutionary Girl Utena, dir. Ikuhara Kunihiko

Angel's Egg, dir. Oshii Mamoru (in collaboration with Amano Yoshitaka)

Cowboy Bebop, dir. Watanabe Shinichiro

A Writer's Odyssey, dir. Lu Yang

Wolf 359, produced by Kinda Evil Genius Productions, LLC

notes on book selections: For HoL, TBK, and Beloved, I'd recommend checking out the trigger warnings. None of these books are especially light, and definitely with HoL, Piranesi and a bit with The Trial as well, you don't know a lot going on. So you have to be okay with putting in the effort to understand these stories and going along with the ride. The Trial was technically unfinished, so after a point, it's the chapters we have from Kafka and in kind of out of order.

notes on poetry: I know some people may not like Hanif Abdurraqib's style, but I personally adore it. I have not read all of his works either, but he is a very solid poet and writer for me.

notes on manga and such: The thing you have to understand about Nihei's works (those that are listed) is that there aren't clear answers for a lot. Especially BLAME!, where there's very minimal dialogue. You won't understand everything on the first on the first read for BLAME! and that's good! NOiSE also doesn't answer a lot and Abara, for some, may seem like it ends on a cliffhanger. Biomega is the iffiest one here because the ending is really rushed. There was clearly meant to be more, but there just wasn't the space to take care of it before it had to end. In all his works listed, there is a lot of violence. WHA is in progress and I haven't caught up in ages, but it's a really solid story so far. Uzumaki is horror, so check out the warnings for that before going into it, if needed. MP100 is also pretty solid. Not without some faults, of course, but I greatly enjoy it and also have a fond spot for the REIGEN spinoff in my heart.

notes on shows and the rest: Ok. So. RGU. really look at the tws for this. The more comprehensive post I can't find, but this is a good summary. Definitely would not recommend it to everyone and there are aspects I am not a fan of (to say the least) but it is a very impactful story and means a lot. Angel's Egg is also not for everyone, but more so because it's a very silent movie and you will not get answers. It's a movie where you craft your own meaning and enjoy the experience. It can also feel very slow. Cowboy Bebop my beloved. That is all I will say. It can also feel slow to some people, but the ending. omg. A Writer's Odyssey may not be the most put together narrative-wise BUT I watched it when sick and fatigued out of my mind, so it takes a place here for being a movie I still remember pretty well. A father will do anything to find his daughter again, even if it means killing this random guy who only seems to be a novelist... except, isn't it strange how his story seems to impact reality as well? Wolf 359 is a podcast but MY GOD is it good. Listen to it. please.

[lena-oleanderson]

poems that didn't make it into Side Wounds and why series, part 1: Precious Wound

i've recently put out my first poetry collection Side Wounds (you can read it here for free) and in honour of that, here's some poems that didn't make the cut. some of these are poems i specifically wrote for side wounds, others are old faves - this is the latter

so why wouldn't a poem quite literally titled precious wound end up in Side Wounds the poetry collection?? well, this poem is about a friendship that simply needed to end and not because either party died. in the collection, the Wound ended up being my recurring metaphor for grief, and having this poem in there would've been confusing. second to that, there isn't really any section of the collection that this poem would've fit into. part I is about grief, both the immediate personal reality of it, and the way it shapes my relationships with other people. part II is loosely defined as medical school antics (and by that i mean overworking and excessive medical imagery). part III is about survival and hope and healing and love and (healthy) friendships and other good reasons to live. part IV is about queerness; my complicated relationship with god being an overarching theme throughout the whole collection. the sections bleed into each other, of course, but regardless, there isn't a place for this poem in any of them. sometimes a person doesn't fit into your life like pain doesn't fit into your heart and a poem doesn't fit into your poetry collection - and that's just that

[bokutosmochi]

random semi eita headcannons

what's it? general

allergen warning/s? n/a

sugar level? 0.7k

regulars? @hanayanetwork​

♧ has an obscene amount of jackets and rings. like, way too much. one time his old friends from shiratorizawa visited him and they gasped when they saw his closet. he could do nothing but frown and cross his arms. "yeah, i think i have a bit of a problem." is that a slight pout i see on his lips?

♧ owns several notebooks as well. yeah, he knows he can use his laptop when writing down songs, poems, or his favorite lyrics, but why would he do that when it looks so much cooler on a notebook, in his pretty handwriting

♧ paints his own nails. he doesn't like going to nail salons. he likes the experience of painting them by himself, except if he's with someone. they're always chapped by the end of the week, but he truthfully doesn't care. sometimes he gets lyric ideas while his nails are wet and when that happens, he grabs his phone and presses on the voice recorder app.

♧ his past girlfriends are kind of annoyed with him because he is so much better than then at putting eyeliner on.

♧ an absolute menace if he's in a restaurant that has a jukebox. he will be the only person using it, playing song after song after song. no one can really complain though, because he has such a good taste in music.

