#holy shit gnawing on this actually

[caduschka]

Still obsessed over the implications of Cronus with no memories being a fundamentally good and helpful person.

[popppyfur]

it's 2 am and I can't stop thinking about them.

[apple-os]

wondering if i can make a strict-ruled fanfic site cause im sick of finding proship shit everywhere

anybody know how tf id do that or find someone to code it fer me

[dbphantom]

1075 spoiler warning bc this is not even worth tagging but oh my god the start of this episode had me like

LUFFY'S AWAKENED PERFORMANCE PLAYING DURING BAJRANG GUN????????

AMJSDGHBVSGD DGSKGDFJBKDFG JBK GDFBKLFDGB FDKB FDKJFDBGBFDALKJBDF KJBFBFD LK.B FDKLAJBFGDALKFJBVDFKJLBFDKLFBADFDLKJLBFDJKBFDKKJFDKJDFJ BFDJ BFDKBJFDALABFDLKABFDJFDAKJBFDAKFBUDAKLFDAJFK BJFADKB JFDBK JDFAKBJ AFKJBB KJB BKK BFK BJFDKJFD BKJFB AKKJAF GBLGwkajb fagsdlkjgfdbaklf dgJBFG Dkljb KJBAFDLJKBADKFJDAVB AFDK,JB FDALKHJFBDALKFBDAJH RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGSDHHJKSDGJKHHKGFJSDKHJFGKHJFGDKHJGFJKHDHGKBJFDKJHDFGB AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

LIKE I PROBABLY SHOULDVE EXPECTED IT BECAUSE THE ITHER EPISODE FUCKING SHIT BUT IT CAUGHT ME OFF GUARD SO I JUST HEARD THE FIRST FEW NOTES AND IMMEDIATELY STARTED TEARING UP IM SO FUCKING PROUD OF HIM

[eidolost]

every day that I am reminded of miraculous ladybug is a day where I am filled with inexplicable rage

[racew1nn3rs]

─ 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘪. (𝘪'𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦) 🧶

⤷ summary: the world meets the newest mclaren team member, and they are loving it! it's poor oscars first day and shit's already hitting the fan sorry dude ): LMAO. lando just experienced love at first sight, while y/n is ready to fist fight

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liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 32,890 others

mclaren oscar's first day of kindergarten, done. pre-season testing, done. (we'll be even faster soon 🙏🏼 don't worry guys)

2,568 comments

user2 HELLO??? WHO HACKED THE MCLAREN ACCOUNT

user6 we'll be racing past redbull in no time

mclaren a girl can dream

user7 lando is this you??? 😭

user8 budget dropped so low they had to hire the drivers for social media

user3 this is haas money behavior

mclaren excuse you i am NOT LANDO

user8 oscar????

mclaren no sir, i'm the owner of this house 🫵

user9 idk if this is a new admin but this is so unserious

mclaren new year new me babe

user9 give her a raise mclaren 🙏🏼

mclaren REPOST REPOST REPOST

landonorris first day on the job and already asking for more money?

mclaren i'm so sorry lord lando, you forget that us lowly peasants aren't on an athelete salary 🙄

user10 HUMBLE HIM, WE LOVE TO SEE IT

user11 mclaren admin beefing with lando was NOT on my 2023 bingo card

user12 she really said, "ik we're slow but LET US COOK"

mclaren TRUUUSTTT THAT COMEBACK IS COMING (im manifesting)

oscarpiastri KINDERGARTEN??? i'm nearly 22 mate

mclaren teensy weensy baby basically

oscarpiastri your fired /:

mclaren HAHA YOU CAN'T DO THAT 🏃🏻‍♀️

user13 petition for all the f1 team accounts to be run by young admins, this is tooooo good

mclaren screenshotting this for my boss so they don't see these comments and fire me

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user14 she. looked. up. his. salary. 💀 ICON

user15 hiring her was such a rare mclaren W

user16 MCLAREN ADMIN HEAR OUR PRAYERS AND MAKE TIKTOKS 🙏🏼

user17 OMG CAN U IMAGINE

user18 HOW MUCH MONEY DO I HAVE TO PAY MS. MCLAREN FOR THIS OMG

user19 will our team win? probably not BUT AT LEAST WE'LL BE GETTING CONTENT 😘

user20 AYYYYEEEE

user21 LANDO MAY NEVER WIN, BUT THE FANS NEVER LOSE 🤞🏾

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liked by mclaren, maxfewtrell, and 60,050 others

landonorris don't mind me, just living my lord life on my athlete's salary. bahrain here we come!

10,750 comments

user22 WHERES THE MCLAREN ADMIN

user23 lando nowins flexing on us poor people

user24 someone come get this man's phone

user25 oh i KNOW pr is mad 💀💀💀

user26 daniel ricciardo leaves and mclaren loses it's mind

user27 daniel leaves and all of us lose our minds 🥲

oscarpiastri jesus christ mate, log out

mclaren i'm not sure he knows how, he might need to pay someone to /:

user28 CRAZZZYYYY

user29 THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTING

user30 "f1 is a serious sport." the serious sport in question:

user31 the papaya hat 🫵

user32 HE'S SO FINE IM GNAWING AT THE BARS

user33 BARK BARK WOOF WOOF

mclaren phones. on the table. NEOWWW

user33 holy shit this is actually so embarrassing

mclaren at least ur self aware!

user34 she clocked ur asses 😭😭😭

maxfewtrell lord lando flying economy

landonorris I AM NOT

user35 bro took that personally

user36 me thinks the man doth protest too much

danielricciardo i leave you alone for a few months and this is what you're doing

landonorris i learned from the best

danielricciardo DONT BLAME ME FOR THIS

maxverstappen1 ... that's my plane???

landonorris SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

maxverstappen1 you can't just take credit for my private jet. its mine.

mclaren this just in, little lando norris is a little LIAR

mclaren when he steals a plane and wears bucket hats 🫵🤣 everyone point and laugh

landonorris I QUITE LIKE BUCKET HATS

mclaren i quite like bucket hats 🇬🇧☕️🤓

maxverstappen1 🫵🤣

danielricciardo 🫵🤣

charles_leclerc 🫵🤣

carlossainz55 🫵🤣

maxfewtrell 🫵🤣

oscarpiastri 🫵🤣

landonorris OSCAR????

oscarpiastri 🫵🤣 🫵🤣 🫵🤣

mclaren damn he got you there

user37 this cannot be real

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There were quite a few things Lando expected to be on his agenda when he arrived in Bahrain after him and Max went seperate ways to their own teams. He figured he would meet with his engineers, spend some time getting adjusted to working with Oscar (especially given he hadn't had very much time to meet or bond with the rookie over the break or during pre-season testing), and doing some press interviews as per usual. However no where on his list was an impromptu meeting with Zak Brown. Oscar seemed clueless as to what was going on as well, and Lydia, Lando's personal assistant of two years, was just as clueless.

Lando and Oscar filed into the board room, bottles of water in hand, only to be met face to face with their team manager. Nothing seemed suspicious which Lando hoped was a good thing, but after their underwhelming performance in pre-season testing he knew anything was a possibility.

"Have a seat guys, it's good to see you both. I hope you've been well-rested since testing," Zak greeted with his usual cheerful attitude. Lando and Oscar looked at each other warily but nodded at their boss nonetheless. Zak was usually more of a 'get to the point' kind of man, so this change of pace was unnerving to say the least. Normally it scared Lando a little bit, but truthfully, right now, Lando wanted to be done with this meeting and to get to race preparations.

"That's good, you need all the rest you can get if we're going to try and put up a fight this weekend. In all honesty, I think within the next two years we have a chance to become real competition here. I think we can give Red Bull and Ferrari a run for their money and earn plenty of points this year. Hell," the older man chuckled, "maybe we can win it all."

Lando didn't want to seem skeptical, but he was definitely skeptical. He did not think the car he was given in testing could win the championship, but he would sure as hell be trying.

"But no matter how hard the engineers work the car, and no matter how many sims we do, the one thing we're lacking in is presence. McLaren is notable, we have a famous team and a long roster of famous, successful drivers, including the two of you, but we don't have the same dominating media presence that Mercedes or Ferrari do. And that's what gets us sponsors, and celebrity visits, and fans, and funding. We may not be struggling for money, but if you guys like your multi-million dollar salaries and you want your car to keep being better, we need more media presence. Which is why we decided we wanted to go a bit of a different route this year, with media and all of that."