♧ has tried to dye his hair different bold colors many times, but he likes the ashy blonde color he currently has best. that being said, he is the man to call whenever one of his friends want to have their hair dyed diy.

♧ the type to be like "oh no, i was really looking forward to it" when he gets texted that plans to hang out is canceled but is lowkey relieved.

♧ loves rainy weather, but hates rainstorms. he always jumps and looks unnerved when a crack of thunder makes its presence known, yet he always claims he's not scared, that he just hates it because he has to sing louder and it makes his voice pitchy and because he can't hear his strumming of the acoustic guitar over it.

♧ his room is full of album posters and vinyl records. the one hung up on the wall where his work desk was stood against is for album covers that comforted him. the ones by his bed are the best looking ones, then one wall for his band's albums and lastly, one for his favorites. he likes telling his friends or significant other when they go to his room.

♧ had a pen pal at some point. he formed a really memorable friendship with them, but of course, there was a time where the letters would stop being exchanged. he still wrote a song for them though.

♧ he also went by a pen name inspired by his favorite band.

♧ has a lot of voice recordings on his phone of potential songs. he also tells himself that he'll delete them once they're properly recorded in the band's studio, but he either always forgets it or is too lazy to do it.

♧ he was actually keeping his talent (singing) a secret from the shiratorizawa boys before because he fears that they'll either a) laugh at him (unlikely, but the irrational fear is still there) or b) ask him to sing all the time (very likely). they only found out when they caught him singing to himself while gathering and putting away his belongings in the locker room. they may have made him sing and play the guitar all the time, but they encouraged him and raised his confidence. they were all in the crowd during eita's very first gig ever they had to sneak in sixteen year old goshiki.

♧ has a few songs dedicated to how he felt when coach washijo told him he was no longer part of the starting line up and they were all included in the band's self-titled album. the shiratorizawa boys just didn't notice because the actual meaning of the song is hidden very well under the beautifully written bed of lyrics.

♧ puts his heart and soul into each song and has cried on stage while singing. the band's fans, bless their hearts, sing along with him or sings it while he recuperates during tougher times.

i get: reblog

you get; frozen yogurt

[ciucalata]

title: and your eyes look like coming home (1/6)

pairing: buckingham; background steddie

rating: G

summary: in which a bad date, getting drunk at brunch and some perfume forces them to finally talk about their feelings.

Closing the door behind her, Chrissy toed off her running shoes and took out her earbuds, smiling as Evie’s meows followed her to her room. Once she set down her phone and earbuds, she finally bent down to pet Evelyn before she could start literally screaming for her attention.

“We already saw each other half an hour ago, baby,” she giggles, scratching the cat under her chin. “And I also gave you food then.”

Evie meowed once again, bumping her forehead into every part of Chrissy she could reach: her knuckles, her knees, her shins. Chrissy rolled her eyes fondly at her while shaking her head. “I am not picking you up. I am still sweaty from running and your fur will stick to my skin. Robin is spoiling you too much.”

“That’s not true.”

Startled, Chrissy lost balance and almost fell over her cat hearing the voice behind her, but she managed to regain her balance quickly thanks to years of cheerleading. With a hand over her chest, she turned towards a smiling Robin.

She was standing in the doorway, her hands playing with the strings of her too big hoodie. It would have all been normal if it weren’t for the face splitting grin she had on her face. Chrissy knew that seven am was too early for Robin to either be awake or have such a big smile on her face. Something wasn’t right. Chrissy just couldn’t understand what.

Evie meowd loudly at Chrissy for not giving her attention anymore and left her for Robin, who happily bent down to pick the cat in her arms. Evelyn immediately started purring, rubbing her cheecks on Robin’s chin.

Traitor, Chrissy thought, trying and failing not to be jealous of her own cat. God, how she wished she could cuddle up with Robin like that. She didn’t let her thoughts wander further than that as she stood up, turning to face her roommate.

“Why are you so happy this morning?”

“No reason,” Robin replied too quickly and Chrissy narrowed her eyes at her. “Maybe I’m just happy to see you?”

Chrissy felt herself flush at Robin’s words, her mind going blank in a second. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but when no words wanted to get past her useless brain, she turned around and forced out a laugh. She knew Robin wasn’t flirting with her. She had seen too many times the lovesick gaze Robin gave to Vickie at parties, had comforted her too many times when she got her heart broken by other girls and, of recently, had listened too many times to Robin waxing poems about Nancy. She knew this meant nothing but her poor heart still skipped a beat happily.

The silence was stretching out too far for it to still be comfortable, but Chrissy still didn’t know what to say to that. God, she used to be good at flirting, she used to love it, especially when it was playful. But when it came to Robin, she was out of her depth. She couldn’t playfully flirt back, because it would be too real for her. So in the end all she could do was act awkwardly till it was too much for Robin to handle and she took over worh her rambling.