Oh god. Lando knew where this was going. This was about the new social media admin that had been ruthlessly harrasing him- albeit teasingly- for days now. Only employed for less than two weeks and already stirring up the pot across platforms. Lando looked at Oscar, noting that his teammate was clearly following as well now.

"I know you both have come to realize this already, but there is a new social media manager who runs all of the McLaren accounts. We wanted someone young, someone trendy, someone who knew what the internet is looking for, and who can help us connect and start getting more eyes on McLaren. We want her to meet with you guys today to share a couple of ideas so you can be on the same page for what we'll be doing online. The new manager is just outside. Let me get her so you can speak with her."

Lando nodded dumbly. Right, ok, he could do that. Lando was young, he was online, he was trendy. Plus, most of if not all of the F1 drivers had some kind of media presence already. Lando streamed, he had instagram accounts and twitter, and he even had Quadrant. Lando steeled himself. This would be just fine. An adjustment, but fine.

Zak greeted someone outside of the door and a small bit of shuffling sounds were heard. Before Lando had a chance to stand, Zak was turning and nodding a quick goodbye. Leaving the office room, as a smaller body replaced the space he had been in.

Lando felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs and hoped he hadn't made a noise out loud. He stared, he couldn't help it. He was sure he was slack-jawed, mouth agape and flies coming in. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that he should be professional and behave like a normal human being. But the other part of his brain, the dominant part of his brain, was in awe.

Lando looked at the girl in front of him up and down, probably far too obviously, and was stunned. He saw jean shorts, a faded and a mid-washed denim. A colorful-tighter cropped shirt and some layered gold jewelery. Rings on her fingers. Sunglasses in her hair, making her look way to cool to ever speak to him. She rocked on the balls of her sneaker-clad feet- sneakers that matched her clothes perfectly much to Lando's delight- and quickly moved to set her laptop down of the table. She left her small colorful handbag on the table alongside a cup of iced coffee that was already melting in the Bahrain heat. She looked as if she had jumped straight from a Vogue cover (or one of his favorite dreams) and landed right in front of him.

Was it the heat that was making it so hot? Because Lando was becoming suddenly aware of the heat beneath his shirt collar. A stifled cough from Oscar drew Lando from his observation- or rather his creepy, stalker staring- and Lando realized this was not the social etiquette that the situation called for.

Before Lando could even take a step, the girl smirked.

"Nice to finally meet you guys. Hello Oscar," the girl leaned over and shook the taller man's hand. "And Lord Lando, is it? It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Y/N L/N, i'm the new social media manager for the season."

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Y/N could now officially say she is not a fan of Lando Norris. The online feud she had cleverly created to generate some conversation about McLaren before the season started had been banter. She had taken no offense to Lando's jokes at all, but now that she was in front of the man and could feel his judgement, her opionions had changed.

From the second she walked in Lando had begun unabashedly staring at her. Looking her up and down, from the shoes she had recently bought to the hair clipped back on her head, and was not sparing a single detail. She felt vaguely like a mannequin on display and it unnerved her.

Oscar smiled at her politely as she set her things down, and she felt thankful for the reprieve from the judgement and critcism she had been recieving since she arrived and was now experiencing again from Lando in full force.

Y/N was aware that her outfit wasn't uniform or professional, but those were not the qualities she was hired for. Y/N had been confident coming in here, feeling like she would likely connect better with people her own age, but was thoroughly dissapointed to find this was not the case.

Oscar ultimately cleared his throat awkwardly, and it appeared as though this finally snapped Lando out of his judgemental stupor, so Y/N decided to finally make her introductions.

"Nice to finally meet you guys, hello Oscar," she leaned over and shook the taller man's hand. "And Lord Lando, is it? It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Y/N L/N, i'm the new social media manager for the season."

Lando groaned loudly and Oscar laughed.

"Lando I don't think you'll ever live this one down," and Y/N forced a laugh and nodded in agreeance.

"No, probably not. But that's good, that's what I was hoping for." Y/N stated bluntly.

"You were hoping to torture me?" Lando stuttered out and Y/N rolled her eyes, "You'll live I promise." Oscar laughed before pointing out, "at least your not a kindergartener."

Lando stifled a laugh but agreed.

"What purpose did Oscar's baby jokes serve?" Lando asked, and Y/N forced herself not to punch the man at his judgemental tone. He clearly didn't believe in her ability to do her job.

"It's funny, that was it's purpose," she stated, gesturing to the table for the boys to sit as she opened up her laptop. She turned to face toward them, lifting herself slightly so was seated criss-crossed in the chair. She never had liked sitting normally. The boys across from her stared at her expectantly.

"So you create jokes the make people look at us more?" Oscar asked.

"In a way yes. My job is to manage the accounts, but I've also been hired to help get you guys more fans. Fans love to be interacted with, they love seeing you guys joke around, they like feeling like they have content to consume," Y/N explained.

"By playing into these desires, you get more fans, because they feel they 'know you" in a way they don't know the other drivers." The boys nodded their head in understanding.

"So the plan is for me to keep interacting with fans through the McLaren accounts, playing up jokes with you too, and for us to give the fans new content in a way they don't usually get it. Livestreams, youtube vlogs, inside internet jokes, TikToks, the works." Y/N stated.

"Essentially," she said dragging the word out, "I'm going to make you guys the internet's little papaya stars," Lando laughed but nodded. Y/N, despite her first impressions and her developing dislike for the driver, found herself smiling. She could see the vision. Both Oscar and Lando would be awkward and loveable and humorous. The perfect mix for internet support.

"So where do we start?" Oscar asked.

"I'm glad you asked," Y/N smirked. "Have you heard the clip of 'Cuffing Season' by SZA? There's a TikTok trend I think will be perfect for you to do."

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user38 can we talk about how gorgeous admin is?!?!? LIKE OH MY GOD

user10 only hot people go to mclaren

user40 that check better be huge for her

user41 oscar was so mf stiff 💀💀 free my boy

user42 who had a gun to oscars head, he was so scared

user43 lando thirst trapping ICB 😭 I NEED A BIG BOYYY

user44 god admin is so sexy and smart, that was art

user45 CAN WE DISCUSS HOW LANDO LOOKS AT HER

user46 ikr 💀 get off the floor lando your drooling

user47 i want a man to be that down bad for me

user48 lando loverboy era unlocked

user49 meanwhile admin didn't look him in the face

user50 f1 2023 is going to be a WILD RIDE for us mclaren fans if this is before the first race even starts

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hope you all enjoyed! please let me know your thoughts and feel free to leave a request for me to write something for your fav <3

-

𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

@lemon-lav @slutforpopculture @m4rt10ne

[muletia]

you've mentioned pegging optimus until he's rambling about getting pregnant, but I NEED u to go more into detail about it. literally foaming at the mouth at the idea of almost taunting him "hmm, any deeper and I'll get you pregnant". him just losing it and begging to be sparked, so u fuck him until he's drooling and borderline incoherent, but still moaning about getting knocked up 😊

𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦 ✧˖°

pegging tfp optimus would fix me actually

cw: valveplug, dom!top!reader, sub!bottom!optimus, pegging, l-bomb, breeding kink, reader uses a strap

word count: 750

He feels too much. Too intensely. Processor has long dismissed logic, replacing coherent thoughts with mindless, shapeless ones resembling tangled threads. Now, there is no responsibility; the stress of gnawing problems has been replaced by pure ecstasy. Feels it everywhere, even at the tips of his digits, which scrape at the berth in search of a nonexistent anchor. His pedes behave similarly. Thighs tremble from the overwhelming pleasure you so generously bestow upon him. He knows he is not making your task easier, but he cannot stop the quivering — proof of how thoroughly you have ruined him.

“You’re doing great, darling,” you praise him, even though Optimus is just laying beneath you looking pretty. This time, the pleasure is all his. “Keep it up, and perhaps we’ll truly end up with a child.”