As if on cue, Robin started talking about her plans for today.

“Actually, I woke up this early because Steve called while you were out running. Which made me panic because I thought he was supposed to be running with you. I almost put down the phone and ran out after you to make sure you were safe before he told me that you were out with Lucas, instead.”

Chrissy hummed to let her know she was listening while she was looking through her clothes, trying to pick out the outfit for today. “Yeah, Steve sent me a message last night telling me that he had something to do this morning and he sent Lucas in his place. Which was really nice. Lucas is way more talkative than Steve so we talked almost the whole time. He’s really a sweet kid.”

“I’m glad you had a good time,” Robin said and Chrissy turned to smile at her. It was the worst idea she ever had because while they were talking, Robin somehow made her way towards Chrissy’s bed and laid down on it, surrounded by her pillows and comforter, with Evie happily sitting on her chest. She looked so soft, Chrissy felt almost sick with longing. She turned back to her closet, willing her tears to not make an appearance. She didn’t want to cry about not being able to touch Robin’s hair in front of her.

“Thanks. You should join us next time.” She had no idea if her voice came out normal or not, but Robin didn’t comment on it, so she must have done at least a good job at pretending she was okay.

Robin’s laugh filled the room and, despite the stab of pining it brought, it also made Chrissy smile. “Not a chance, Cunningham. We both know exercising isn’t my forte. You’d have to carry me the whole way in your arm if that ever happened. Anyway, the reason Steve called is because he invited us over at their place for brunch.”

“That’s nice,” Chrissy said, finally deciding on a baby blue dress she hasn’t worn yet this summer. She took it out of the closet and turned around to show it off to Robin.

“Oh! I love this dress. It always looks amazing on you.”

Chrissy flushed once again, but she didn’t try to hide the blush this time. Instead, she smiled at Robin and thanked her.

“But isn’t it too much for bruch with just Steve, Eddie and the others?” Robin asked, smiling down at Evie while she kept purring on her chest.

“Oh, this isn’t for brunch. I already told Steve last night that I can’t come.”

“Oh?”

Chrissy put the dress down on the back of her desk chair and turned towards the shleves with her shoes.

“Yeah, I have a date today. And I wanted to get her some flowers before we met for lunch.” The giddiness Chrissy felt all week for this date was buzzing under her skin but, with Robin so close to her, it almost felt wrong.

“Oh.”

Chrissy waited for Robin to say something more, but when the silence stretched on and on, almost turning back to awkward, Chrissy frowned. She turned to face Robin once again, only this time the other girl was looking away from her. She was looking at the ceiling and biting her lip so hard, it looked painful. While Chrissy was searching her expression trying to understand what made her look like that, Robin suddenly sat up, Evie making her disapproval heard by meowing as she jumped down. Chrissy felt like something wrong happened as she followed Robin with her eyes from the bed fowards her bedroom’s door, where she stopped once again.

“Robin?”

Robin turned slowly towards her and when their eyes finally met, she smiled at Chrissy. This one felt even more wrong than the last, but Chrissy couldn’t figure out why.

“That’s amazing, Chrissy. You’ll have to tell me all about it later, okay?” Chrissy nodded, feeling like she missed something, and Robin nodded back. “I’m going to sleep some more before I’ll have to meet the guys for brunch. Have fun on your date.”

Then she left just as soon as she appeared, leaving behind a very confused Chrissy.

part 2

[seikilos-stele]

What’s in a Name?

I’m not sure that I ever titled one of my asks before, but after pondering this particular topic, I think that I will start incorporating titles much like we do fics.

For about a year, I had the orphaned title of a fic, A Thing of Beauty stuck in my head. It was an orphan due to the fact that the title was so suggestive for a horror fic, that I could not due it justice. The title stole the thunder of the fic that never was. (Actually, I did eventually write/publish the fic as part of a group challenge, but its best that it remain lost to time 🤣) It set me to thinking about just how important naming a fic really is, so this brings me to the master of fic namers, @seikilos-stele . More familiarly known as Drac.

Welcome back to the Askers Studio™️ Drac, it’s that time again to rummage my brain and pick yours 🤣! Last night, when we were discussing ideas for a new fic, you almost halted mid-sentence and declared that once a name was chosen for this fic, it would practically write itself (which turned out to be true) Now, over the last few months, I have had a sneak peak at the process by which you go about choosing fic names & I have also experienced the gob-smacking significance of those names at varying points in your fics.

I am going to list three of the most profoundly named fics of yours below, and I would like you to tell us at what point they were named, whether the fic induced the name or the other way around. Or anything else you would like to add. I will add that either you have a repository of Shakespeare, poems, and Latin tucked away, or you have incredible recall abilities.