At the mere mention of having offspring with you, his back arches, and his helm tilts back. Once again, he makes your work harder; feels it in the sudden change in rhythm deep within his valve. But he cannot help it. Besides, you quickly prove how perfectly harmonized you are by adapting to him. You move closer, pressing your hips more firmly against his. Your thighs meet his, smearing themselves with transfluid — a testament to the length of your shared indulgence.

“[Name], ah…” he tries to speak, but it does not come easily. Processor fails to align with his voice box. “Please…”

He cannot finish the sentence when you suddenly pick up speed, thrusting with full force into his poor, battered valve. It looks swollen and is utterly filled with blue fluid, which drips off your fake cock, but this poses no obstacle for Optimus. Despite the sweet torment, he does not want it to end. Not until he is certain that new life will be created within him, ignoring the absurdity and impossibility of it all.

“What’s the matter, darling?” you ask. Is it cruelty, or are you teasing innocently? He cannot tell, but he does not hold it against you. As long as you are inside him, you can do anything you want.

“[Name]…” he tries again. “Nhnn, I beg you… ah! Please, give me a sparkling! Hah, please! I want… I-I want to be sparked…”

Tears pool in the corners of his optics. You are also certain that the glistening substance around his mouth is his equivalent of saliva.

Holy shit. The great Optimus Prime reduced to a begging, drooling, mindless wreck. Thanks to you. The sight before you is entirely your doing. All it took was once mentioning the topic of children and pregnancy, casually letting it slip during the climax that you would love to have a child with him. As a fantasy, a byproduct of diving too deep into domspace. And he took the bait, completely enchanted by the idea of you knocking him up, even though he knows it is impossible.

Well, for such a sight, it was worth feeding his delusions.

“Since you are asking so nicely…” you murmur.

Your eyes meet, and at that moment, you grab the blue armor plates on his hips and push the silicone cock deeper until you are pressed tightly together. Optimus roars, overwhelmed by you, but he still seems to draw closer, craving more. He wants to become one, to unite in the most intimate way.

“I… I love you,” he mumbles. Your gazes cross again.

“Oh yes, I’m getting you pregnant, big boy.”

You move your hips again. This time faster, leaving no room for doubt about your intentions. You will break the laws of biology if you must.

He feels you relentlessly pumping his own transfluid back into him, as if to assure him you will fulfill his illusory wish.

“Ah, yes! T-thank you, thank you…” he whines. His back arches again, digits claw ferociously at the berth.

He does not know how much longer he can hold out before his body gives up entirely and he won't be able to move even his optics. But he wants to savor this. The fleeting moment, because he does not know when the next one will come. And your kindness, your willingness to tend to him and satisfy his warped, corporeal needs.

“I want… I want a sparkling, ah! with you,” he moans, lost in the subspace. “Give me one, nhnn [Name], I beg you!”

“I love you too,” you pant.

More transfluid spills from his valve, but Optimus gives you no sign to stop, still focused on his mission. Babbling nonsense about pregnancy and having offspring. Preferably several.

[scatterbrainedbot]

MAXED OUT THE TAGS BUT I STILL HAVE TOO MANY THOUGHTS

(ALSO NOT REALLY RELEVANT BUT IM MAKING MORE GHIBLI CONNECTIONS AMD COINCIDENTALLY I HAVE TO GO DRAW RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY)

AHSHAHAHDHD I ALREADY LOVE THIS NEW AU

but my one question is: what exactly are each of the brothers? mikey is clearly some kind of wanderer and raph a stone giant, donnie some kind of scholar/inventor, but leo is the one im most confused about. is he a nymph? a witch?

ty also @cococakeyum for the ask :D <3

(AND SPECIAL MENTION TO @scatterbrainedbot BECAUSE ILY YOUR TAGS ARE KILLING ME, GETTING ME SO HYPED FR :'D <3333)

[raytoebiter]

xv. young blood spills tonight (written work)

It's a really, really beautiful fucking day. That's no doubt. Like, at all.

Why's that, you ask?

Well, simply because the endless sea above you is winking at the little organisms with their clear blue skies devoid of the usual cotton white. Then, there’s also the breeze that has been blessing (bugging) everyone's asses by flipping skirts and sending papers flying.

And well, yeah, those are the usual signs that your day is going to go well.

The biggest catch, whatsoever?

Shitty Asshole (Scaramouche) finally decided to stop acting like there was a permanent stick up his ass with every interaction he had with you.

Or in simpler terms, he stopped bothering you.

And hey, going by your definition, it really means that he hasn't called you names nor did he prolong a conversation by unabashedly acting like a fuckboy to grind your gears.

And, well. That? That's really fucking strange.

Some people (Hu tao) may suggest going to the person, and asking, “hey, are you okay?” considering that the asshole looks like he got hired by a shitty animation studio and was overworked during the weekdays, but considering how much he irritates you on a normal day?

You would dare say; hell, no. You don't have any damn plans in crossing the lines of rivalry just to reignite the spark of hatred that's holding your relationship with him. You also don't got any damn clue if he stopped simply because he felt guilty for pushing you down (which, going by your interactions with him on Monday, doesn't seem to be the case at all) nor if he stopped because his ginger friend is finally shooting his shot (which also doesn't seem to be the case since it's unreasonable as hell).

Either way, you'd rather enjoy this blissful predicament rather than finding the catalyst behind it.

(You completely, and resolutely ignore the gnawing itchy bitch inside of you that keeps moaning about the fact that you haven't had a proper argument with the Asshole since Monday.)

And besides, it's not like it's any of your business to pry on his personal problems, right?

So yeah, the angel on your shoulder (that annoyingly sounds a lot like Hu tao) can fuck off, and the beautiful day you spoke of can continue on without any grape-hair bothering you.

A giggle left your lips, the sound utterly high. If you were in the right state of mind, you would've been nauseated with how you're acting.

But.. right now? You’re quite literally bouncing off from, holy shit, I'm gonna go on a date with Childe—to—Oh my god, what am I even gonna wear!?—to—He’s such a flirt, god, he's so attractive–

—and then, finally—wait, hold on, I need to fulfill that damn request, fuck!

With that, disgust burns your esophagus and you're instantly upset, because fucking hell. You have to hang out with the guy that's been avoiding you for.. what? A fucking week? Just ‘cause of some shitty obscure reason?

Like, seriously, come on. Pushing you off the stairs is nothing but a damn stepping stone for your hatred to go onward, right? It's really nothing, so why the fuck is he doing this cold-shoulder thing?

You scoff as you turn on your phone, opening the contacts app, then scrolling until you see the infamous, “the insufferable asshole whom i shall not dare interact”.

God, the nickname was such a great idea.

The conversation that lit against your face brings some sort of annoying churning in your stomach, and you scowl at the feeling. Don't tell me I'm feeling sentimental about this shit.

Then, as you shudder from the prick needles poking at your skin, you instantly chuck the thought to the murkiest depths of your mind; hoping to never be seen again because, holy fuck.

Deeply sighing, you clicked on the call button, index finger lightly tapping and making circles on the counter as you pressed the phone to your ear.

The phone luckily rings until it makes a familiar clicking sound.

“What—”

“Shut up, where are yo—actually, no, scratch that. Come here early, like right now, ASAP.”

A notable silence on the other line. You briefly wonder if you should've let him finish, but then again, any pleasant business the other had could fucking wait.

“Yeah, no. I'm on my way to the entrance road, dipshit,” the other bit out after a moment. There's light sweeps of air in the background, and a fleeting thought occurs to you that the Asshole might be walking considering the lack of engine noise.

You cross your legs, squinting at the door because wasn't the entrance road atleast 3 miles away from the café? isn't that so far?

“...Don’t tell me the Grand Scaramouche is actually walking? Whatever happened to your Porsche, hm?”

Scaramouche simply chuckled, the sound reverberating through your spine, sending shudders along the way. You end up reaching for the blanket that, fuck, was currently perched on a damn desk chair a feet away from you.

For a few seconds, the words simply hung in the air.

You have half a mind to ask what the fuck was up with him, only to absolutely shrug it off as you finally snatch the blanket, fabric warm and just so fucking perfect, goddamnit.

It's then the Asshole finally makes a noise and—

“Well, might as well enjoy the shitty scenery before I quit, right?

Your entire world stops. Not in the sense like those shitty romantic scenes, of course, but in the sense that you just discovered something so fucking shocking that your world quite literally stops functioning for a second.

Because, seriously, what the ever-loving fuck?

Don't tell me I fucking did something wrong? I didn't even do anything. Like, shit. But didn't we just have a talk in monday? didn't we, like err, fucking.. glare at each other in wednesday? What the fuck is up with this guy? Is he jealous? Wait no, that's not really reasonable. Is it Childe? Is he avoiding me because Childe told him to just so he could shoot his shot? Wait, maybe it was the push—no, fuck, wait. What was all that talk about, ‘wanting to stay here a little bit fucking longer, then—

A snort. A really, ugly and mocking snort, “you do realize you've been muttering all that like a stupid ass ESPN commentator, right?”

And right now, as tempting as the idea of screaming, “what the fuck do you mean!? what was all that beating for then!?” to him really is: you, a beloved fuckin’ saint, instead, made the very difficult and extremely mature decision to not push your luck.

And that is to hang the fuck up, LMAO.

Might be an overreaction considering that you once chanted a whole ass pseudo-manifestation on Scaramouche quitting for some inexplicable reason but..

..It's an embarrassment to your dignity to admit—but, fuck it, anyway.

You'd rather take a barrel of a sailor’s vocabulary ebbing out of his mouth rather than this odd silent treatment he's been doing with you.

It's not that you missed him or anything—god, no—it’s just.. really anticlimactic considering that the only connection the two of you have is your rivalry with him; with all the shitty remarks he makes, the brawls you have with him, and the constant bickerings that happens on a daily basis now that you were coworkers.

At some point, you've always kept the notion of having a relationship more than just hatred in the damn Pandora’s box, simply because you couldn't really fathom something stable and promising with him, especially with the Asshole’s personality being equivalent to having a fire up your buttcrack.

Not only that, there's no fucking way that asshole is getting away after pushing you off down the stairs (1), doing a whole pep-talk about wanting to stay in the café longer (2), offhandedly showing up to the first day with his goddamn porsche whom you haven't seen in a few days now and you miss it so bad (3), get into a brawl only to have your beloved grandmother see it and force the two of you into a 30-minute lecture on why fighting brings bad benefits (4), and be one of the sole witnesses of you having a panic attack (5) only to fucking leave?

Well, atleast he's got the fucking balls.

Feeling the rush of adrenaline, you pocketed your phone, the initial plan of changing out of your clothes completely and utterly forgotten as you hurriedly scurried to put on your shoes and bursted out of the room.

Your grandmother furrowed her brow at the sight and sound of the door slamming against the wall, “dear? where are you headed to? why are you still in your clothes?”

You grabbed your necessities (phone, check, money, check, food.. nah, scratch that), and sent a reluctant glance at your confused grandmother, “can I take the shift off today? I.. need to catch up with a friend super, duper quickly and apparently the ass—ass.. something is leaving today. And they didn't even tell me about it so—”

“Alright, alright,” Your grandmother gently interjected, attention now fixated on whatever was on the counter, “you ought to tell me these earlier though, okay? I'll call Xiao to help out.”

A groan left your lips, hand already twisting the knob as you turned one last time, “tell him to not act like a stuck-up dick though!”

And distantly, “make sure to bring an umbrella!” along with the cracked laughter resonating in the air as you took off.

–

The wind howled through the trees, sending chills up your spine. Your grandmother was fucking right. You should've bought a damn umbrella.

You rubbed at your arms, slowly contemplating whether to go back to the café and just endure the agonizing back pain for a couple of days, or wait in the goddamn bus stop since most likely, the Asshole will probably go through there.

The latter is so, so fucking tempting, especially with how there's light rain dotting the pavement now—

Wait, light rain?

Panic strikes, you cautiously and hesitantly glanced up at the sky, as if it was some blood-curdling demon drooling at the sight of a frightened prey. Fuck, you should've known it was going to fucking rain cats and dogs the moment you saw the skies being abundantly clear as fuck.

And, holy shit. The café is atleast a mile away and the bus stop is still at least 3 blocks down, fuck wait, what do I do!? Should I call the Asshole? Surely, he brought a fucking umbrella, right? Hold on, shit. Fuck this motherfucking—

Just as you’re about to curse the entire fucking mother nature bloodline, the featherlight droplets tapping onto your shoulders turns into something much, much more overwhelmingly heavier, soaking your head then your clothes.

A fleeting thought of jumping off the river near the café crosses your mind, but you immediately shrug it off.

Eventually, an exasperated groan left your lips, gaze now facing forward as you stared at the foggy mist that now started to descend on your way. Your back still aching even after a few days doesn't help, and the heavy rain patting your clothes, gradually soaking it certainly doesn't fucking help either.

God, a sick leave on Monday doesn't really sound like a happy-go-lucky choice, doesn't it? Sighing, you reach for your skirt pockets, rummaging through until you find the familiar device.

Immediately just as you take it out, it gets drenched.

Am I really going stupid?

You annoyingly frowned, slightly lowering your body to cover it from the rain as you frantically pressed the power button and—

Fucking voila! It's fucking dead! The bright 0% winking at you like a delicious fucking meal on the table!

For several fucking seconds, you frigidly stood there, hand loosely clutched around the jackshit motherfucking device, with your nervous system going haywire, and the absolute urge to snap your spine in half coursing through your body like blood flow.

Oh, and there's also the impending chill down there that holy fuck, you're going to get sick.

What a fuck-up day this is. All because of that damn Ass—

Okay, that's too unreasonable. You did choose this, after all.

Still. You shouldn't have fucking gone out. Hell, you should've listened to your grandmother.

A crackle above snaps you out of your thoughts, all suddenly aware of the fabric clinging to your skin with the coldest motherfucking sensation, and you shudder, pocketing your phone.

Right. Shelter.

–

After squeaky shoes, near-death instances (one of which being almost tripping over a damn dead toad in the middle of the street), and the occasional middle fingers from Mother Nature, you finally reached the bus stop. And as per usual, it's devoid of the crowd that used to piss you off when you were a kid.

Muscle movement from all over the years has you reaching out to the bench and lightly dusting it, only to realize what you were doing, deadpanned, then reluctantly sat at the wet bench. An embarrassing squeak of your shoes bringing heat to your cheeks.

Years ago, these roads, now looking as if they've been deserted, used to be the lone passageway to Qingce Village. A small, remote town near the Inazuma borders. However, because there were a shit ton of animals running around bare-assed (take the shitty toad as an example), the officials or whatever had to force the roads to shut down.

Now, it's officially been recognized as a restricted area.

Well, not really. Considering that some kids can still do shitty hide n’ seek once in a while, but it's often discouraged.

Well, fuck the discouragement, you can do whatever you want. Besides, it's not like the Liyue Qixing actually gives two fucks about it, especially now that Qingce village looks more like an abandoned town rather than an actual village.

Though, some tourists and occasional students seem to like the idea of abandoned places, so they’re often seen in the area doing whatever.

Your eye twitches when a drop falls just right in front of your nose, thoughts immediately halted. Fuck, should you really wait here for Scaramouche to show up? The biting cold fabric against your skin is really, really not comfortable. But in some way, it does kind of help with your back ache, so there's some benefits to that.

A shiver. Then, a sneeze.

Man.

You're so dead the moment you come back. You don't even know what time it is for fuck’s sake! But guessing from the time you left and the time you walked to get here, it must be around 4:35PM already. The rain is still moderately heavy, and the shitty roof, that's basically worn out rust, has holes in it, so it barely just does the job right.

The faint pattering of the rain against your shoulder feels soothing in some way, and the slight fog seems to disperse from all that shitty walk so now, the area is a bit visible.

And man, what a fucking calming shitshow. You ought to thank Scaramouche for this.

Wait, hold on, speaking of Scaramouche, hasn't it been at least an hour since you called him? And 3 miles is atleast..

You nervously chuckle, no way, right?

No way he reached the café while you were out here, shivering and dying from the rain, right?

It's been an hour. A full fucking hour!

No way. Yeah, nope. Nope. Nope, no, fucking nope.

There's just no way. You’ll see him in the street, wave him over, reprimand him until he stays, then force him to hang out to fulfill the request.

Yeah. Definitely.