1. The Ferryman

This title was very subtle It does not occur to the reader until the very end, and then it becomes shockingly obvious. Since I had to make an illustrated map of Greek mythology, it was all to apparent who/what we were talking about: Charon. So many questions plagued me about this title/end!! Did you construct a whole fic around this poignantly connected title/ending?? This ranks in my top 5 of your fics, it is by no small part due to the title-end connection.

2. Out of the Woods

Welcome to my all-time favorite fic by Drac. Now, this title sneaks up on you fairly quickly. In fact, @coruscantiscribbler and I were reading it at the same time, and I gave my very elaborate geusstimation of what I thought was going on, and it turned out to be correct. But folks, my very clinical x-section of the plot did not due justice to the beauty & passion that was the fic, itself. The title is a phrase that I use all the time at work. I didn’t have to overthink it…the scenario was dire enough to remove all doubt

3. Requiscant

And here it is: the masterpiece of the Art of Hunger franchise (I seriously think this group of fics deserve their own category in your catalogue) Requiscant in Pace. One does not have to be altogether familiar with Latin to know this one. Stroll by any grave in an Italian cemetery and one will see it on all the stones. So, this was on my mind as I read this fic. A certain anxiety was boiling over as I read chapter to chapter. Finally, I blurted out the truth as I saw it, in the comments. Nadia assured me that I was correct. This revelation is like like cold claws scratching you from the inside. I want to know the genesis of naming this fic in particular, because the title holds the key to everything about this fic. Joint decision? You? Nadia?

It has been a pure joy ruminating about this topic since last night. I cannot wait to read your long, in-depth answer.

As an aside, I would love for other fic writers to pitch in with their own experiences in naming their fics!

Welcome back, Drac.

It’s good to see you again!!

…so this brings me to the master of fic namers, @seikilos-stele . More familiarly known as Drac.

🥺💙

Last night, when we were discussing ideas for a new fic, you almost halted mid-sentence and decided that once a name was chosen for this fic, it would practically write itself (which turned out to be true).

Yes!! Actually, the fic is called “And Thou No Breath At All”, and it’s done now! You can read it here. It’s a dark parasitic horror for Legends Thrawn.

Okay, let’s see. I really wish I’d kept notes on how I came up with titles now 💀 A lot of the time, I just write a oneshot and pull the title out of my ass when it’s complete, or if I’m writing from a prompt list, I just lazily slap the prompt itself on as a title, no matter how bad it is. But keeping in mind that two of these fics are a few years old, I’ll try to answer.

For “The Ferryman”, (yes, after Charon) when I named the document I was working on, I chose this title as filler. I knew my story would involve Ascendancy-era Thrawn receiving mysterious photographs of his childhood, and that he would visit Rentor with Ar’alani, Thalias, Samakro, and Che’ri to figure out where these photographs came from and who was sending them. I knew that the photos would eventually be revealed as coming from Thrass, and that the fic would explore Thrawn’s grief for his brother.

The rest wasn’t planned yet. It’s one of those stories where everything unfolds as you’re writing it. So the title definitely informed the rest of the fic. Because the WIP had “THE FERRYMAN” written on the header in big bold letters, whenever I finished a scene and wondered, “What should I do next?” I would glance up and start brainstorming about death. That’s how I got to the worldbuilding about Rentor’s local sea otters that ferry the souls of the dead across the sea; and that’s how Ar’alani and Thrawn end up in his childhood home, examining the little carvings that Thrawn’s dead father made of his children … and now Thrawn is the only survivor. That’s also how we came to see the shroud ceremony on the ice and finally the family fishing weights that were released into the sea in memory of Thrass.

For this fic, the title definitely informed and influenced the story itself. If I’d given it a temporary name like “Thrawn visits Rentor” or “Chiss family vacation” it would be a much shorter story, though it would still have a sad Thrass-related ending. I bet it would only be about 1K, and it wouldn’t particularly stand out from my other short angst fics. But also, “The Ferryman” was only meant to be temporary! I didn’t personally like it, and I always feel like I’m cheating when someone mentions it. Like I turned in an assignment where I spelled my name wrong XD

2. Out of the Woods

I really like this fic too! I knew what this one would be called as soon as the plot-bunny popped into my head. And yeah, it definitely informed the story again. This was another long oneshot, so the whole time I was writing, I had “OUT OF THE WOODS” in the header, and that helped me form the theme: it’s not just a cute cottagecore Thrawn/Pellaeon fic where they’re retired; it’s not just a spooky horror story; it’s got to be a story of recovery and escape. 

So naturally, as the story unfolds, it becomes clear that Thrawn and Pellaeon are living in a false world of some sort, and slowly you uncover clues that one or both of them is trapped in a dream … or a neuromodulator … and all the pieces come together, and you realize this is a story about trauma and accepting help when you need it. Plus, with a pithy title like this, it makes it very easy to solidify your ending early on: Thrawn and Pellaeon will eventually leave their cottage behind and go out of the woods together. 