And, anyway. What the hell was the Asshole up to? Out of nowhere, he just wants to.. quit?? What is up with that? You certainly know it's not about the environment, or anything. So, what the fuck was it? Not only that, he seemed casual about the ‘pushing’ incident too, so, really, what the fuck is he really up to—

A hand. A shadow of a hand creepily loomed over your form, creating a shadow just below your toes, and you jolted, heart suddenly skipping a few beats as you hastily turn around and holy shit—

“Scaramouche!?”

He carefully surveys you, the seconds feeling like an eternity as his hand idly floated mid-air, before he leered in disgust, “god, you look so fucking horrible right now.”

A dull ache throbbed in your temple, already feeling the Scaramouche-Induced-Migraine settling in the hypothalamus of your brain, “yeah, no shit. I look terrible, and ugly. Ever wondered why that is?”

Right now, the Asshole is clutching a beautiful, useful umbrella and there's a plastic bag hanging off of his forearm. A droplet falls right on top of your head, kindly reminding you once again of the beautiful, useful umbrella in his hold.

“Are you going to stop looking at my umbrella, or what? I'll share with you, don't worry.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, “you didn't bring an extra one?”

He rolled his eyes, turning to the side, then to you, “are you stupid? your granny chased me out of the café to ‘find’ you. what idiot even goes out in a weather like this?”

His head tilts slightly upward in gesture, while you spiralled down in the fact that, fuck yeah, I was right. He really did reach the café first.

“Well?”

“Got bored,” you easily lied, shrugging your shoulders for the extra effect, “I didn't think it'd rain this.. hard.”

“So, you really are stupid.”

"Shut up! I just got bored, okay?"

“Well, blah blah, anyway. Let's go back to the shitty café,” he turned sideways, reckoning you over with his head like you were some shitty dog.

It only struck you as your eyes drifted to his in pensiveness that—this was the first conversation you've ever had with him since Monday. And, he was going to leave. Just like that.

And, god. You've gone two years. Two years without talking to him except the occasional blistering arguments on social media that still pissed you off to this day. Hell, you even went on four days without having a proper conversation albeit the fact that you saw him everyday in that.

You've managed just fine. Felt no difference. Felt nothing.

But.. fuck?

Why does it feel different when he's talking to you, then?

Why the fucking motherfuck does your heart feel the fucking need to feel fucking restless to the fucking point of fucking beating so fucking loudly?

You suddenly, and viciously regretted locking gazes with him, considering how there was now a huge ass stretch in silence as you two stared each other down; the gaze neither intense nor did it ebb hatred.

Though, the way his eyes settled over to yours do feel like he's stripping you down from your skin to your heart, and oh fuck, don't tell me he can hear my heartbeat? holy fuck, this is embarrassing, what the fuck do I do? why is he staring at me like that? don't tell me I have a leaf over my head?? wait, hold on. should I break the stare or what? this is so fucking embarrassing—

An amused sound between a snort and a laugh. Presumably an involuntary one as he covers his mouth in reciprocated shock.

“What's so funny?”

An slight smirk creeps at his face “you're such a mumbler.”

A frown, “that's not even a word—”

“Are we going back to the café, or are you going to keep standing there like an idiot who just got dumped? Because you really look like you got stood up by a piece of shit right now.”

Okay. Calm. One, two, three..

You tried not to let the indignance take over your face as you held up a pseudo smile in agreement. Scaramouche eyed you for a moment, and then sighed before turning around.

There goes my plan in taking him to hang out. Maybe I'll ask him after school tomorr—

Wait. Hold on.

“Wait, uh. Do you—”

His feet halted, just right in the center of your vision and only then did you realize you were looking down like an idiot. God, this is so embarrassing.

You hesitantly looked up, confidently glared at him square in the eye (since glaring has always been your forte with him) and blurted, “hang out with me. like, right now.”

Silence. You can already feel the regret creeping in when all he does is fucking watch, and watch with those shitty fucking ass purple motherfucking eyes with the imperceptible fucking glint shining in them and—

“What on the fucking earth,” his expression was flat, but he did have that aghast-amused tilt to his eyebrows.

That's how you knew it was a success. All doubt and humility instantly drained out of you as you grinned, the mean and confident one that you knew made your features look devilish, “what? it's gonna be your last shift anyway, and I had to take a shift off—don’t give me that look and don't ask why—so, why not just hang out with me? I'm sure grandma would let you off.”

“O..kay?” he drawled in incredulity, a brow curiously quirking up as he turned to you fully, “so, what the fuck are we doing today, Dora the Explorer?”

“Uh, we could—erm,” you tried. you failed, “I don't know! I haven't thought that far!”

“Okay, jack-ass. We're going back to the café—”

“No!”

“And drink some shitty warm water—”

“Nope!”

“And—”

Before he could fucking finish because it really was starting to piss you off, you tore the beautiful, useful umbrella from his hold, stumbling him forward as you slowly took a step back.

You watched the realization slash amusement crawl over his pale features, twisting it up to a scowl, “give it back.”

A blink, then an idea came to you along with an impish grin, “well.. you'd just have to get it from me, then.”

And with that, you took off.

Scaramouche gaped at you, looking absolutely debauched as he realized what you were the fuck up to. And at that moment, you smiled.

You give it at least three counts.

One… his head swerves left and right.

Two… his gaze locked onto you.

Three… then, he made a break for it.

A wet ass road isn't really a good place to run a marathon in along with the (still) heavy rain blurring your vision as you dashed to who-the-fuck knows where, but right now?

As the cold nips against your skin like some sort of fucking leech and the Asshole few meters away from behind you chasing like a madman..

It feels like a whole otherworldly experience.

You'd never imagined running in the rain, soaked and absolutely feeling the impending doom already, with your rival, out of all people.

–

“You're a real fucking idiot, you know that, right?”

Okay. Maybe you are a fucking idiot by, what? Running into the rain with what you presume was one of the best experiences you've ever had but had the shittiest fucking consequences? Yeah.

Presently, the two of you are fortunately situated on a cliff with a bench. Totally I-Know-a-Spot vibes with an abandoned ass gasoline station just right off the side. Though, how did the two of you manage that? Well, your dumbass decided to run off the forest and somehow managed to end up here.

At some point during your whole life living in these parts, you've always seen the cliff in your peripherals but never had actually gone through the effort of going to it. So, yeah more or less, it's really your first time being here and, holy fuck is it divine.

The sun kissed the area with gold, blessing the two of you with the warmth it gives. The scenery is really the fucking catch though; with the sun infront of you, half of the village seen just below, café being literally quite just under the cliff and whatnot.

Oh, and yeah. The rain stopped mid-way as the two of you ran, so right now, you're currently dying with the left-over chill.

A shiver runs through your body, and you breathed out a sigh, “you enjoyed it, anyway. you can't really complain, you know?”

He glares at you, awfully looking like a stray hissing after being dumped with water, “fuck, no. I almost tripped twice. Heard that? Fucking twice, [Name]. That was not fun.”

As if he didn't stifle a laugh when you accidentally dropped the umbrella, “yeah, sure, Mr. Nonchalant. Also, I stepped on a dead toad on the way here, so.. again. you can't complain, I've had it worse.”

A roll of his eyes, and god, one more roll and I swear to the universe, I'm gonna make that permanent, “okay, piss grenade.”

“Piss—excuse me, what?”

“You know, explosive and lethal piss? Stuck in a grenade, and when you throw it, it becomes a piss shower?”

Silence.

“Yeah,” a scowl formed on your face as you conjured an image, “that's not really..”

He narrowed his eyes, “don't kinkshame me.”

“What—”

“So, when is the hang-out actually gonna start?” you can see the shiver creepily crawling over his body, and he tensed like a cat.

Ha, cat. Cat…

You awkwardly cleared your throat, murmuring, “I don't know.. actually. Wanna—uh. Wanna stay here and like, I don't know, watch the shitty sunset, or something?”

And again, his face comically deadpans. You can probably see the iconic SFX behind the background as he watches you with keen, fucking purple eyes.

“Is this really the same [Name] [Last Name] that told me to fuck myself on Monday?”

A snort escapes your lips as you nudge him by the ribs, “haha, very funny. Yes, I am, you asshole. God, you really do have a derogatory kink, don't you?”

His eyes glint in mischief, voice raising a playful lint, “oh, yeah? don't tell me you have a praise kink? Come on, don't get turned off, I'll praise you just fine.”

Your jaw gapes, like absolutely gapes and drops, before dramatically scooting further away from him, “yeah, no. I'd rather eat my own hand than have you praise me like that ever. Please stop the harassment.”

“Sure, fruitcake. And we're soaking up the entire bench, and it feels so fucking disgusting. When are we gonna get back?”

Oh. That's right.

“Are you…” you gulp, heart fucking doing somersaults, “are you actually going to resign?”

And at that—a glimmer in his eyes caught your attention as he turned to you; a permission to open up, to spill whatever bullshit he wanted, and you? Well, who are you to refuse?

“No,” he answers, “well, after today and that shitty run, I decided to shove the middle finger to my mom and maybe ask to postpone the offer.”

A hum left your lips, swaying your feet back and forth, “what’s the offer about anyway?”

“A modeling offer. I was given a chance to undergo some sort-of fuckin’ teaching class about modelling—which, I don't fucking want, by the fucking way. But. Ugh, my mom forced me. After that, I'll probably inherit her company or some shit.”

That doesn't really..

As if reading your mind, he continues, clutching the edge of the bench a little tighter, “and the reason why I don't want to take it is because it completely fucks up my schedule; after-school hours? fucked, cowgirl style. weekends? fucked, missionary style. Hell, even holidays? fucked, mating press style.”

He sharply chuckled as you gaped at him, and you mumbled, “your mom is too..”

“Selfish? Annoying? Fucking overbearing? Yeah,” he interrupted with a scoff, the sound laced with so much bitterness, “and anyway, I think I'll postpone it until I'm done with Senior High School. I have plenty of reasons anyway.”

You slowly blinked, still trying to process how.. weirdly dictatorial his mom was. You don't really give a fuck in that part of the industry, considering that you're way too focused on school to actually give a fuck about anything else other than being a barista (and speaking of school, fuck, you still had that physics assignment that's due by 11:59PM).

And, anyway. Holy fuck, you're absolutely going to have a hard time processing the fact that you just had your first ever official uninterrupted emotional conversation with Scaramouche. Or anything that involved non-rivalry things at all. The others are definitely going to have a field day with this and, ugghhh, you can already feel the undeniable burn in your eyes and the sting in your throat—

“Okay, thanks for listening,” he states dryly, eye-judging you as a droplet from his hair falls, “so awesome of you to go on a mumbling tirade while I was pouring my whole shitty sou—”

“Shut up, you asshole! Jeez, my grandma’s gonna kill me after this. I left without saying anything, I didn't even bring the umbrella she gave me! All because I chose to hang out with you, ugh."

“Aww, scared I'd be out of your sight, fruitcake? you must love me that much, huh.”

“No,” you bluntly say, “absolutely fucking not. Gross, by the way. I was just worried about you since we stopped talking for a week, and now you're dipping? no way, you're still my rival and I'm not letting you go until I see you in second place in the final rankings.”

He raised a brow, “we could still be—”

“Shut it.”

“..Okay, you sap.”

“Gross.”

And for the first fucking time ever, a comfortable silence settles in and goddamn, you missed the sunset. Slowly though as you watched from above, the blue-ish fog dissipated from the sky, leaving an endless sea of ink with dotted white.

And of course, as usual, the Asshole opens his gasbag mouth with his gaze transfixed on the skies above, “I really don't like stars.”

Just as you're about to retort, or atleast shove him to the sides and tease him, he continues, eyes still fixed to the sky but this time with a frown, “it looks so unreal, sometimes. Like, what the fuck do you mean those are just huge balls of hot gases winking at us like we're some useless specimen? I'm not useless, goddamnit.”

You blinked slowly, then levelled the Asshole with such a deadpanned look, “are you really saying that.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Of course, it would involve your ego. Of course. At this point, it's probably as big as the whole space.”

Scaramouche smugly smirked, “Yeah, ‘cause the fucking space is as big as my dic—”

“—Well, how else do you spend your time than just.. sit and not contemplate about life then?"

“..I don't fucken know? I don't spend my time looking at shit like this and going, “oh! I'm gonna think about my life and how utterly depressing it is!” like most people do. I just do whatever shit that is worth my time.”

You gave him a blank look, “so pessimistic. You must be so fun at parties. And, hey, we don't just immediately start thinking about life and all that. Sometimes, we just, you know, come here to relax.”

“If we're talking about that, then I’d rather look at city lights from above.”

A shrug, “guess that's more like you.”

He scoffed with a smirk, “makes me feel like I'm the star looking down in all those shitty specimens.”

“Ooh,” you cooed absentmindedly, “okay, city-boy.”

That familiar scowl settled in and you jolted, not expecting the nickname to hit a nerve, “oh, fuck off!”

A blink. Then, another blink before the drawl of the nickname left your lips with a higher lint, “city-boy!”

“One more and I swear—”

“City-boy!”

“Fuck—”

“City-boy likes to look at species below and—”

“Fuck the fucking hell off, you fucking mumbling gnome!”

You two didn't share a laugh that night, but you did continue the relentless teasing until, until he had to forcefully drag you down all the way back to the café at Eight-Something in the Post Meridian hours.

Needless to say, the lecture that came after was as warm and soothing as chocolate milk with cookies, after a whole evening of teetering between just outrightly dying of hypothermia, or having to go on because life still wants you in its grasp.

───────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────────────────

|| previous episode - next episode. ||

───〃★tunes of your heartbeat masterlist

synopsis: in which your fate somehow gets entangled into a messy jumble between punk music in cozy cafés, intense rivalry, cherished yakults, parallelograms and quantum physics, competitions in contests and rainy days. or in other words; the universe seems to fucking hate your guts for whatever reason and decided to curse your love life with your awful crass emo twink-a-fuck rival. the question is; did the curse work?

taglist (50/50): @toekissers , @raineyun @localscarasimp , @potteraep , @shutingstar , @feiherp , @scaraenthusiast1 @dazqa , @wraithisd3adinside , @x-hihihi-x , @court-jester-stuff , @automaticpatroltragedy , @lalalaloveallmydays , @trulyylee , @jayzioxx , @featuredtofu @kazemiya @help-whatdoimakemyusername , @skyoverkill1 @phoenix-eclipses , @anqelkoz , @miyakomari @saechiro @franaby , @swivi , @vixialuvs , @heusalettle @kunikissr @yomishen @mywillt0live , @baldrapunzel @jiminscarmex @sushitushi, @liuaneee , @shynsgore , @mechanicalbeat1 , @marivaudages , @okukura , @azzumei @lucid1tty @iloveescara @usagiarchive @kyouzki @theunhingedmf @kangyeonie @mi2ukiss @bubblebellaz @eternallykira-143 @lumiicch

• featured song - into the night by benny mardones

• notes - i've been planning to use this exact song for this chapter for MONTHS like i swear it was one of the first ideas that came to me when i first started the drafr outline for this smau LIKE UGHHH

• "i'd take you into the night," [name] taking scara to the cliff

• "and show you a love like you've never, ever seen," [name] and scara hanging out there and talking about life and silly shit hajdnsjn

• "it's like having a dream," cue "You'd never imagined running in the rain, soaked and absolutely feeling the impending doom already, with your rival, out of all people." HELLO??? I COOKED CHAT I FUCKING COOKED

so yeah that shit above was what i wrote in the draft LMAO

authors' notes - hey freaks guess who's back😝 supposedly, i was gonna post this like two days ago but then BUT THEN a shitty migraine fucked me ten times over the course of two days leaving me absolutely dead ass on my bed so. yeah. and anyhoo, any comments about this is SO much appreciated considering i spent the last week making this while in writer slump (5,3k WORDS BABYYY) and holy shit chat??? we're 50-notes away from??? ONE THOUSAND??? WHATTTTTTTT that was so fugkcing fast HRLP ME thank you for all the support regardless tho😞

p.s - might update more now since WOOHOO SUMMER BREAK IS FINALLY FUCKING HERE

(ask to be added or removed)

[phantasm-ae]

cw: more fluff

HEADCANNON: Part 5 of Simon and pet Bunny. Bunny hates mailmen. Too trained to back down. You have Simon to blame for that one

PAIRING: Simon Riley x reader

you hear the mail truck before you see it.

that familiar low rumble that usually sends Bunny into full "defend the perimeter" mode.