(I had “into the woods and out of the woods and home before dark” stuck in my head the whole time I was writing this)

3. Requiescat

This is my favorite AoH too! And my favorite title on this list! And the lamest story about how I picked it!

I asked Nadia to be sure, and she confirmed my memory. The story behind this one is:

Nadia: “Have you thought of a title?” Me: “I was thinking Requiescat. How does that sound?” Nadia: “Yes, good title!”

The sad thing is, I’m certain there’s more to it. I know I had a whole other title picked out initially. And I know I was reading something, and stumbled across a passage somewhere that made me think of this… but as you know there was a lot going on in my life when I was writing Requiescat, so I don’t remember the details.

(Unfortunately, this title had no bearing on the fic whatsoever. Nadia and I had already hashed out the whole plot in detail more than a year before I selected it to write because I was bored and it just felt right at the time.)

I did find this early version of the fic that might interest you. I think all of this got cut and rewritten when I sent it to Nadia. It involves a Leia who’s not tied up, and a simple cave instead of a kings’ tomb. 

****

Requiescat - a prayer for the repose of the dead

There was no light. 

When the Noghri pushed her inside, Leia fell to her knees. The harsh slate floor tore through her fine linen robes like they were nothing; in the darkness she could feel flecks of stone embedded in her skin, the hot sting of blood, but she couldn’t see it. Not yet. 

Behind her, a slab of stone slid into place, blocking off the last pale rays of sunlight. Shadow swallowed Leia whole. Strands of sweat-damp hair clung to her cheek; her own breathing was harsh in her ears. 

“Fitting, I suppose,” said a voice in the dark. 

Leia turned away. She placed her scraped palms against the makeshift door and pushed with all her might. It didn’t budge; it just left her shoulders sore and her elbows clicking. Straightening up she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She forced her emotion to swell and then dissipate: outrage, betrayal, a spark of fear, all of it faded away. In the emptiness that followed, there should have been the Force. 

There wasn’t. 

“Rukh is unusually intelligent for a Noghri,” said the voice in the dark: calm, cultured, bored. “And of course he’s been at my side for many years now. He was positioned perfectly both to understand the usefulness of my ysalamiri and to foresee a time when they might come in handy.”

The ysalamiri. Leia shifted until her back was against the stone slab. “He didn’t tell me he took an ysalamir with him,” she said. 

“Why would he?” Thrawn asked. “Who do you suppose he planned to use them against?”

His voice broke a little. Not from emotion. He was hoarse, ragged, barely audible. That was only to be expected. For the past twelve hours he’d had nothing to eat or drink. While Leia sat on the sidelines on Thrawn’s old throne, the Noghri saw to her every need, plying her with local delicacies, all their most-edible foods and pleasing beverages. And just meters away, at the same time, Thrawn’s naked body hung on the makeshift gallows, his arms and legs tied to wooden posts, the sounds of torture and rape filling Leia’s ears. 

He was supposed to be buried in here, or better yet, left on Honoghr’s poisoned plains for the birds to pick at his corpse. Leia wasn’t supposed to be in this stone tomb at all. 

“You’re awfully calm about this mess,” Leia spat.

Thrawn hummed from the shadows. “I’ve had twelve hours to come to terms with death,” he said neutrally. “You’ve had forty-five minutes. Give it time.”

In her mind’s eye, Leia could see the pale sun glinting off Rukh’s knife as he cut Thrawn’s gag. The rules of Honoghran execution were clear. First came public humiliation --— for someone like Thrawn, who’d poisoned Honoghr and deceived his loyal soldiers for so long, that meant rape. Twelve executioners took their turns. Next came torture. On some planets it was called death by a thousand cuts. The Noghri were a bit too bloody for that term. They used knives, teeth, claws. They tore flesh from the bone, cauterized the wounds to stop the prisoner from bleeding, paused whenever he lost consciousness to ensure he felt every blow. 

They left certain areas intact. His jugular. His genitals. His eyes, nose, lips, tongue. Those were saved for last. Those would be taken only when the dirt beneath him was so soaked with blood that it had become a muddy river. 

But when Rukh cut Thrawn’s gag and placed his knife blade at the root of Thrawn’s tongue, the Grand Admiral spoke.

Vader poisoned Honoghr, he said. Not me.

And the Noghri could smell the honesty in his blood.

With a low growl, Leia smacked the stone wall. On the other side, there was a scrabble of claws and a reptilian hiss. Ysalamiri. Deeper in the walls, crawling through the tunnels, there was something else: small local animals burrowing through the stone. Leia whispered a curse.

“Be calm,” Thrawn advised. Her eyes were adjusting now, and Leia could just make him out. The Noghri had laid his broken body out on a horizontal slab of stone. 

“Help me push,” Leia said. “If we work together…”

In the dark, two red slits appeared. Thrawn had opened his eyes.