And sure enough, a second later, you hear it.

Thump. Thump. THUMP.

From your vantage point in the kitchen, you see Bunny -- all thirty? Thirty-five pounds of muscle, fluff, and pure malice -- posted up at the front door. Ears froward. Nose twitching aggressively. Shoulders readily hunched and front paws baring in anticipation.

"Si!", you shouted. Getting alarmed. Not wanting to get another warning from the homeowner's association about pet aggression and the like. Not really wanting to explain that it was just a massive and hulking rabbit doing all this stuff and not some rabid dog that they think it was.

"The mailman's here!"

Simon. Too calm. Just enjoying his tea on the couch barely even looks up at that. "Let him be. He'll be fine"

But you had a feeling that Bunny will be fine sure. But that mailman?? Nope. Definitely not.

Sure enough, just as the mailman was walking up to your porch, the door practically flies open and Bunny -- the bastard! -- fucking barrels out. Breaching doors just like Simon probably taught him too.

The guy's halfway up the steps. Package tucked under one arm when Bunny charges towards him.

The man freezes.

Stares. Fucking stares!

Blinking down and paralyzed at the giant behemoth of fur thundering and hopping toward him.

And you! You watch it happen in slow motion.

The slow dawning horror on the mailman's face as he registers that;

a. that is not a dog

b. that is definitely not a small rabbit

c. that is a beast the size of a Thanksgiving turkey, with the attitude of a bar brawler on a weekend

Bunny lets out a low huff. Unable to bark but somehow the sound echoes menacingly across the street. Gnawing. Mauling. Thumping angrily nearer.

The mailman yelps -- actually yelps -- and stumbles backward off the porch. Dropping the package with a thud.

"Holy shit!", he could only squeak. Scrambling backward across the lawn as Bunny prepares to take a chunk out of his ankle for sport.

It was then that Simon finally steps in, muttering -- “Told ‘em last week not to approach without calling” -- more annoyed at the mailman than at Bunny as he shoos him off of the shivering and confused man crouched protectively on the dirt.

"He's harmless", Simon only starts. Utterly deadpan and bored as Bunny thumps thumps thumps back into his side. Poised and prepared. Menacing and tactical. Observant and unyielding.

The mailman, still pale and wide-eyed starts to stand. Hands dirtied Knees probably bruised and shins scraped. Swallows thickly as his gaze darts between the behemoth of a man in a mask and the rabbit on steroids next to him.

The mailman blinks like he’s just been diagnosed with a new type of PTSD at the sight.

You clap a hand over your mouth to smother a laugh as Simon reaches down and scratches behind Bunny’s ears -- the rabbit immediately softening, practically preening under his touch.

"See?" Simon says with a pat. "Soft as shite."

The mailman, trembling slightly, only nods and smiles wryly as if agreeing will spare his life.

He shoves the battered package into Simon’s chest and books it back to his van, limping slightly, gnawed-shoes crunching over the gravel.

Bunny watches him go, ears sharp, body still.

Simon hums low in his throat, watching too.

"Should put up a sign," he mutters. "Beware of rabbit."

You double over laughing, wheezing.

Bunny, dignified and terrifying as ever, gives a final authoritative thump of his foot -- as if to say:

"Next time, I’m taking more than shoes you little shit"

masterlist

[siamo6con6dio6]

WOAAAAAHHH FUCK I'm running in circles and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

The new music video okay okay let's go

The monks were unmasked ghouls and from the previous lineup we have Dew, Rain, Mountain and Phantom.

For the life of me I couldn't recognize any of the nuns and I think there's a new multi ghoul (The guy at the right of the video).

Papa V looks AMAZING.

I'm weeping. Holy shit they went above and beyond with his costume. So cunty. So bedazzled. An icon, a diva. (The ghouls look great too, Twenties was clear foreshadowing) .

Also;

Is that actually Tobias' face underneath? The hair matches too holy fuck. I'm so stoked because while I loved the full Papa masks we now get to see him emote more, like all the little expression and his lips moving.

I'm so fucking psyched for this.

[hamcatspamacc]

OKAY SO

The last time i tried my hand at analysing poems in high school (jc) was way too fuckin long ago and also i scored like shit on every one but whatever i have free will and i choose to do this and i can be as unprofessional as i like so suck it mdm chitra you aint grading me this time. I actually forgot all my technical terms chat im so cooked.

WAIT IM LOOKING AT THIS HALF WAY IS THIS ABOUT FUCKING POPPY HAM WHAT THE FUCK YOU WROTE A POPPY HAM POEM AND DIDNT TELL ME YOU FUCKING TRAITOR /pos

Okay so anyways from the first uh opening line thingy on each stanza it counds like a command given by a herald or whatever you call those obnoxious little boys who toot the trumpets and announce the king. Like "Heel!" "Heed!" And then "Feast!" Gives like a very dog like command where you sit and stay and then you get a treat which honestly tracks for some king shit haha.

Ive been wracking my mind for the proper rhyme scheme but like what the fuck am i looking at of course you dont pick a normal rhyme scene for me to understand smh... /j im jorkin i love it. And by it i mean my pe-

Okay but jokes aside, THERE IS A RHYME SCHEME I JUST KNOW IT. It looks like ABCBB and then ABBCBDD and then ABBCCDDE???D????/F????!!! (I cant tell if 'arrived' is supposed to rhyme with either 'blind' or 'arrived')(help) I personally can't make sense of this but if i were to -ahem *read in posh british accent please* putteth on mine own bethinking coxcomb... Fuck nevermind

Im looking through iambic meters and shit and my ass DOES NOT get it at all but counting the number of syllables in each stanza it'll be:

Stanza 1 - 1,9,9,11,15

Stanza 2 - 1,14,15,10,13,11,10

Stanza 3 - 1,12,12,16,13,11,12,12,12

And uhhh ive been trying to figure out the meter and the stresses and i think it could possibly be a stressed syllable and then an unstressed one?? Maybe??? It seems that way so im just going to clench my arsecheeks and go with that. But the very Da dum pattern that sounds like a war drum with a steady beat from this meter feels like a very surging, difficult journey, with Poppy Ham battling their way through and through and through once again with no rest nor respite, only the reverberations of war sounding out all around. They take one resolute step at a time after resolute step, aiming for victory, for the end of this wretched war with no end in sight.

Like even the lack of commas or full stops all through out the poem feels like a race, running until your breath gives way but yet, you must keep going, for that is the law, for that is your duty. Like when i was reading this i felt like Johnathan Sims reading a statement in a good way. Like i was compelled to keep going on and the lines just kept getting longer and longer and longer just like how the war just seems to stretch forever on into the endless horizon.

Also the poem has 5-7-9 lines in each stanza which is NOT remotely close to a Haiku or anything that I know of but it could be blank verse??? Because its not free verse in the way that it doesn't rhyme at all but also there's either no strong pattern or i dont have the technical knowledge to spot it. But anyways the fact that the number of lines are growing in each stanza could allude to Poppy Ham's rise to becoming king, from a soldier to a war mongerer and through much bloodshed, rise to the throne.

Oh my god okay ill get to the actual poem itself haha.

For the first stanza, what i think it means is that i mean the poem is literally titled "The arrival of the Red king" which the second line "For the crimson has come upon ye" reiterates. But basically this is like an introduction to Poppy Ham and the persona (is that what we call the speaker again???) whatever im giving the speaker a name you're the Herald now. But they're telling those reading this or listening to this who are fighting within the war to bow down to "Heel!" and to literally offer their souls up to Poppy Ham because they're the main fighting force of this whole war. Poppy Ham has "offered theirs" to the war and "embraced the spirit of many", taking on burden upon burden of many lives hinging on their efforts in leading the war so it should be fair that the people they're fighting for give theirs in return for Poppy Ham's "immortal enmity", in which this fight will never see the dawn break while they continue to stand strong and ravage their enemies.