“Help you push?” he repeated, a smile in his voice. “Come closer.”

Leia almost didn’t obey. But what did she have to lose? She pushed to her feet and crossed the cramped tomb slowly, careful not to trip over the uneven floor. Thrawn’s eyes put off a dim glow, but it wasn’t much use to her --— not until she was so close that every breath filled her lungs with the thick reek of blood and charred flesh. Thrawn’s eyes met hers, but his head didn’t move.

“This is all I can manage,” he said. “My lips. My eyes. Nothing else.”

Leia looked down at his body. It was wrapped tight in a linen shroud now, his wounds hidden from sight, but Leia knew what lurked just beneath the stained cloth. Massive strips of muscle had been stripped from his shoulders, his legs, his torso. There was hardly anything left on his arms or chest. Beneath the scent of copper and smoke there was something else, cloying and green and artificial. 

“I thought they treated you,” Leia said, her voice coming out hushed. “When they took you away.”

Thrawn’s eyelids dipped. It was the closest to a nod that he could manage. “Rukh did,” he said. “He fed me an analgesic for the pain. He washed my wounds.” He met her eyes again. “What else can he do for me?” he asked. 

There was no self-pity in his voice. His tone was matter-of-fact and unbothered. But a cold shadow swooped up from Leia’s stomach and enveloped her heart at the words. She walked backwards, blind, until her back hit the door and she slid once more to the rough ground. She would die here. Thrawn would die first; he would succumb to his injuries. Then what would she do? Would she eat his body to stay alive, to buy whatever short moments she could grasp? How long would it take her to die of thirst?

Leia let out a long slow breath. She buried her face against her scraped knees and tasted blood.

“Peace,” Thrawn said, like it was an order. “You won’t be here long.”

Leia laughed to herself. “You have a rescue team coming?” she asked.

Surely he did. It wouldn’t take the Imperials long to reach Honoghr. A few days, at most. But Thrawn didn’t bother to answer the question directly; perhaps he realized that Imperial capture for her wouldn’t be much better than being entombed.

“You have a rescue team coming,” he said. “Your brother will be here before the Chimaera arrives.”

“Excellent,” Leia said sharply. “So the Noghri can strip the Force away from him and throw him in here to die as well.”

Thrawn was silent for so long that it made her feel silly. She sniffed and raised her head, peering through the dark at him. Red light cast strange shadows over his face, but he didn’t look frightened, didn’t look irritated. His features were relaxed, eyes hooded. He looked thoughtful, composed … and suddenly Leia was aware of the way her lips were twisting, the ugly pinch of her eyebrows. She smoothed her face into a politician’s mask.

“The Noghri have no quarrel with your brother,” said Thrawn softly.

Leia swallowed another dark laugh. “He’s Vader’s blood, too.”

“But he did not lie to them,” said Thrawn. His eyes shifted away. Red light bounced off the tomb’s stone walls. “To the Noghri, Vader was a god. A god is permitted to be capricious, temperamental. If he poisoned Honoghr, then that was his right, and the Noghri will rationalize that they must have deserved it.”

Leia frowned. It made a certain amount of sense to her. There were old gods on Alderaan who tortured the mortals at will, cursed them with painful disfigurements, turned them into wretched animals. But…

“But then why would they punish you?” asked Thrawn, reading her mind. “Because in Noghri tradition, the gods do not lie. You lied to them; therefore, despite your divine blood, you cannot be a god.”

Leia wrapped her arms around her knees. “You lied to them,” she murmured.

“So I did. And here I am.” A quiet huff escaped from Thrawn’s lips. Maybe it was his version of a laugh; Leia couldn’t tell. “Besides,” he said softly, “I only sat on their throne. I was never their god.”

A damp chill rustled through the tomb. Leia swallowed, her throat so dry it clicked. The seam where the slab met the wall was near her left ear, but as hard as she listened, she still couldn’t hear anything outside. She wanted to hear the scream of a Y-wing’s engines, the shouts of frightened Noghri, the hum of a lightsaber. But everything outside was still and calm. 

“Are you…” she started. 

Red lights blinked on and off in the dark.

“Are you in pain?” Leia asked, her voice stilted. 

She listened for his breathing, but she couldn’t hear it. Too quiet. 

“No,” Thrawn said finally. He sounded younger now, less sure of himself. Like the show of concern put him on the back foot. Overhead, a pebble fell from the ceiling and there was a snuffling noise as a small, unintelligent animal poked its nose through a hole in the stone.

Would the air run out before they died of thirst? No, there was a breeze coming from the very top of the tomb. No light, but at least a little air. Leia shifted in her spot and kneaded her temples. Water dripped from the damp stones overhead, with one study droplet landing close to Thrawn’s ear. He couldn’t move his head away from the puddle that formed, and Leia couldn’t bring herself to help him; her limbs were heavy, her tongue frozen. 

“I have a message for you to deliver,” said Thrawn. 

A laugh bubbled into Leia’s throat. She closed her lips tight against it, but still, when she spoke, she could hear it in her own voice, harsh and ugly. “Last words for a lover?” she asked. 

“In a sense.”

Leia’s stomach rolled. When she blinked she saw Han’s soft smile, felt his callused hands against her skin. She could hear her children crying for her from a galaxy away and suddenly there was a sour gush of bile on her tongue. “Tell me,” she said. “I’ll memorize it.”

Red eyes bored into her through the shadows. What kind of family did Thrawn have? She didn’t think of Imperials as family men, certainly not high-ranking officers like him, but of course she’d danced with them at balls, shaken hands with their children, probed their wives for intel over tea. She imagined Thrawn with a child in his arms, and just an hour ago she would have laughed at the image, but now it made her feel sick. 

“For Voss Parck on Nirauan,” Thrawn said. “Tell him you come with my approval. Ask him about the Far Outsiders.”

Him. Leia sat up a little straighter, her eyes sharpening. The tightness in her throat faded away.

“Voss Parck,” she said. “A military colleague?”

“Yes,” said Thrawn. “An old friend. And a valuable ally in the coming war. You will need his assistance, his resources, if you wish to survive.”

The coming war, he said. Slowly, Leia got to her feet. She wove toward the glowing red lights of Thrawn’s eyes like she was in a daydream, and when she reached his side, she loomed over his body, her fingers clenched tight in the folds of her robes.

“What do you mean, the coming war?” she asked, her voice low. By instinct, she called to the Force, begging it to help her read him — but it didn’t answer. In the darkness, near the shell of Thrawn’s ear, something shifted — a glint of light shining off a carapace, a cave beetle scratching at his skin. It wasn’t the only one. His hair moved gently, subtly, as insect legs picked across his scalp. “You didn’t say anything,” said Leia in a murmur, biting back her horror. She brushed the beetles from his face, tried not to think about how futile it was, how many other creatures were waiting in the dark to feast on him while he lay paralyzed. A drop of cold water plopped down from the ceiling and splattered on the stone slab right next to Thrawn’s head. Dim, dull eyes stared up at her, expressionless: not wincing from the beetles, not thanking her for chasing them away. 

“There are forces in this galaxy -- outside this galaxy -- that could destroy entire systems in one sweep,” Thrawn said, his voice soft. Leia combed her fingers through his hair and then left them there, curled in Thrawn’s black, blood-matted locks. Her thumb stroked against his temple: cold skin, scraped and sore. “Forces that would destroy us, gladly,” Thrawn went on. “My people know of them. They’ve consumed everything there is to consume in their own galaxy; some years ago, they made their way across the border, into ours. I’ve seen the destruction firsthand.”

His voice fractured. His words folded in on themselves. His eyes closed, all light fading. 

“Work with the Empire,” he said in the darkness. “Find Voss Parck. He has resources you’ll need. Allies. Information.”

[mossyscavern]

A leather book with a single poem.

Candlebrace shipping au re-write

____________________

‘Crap, that was too close.’

Sam thought, out of breath as he looks around the corner from the hallway. ‘Does she ever give up?’ Sam wondered as he stared at the hallway he just came from before sighing in relief. “Apparently she does.”

Sam said quietly, looking around yet another hall he entered. ‘Jeez, how many hallways, stairs and doors do these people have?’ Sam wondered after he turned to see a dead end with an empty pedestal.

He sighed in frustration, turned to leave before spotting something hidden behind the empty pedestal, dragging his full attention.

His curiosity got the better of him as he approached and crouched towards the pedestal. He picked it up to look at it better and hummed in interest.

As a bookworm, he’ll read anything that catches his interest… but if the book ended up being either too much or its not as good as he hoped, he’ll stop.

The book’s leather has a cover picture of a silver hand, holding a silver skull, but not a cover title. ‘… so weird- blank?!’ Sam thought in confusion, flipping through the pages only to still see blank... all but one

The page looked normal enough and Sam does like poems, after looking around one last time, Sam decided to read it.

“With this flame, it’ll keep you safe.

From the darkest minds, you’ll be clear of hate.

With a pure heart and a loving embrace, death’s kiss is what awaits?”

Sam tilted his head while blinking at the page, confused by the words in front of him. ‘If this is a love poem, then it’s the most morbid I’ve ever read.’ He thought, shaking his head and reads the next verse.

“Only a pure candle can hold his flame, just turn around and say his name.

With a bunch of flying feathers at their pace, Tomothy weaver was his name.

Died at an early age of 8, now 23 out of the angels gate.”

While reading the second verse, Sam both felt bad and confused reading that line. Sad at the thought he died very young but confused at the age he is now. ‘How can he be 23 when he died at the age of 8?’

He wondered before shivering as he felt a chill crawl up his spine, he gulped, feeling anxious about reading the next verse... but still read it nonetheless.

“Reading this book with pages blank, he’ll find you at his own pace.

Disguised a Raven as you read this page, he’s now standing in your space?!”

Sam screamed at the last bit, turned around quickly to see at least something odd he never saw before… but found nothing. Feeling frightened he turned back towards the book and sighed a shaky breath, not feeling as confident as he read out loud one last time.

“Y-you’ll know he’s here when you say his name,

T-Tomothy weaver’s found you… cause you said the Angel’s name.”

Sam’s eyes widened, the book slipped out of his grasp as he realised what he had done. ‘I read that out loud… which meant-.’ He thought turning around and almost screamed.

A 23 year old boy wearing a crown made of flowers and rib bones is in front of him.. staring at him with white void eyes. Sam couldn’t move. His feet stayed in place, even if he wanted to he can’t... plus he’s cornered and leaning backwards against the pedestal.

“H-hi..?” He greeted, a little awkwardly but still a greeting. The boy, he assumes is ‘Tomothy’ looks down at the book behind him.

Looked back up, then down, then back up again staring directly at Sam. “You read… my book..?” He asked, tilting his head.

Sam’s thoughts screamed to run! Get out as fast as you can! But he’s cornered and the only way out is behind Tom.

The redhead swallows, not really having a choice but to answer him. “Y-yes.” He told him, nodding his head. “I shouldn’t have done that if it made you up- mmh?!.”

Sam squeaked, eyes wide and completely off guard by the gesture.

This Tomothy person has his hands holding his head, cold lips on his own… and he’s panicking, a lot. ‘What the hell, what the hell. What. The. Hell.” He thought.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” He said after parting. He let go of Sam’s face and ran off, turning into a murder of crows as Sam stands there in shock.

“I-… what did-.” He was about to ask before feeling drowsy, his sight going a bit fuzzy as his legs wobbled before his vision succumbed to darkness.

And all Sam had heard. Was the call of a raven.

____________________

Ok, I’ve finally finished reading-writing the whole thing.

That last one I did for a mutual didn’t really… fit so well.. especially at the beginning. *dying inside of cringe*

But yeah, @chronicalchaos’ au is called the RE village au, just… don’t try to find it in tags you’ll see a lot of stuff relating to RE village as other au’s

Or do if that’s what you want.. I’m not stopping you.

[chenqingssuibian]

so! mystery lotus casebook, episode four! i have just finished it, and may rewatch it later, but! here are my thoughts for now:

- yu hongzhu is a milf. look at her. really a worthy holder of the title madam yu after queen yu ziyuan. if yall don't start fan casting this woman as your young-yzy and writing angsty fics about her and jiang fengmian i swear to GOD I will do it myself

- they were really gonna flame broil my main man dr li. they really were. but duobing came in clutch with the. were they needles he threw to break the chains? he broke something. anyway

- speaking of li lianhua we have been graced with a new outfit. i am going to thank word of honor specifically for the new-outfits-every-episode for no other reason that i saw wen kexing do it first. and also cheng yi, because GOD does he look pretty in teal

- watching them examine the body and realize there is no Way she was only dead for a day was very funny. especially because li lianhua already suspected it and was so smug about it being confirmed

- that's the thing about li lianhua. he is a smug bitch. i cannot Wait for him to finally be surprised

- the whole murder plot is good. i like this investigation! they're following up leads! they're scrounging around! they're extracting a needle from poor qiushuang's heart!

- speaking of qiushuang's heart. there is no way she did not know her sister thought her best friend was in love with her fiancé. like... i know we never see her on screen but c'mon she can't be stupid

- and that best friend. she played a part in her murder? gut wrenching. even more gut wrenching when we realize that she was only trying to save the man she loves

- shadow puppets play a large part in this episode. I need you to know that. i Love shadow puppets theyre my favorite kind of puppetry so this is Very good for me

- duobing does something smart this episode and sets a trap in best friend's room to catch the killer when he tries to tie up loose ends! good job duobing! have a cookie <3

- and in the end, who did it? who killed poor qiushuang? the brother in law. for money! i had a feeling that shady bitch was part of it but they Did get me with the whole love poem for qiushuang's fiance bit.

- either way - yun jian, girl, bestie. your best friend's brother in law? I know you're catatonic from realizing your lover murdered your best friend but we Need to talk about this

- unfortunately this episode ends before we get the true conclusion - sure, they've revealed the gambling debts brother in law has-apparently the fangs are bankers, because duh-and the affair and the special family technique with shadow puppetry, but. they cut to the ending song </3 which means i wont get to see yu hongzhu's beat down until at Least when I get home around 7:30 pm. ah well

anyway. 9/10 for the episode I just wish we'd gotten the conclusion to the case in it. and that we had a proper goodbye from li'er, who duobing sent back home. but oh well