Also after the first stanza the 'ye's turn into 'you's which I'm not sure if it means anything. There is a contstant breaking between the old english terms of referring to others like "thee" or "thine" that reverts back to stuff like "your" and it feels very jarring, as if the time period is all middled up in this unending, flaming war. It's been going on for so long that it causes the supposedly linear period of time to warp and fold in upon itself.

The next stanza starts off with listing "incense, nectar or the blood" of the people's lives, their pasts, their legacy. These seem like offerings, like sacrifices to fuel Poppy Ham's war conquest, to increase their powers while they just beat down smack down anyone in their path. Their enemies are labelled as "mortal" as compared to Poppy Ham themselves - who seem to run solely on "immortal enmity"- and their faces can be forgotten by the steadfast marching of time. They will fade in time but Poppy Ham will burn eternally in the fury of war. The line "Cowed the divine host whose gods beg for magnanimity" and the fact that "gods" is not capitalised could point towards false gods, gods who are not gods, who are powerless over Poppy Ham's slaughter. They "beg for magnanimity" but Poppy Ham does not, will not heed their pleas. Even though their conquest stains the floor permenantly Red, they will not stop until every. Single. One. Is dead and has returned from the soil that they came from. Only then they will rest. Even if their enemies beg, scream, pray for mercy, they will find none at the bloodied hands of the Red king, for they were not given that same mercy. For none of their people were given that same mercy. It is only fair. It is only fair that they recieve the same pain back tenfold, hundredfold even.

The last stanza with the opening line "Feast!" We get the Herald referring to themselves in first person, "pledg(ing) (their) allegiance" (yes i know im quoting this wrong but theres no fucking teacher here so i get to do whatever i want) to Poppy Ham, fearfully and faintly "beg for mercy", as if that would help to spare them of any of the bloodshed. News flash, no it won't, you're fucked from the get go. Everything is in shambles, the city is ruined, the torn banners flap in the harsh unyeilding wind, the flames rage on, the sky is tainted black by the smoke, but yet, Poppy Ham stands atop the piles of corpses that leads their path towards glorious triumph. Poppy Ham is "charged with holy valour and irrefutable sin", two contrasting values that can co-exist, Poppy Ham is leading a almost divine-like charge however the sheer number of bodies that lie in their wake blackens their soul with sin. Is this trade-off really all that worth it? Is it worth letting your kingdom and your people fall in the hundreds just for a title, just for a medal, just for the hollow echoing of victory? The "Noble soul drank liquor from the flesh from their own kin" as i was just talking about, to so desperately win in a "godly-ordained" battle, Poppy Ham sacrifices their own people, whatever pawns they can lay their hands on. They are drunk on bloodlust derived from the agony and the suffering of their own people. And the Herald, who is already enthralled by Poppy Ham's painful radiance, encouragees, commands the remainder to "surrender (their) souls" and tremble in the "face of the divine" (which i think could be Poppy Ham here because they're being constantly described as a holy, paladin-like figure that only serves to perpectuate more bloodshed)(man ive used bloodshed lots of times here). It is all for the sake of a holy war. It is righteous.

The final line then promotes Poppy Ham from a mere soldier to a king, who brings forth a new dawn, a blessed era of "peace", of seas forever marked with the crimson footfalls of the Red King. The fact that none of their titles are capitalised, however, shows a lack of respect, perhaps becauce they don't deserve those titles, because they aren't actually the righteous hand of glory who promotes a better life, but much rather, a ruthless rending of skin from flesh from bone from soul. The Red King has arrived. And you should bow. And you should cower. And you should throw yourself into the jaws of the beast.

Anyways also I have SUCH vivid imagery that Poppy Ham is standing upon a burning, flaming pile of corpses and weapons and debris and the sun starts to rise and hits their face and it forms a sun halo around their head, "crowning" them as their cape flutters in the wind. And they turn around and their eyes are completely red, they show no emotion, only a single-minded focus.

Also another thing, that the background being black on white gives a very abyssal feeling to the whole poem, its pitch black, its dark, and you can't begin to see the light. I went to go put it in kirita to check if the words or the background are slightly tinted red, which they aren't but that could mean that Poppy Ham's influence doesn't run through this poem, that they're stuck in their eternal, bloody war. That whoever's reading this is "safe". That you can take a look and shudder and just ignore it because it doesn't affect you in the long run. Perhaps. I'm speculating haha.

So, at the end of it all, what is this war for? What drives Poppy Ham to the vestibules of mindless slaughter and burning bodies? (Funnily, I'm the one writing Poppy Ham so like I should be asking myself that question whoppsiee)(im just being pretentious and rethorical here) Furthermore, will there ever be an end? Will they be able to stop, even when the fires diminish and the corpses are reclaimed by the earth?

An even less professional gushing is under the cut (holy hell this got so long)

BUT FUCK DUDE THIS IS AMAZING I COULD KISS YOU GNSJFWBJAVD cmere pookie~ BUT I REALLY LOVE HOW YOU PUT POPPY HAM AS THIS DIVINE ALMOST RADIANT FIGURE OF A HOLY WAR??!!! LIKE SHITEEEEE THAT INVOKES SUCH STRONG IMAGERY AND FEELINGS GHEBDHS

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I AM ROLLING AROUND ON THE FLOOR VJSHDHAKR I HOPE I DIDNT BUTCHER THE ENTIRE MEANING OF THE POEM YOU WROTE BUT LIKE I APPRECIATE THIS SO SO MUCH??!!!! ITS BLOODY AND VISCERAL AND RUTHLESS AND I LOVE THIS PORTRAYAL OF POPPY HAM THIS IS FUCKING CANON NOW

DO YOU KNOW HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS TO ME??!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW IMPORTANT YOU ARE TO ME??!! HOLY FUCK DUDE I AM GOING TO EAT THIS POEM ITS MINE NOW HAHAHAHAHA

The arrival of the red king

for @hamcatburger when they wake up tomorrow (time difference skill issue) for all your support and your amazing art.

[simplyhughes]

A Hughes Summer: The Arrival

Synopsis: A Hughes Summer is an ongoing series about a HughesSister!Reader x Connor Bedard! This will follow multiple scenarios of their summer together spent at the infamous Hughes Lake House! If there are any specific scenarios you’d like to see, please let me know! Thanks for reading!

Content Warning: none!

Pairing: Connor Bedard x Hughes!Reader

Part One

wc: 1k

Navigating dating the best rookie in the league while being surrounded by three brothers, all notable players themselves has been extremely chaotic, to say the least. Hockey has permeated all corners of my life, not that I necessarily mind, but being born into a hockey family has definitely altered my taste in men. Connor, my boyfriend, and my trio of brothers have clashed on the ice before, obscured by layers of gear, battling fiercely for the puck. But today marks the moment of formal introduction, and I can't deny the flutter of nerves within me. My brothers are intense; Quinn has this odd maternal instinct toward me, Jack is just downright wild... and with Luke, I'm actually not too concerned, as long as I keep him supplied with a snack to gnaw on.

As the 2024 hockey season drew to a close, Connor and I made the spontaneous decision to embark on a road trip from Chicago to Michigan, where I planned to introduce him to the beloved Hughes summer lake house tradition. Every summer for as long as I can remember, my family has spent the majority of the summer in Michigan, lounging at the lake house. With every mile closer to our destination, my heart quickened its pace, anticipation mingled with nerves as the moment of collision between my two worlds drew near. Yet, amidst my own jitters, I couldn't help but notice the anxiety radiating from the driver's seat beside me, where Connor sat, his nerves seemingly even more pronounced than mine.

It seemed like he was on a timer; every couple of minutes, he dragged his palms against his thighs, wiping his sweat to keep his grip on the wheel. In between that, he’d run his hands through his hair and check his reflection in the rearview mirror. After watching him do this a few times, I couldn't help but chuckle. Connor glanced over at me before turning back to the road and smiled. “What?” he chuckled back at me.

“You are just cute, that's all,” I replied, still with a smile plastered on my face.

“Oh yeah?”

“For Sure”

The car fell into silence for a minute. It was a comfortable silence, but you couldn't help but feel bad that he was nervous. “Connie, they are gonna love you. I promise.”

“I really hope so, y/n.”

“I know they don't know you yet, but I do know they already admire your skill and drive. But they are gonna love you, promise.”

Connor looked at me, his eyes softened and gave me his signature lopsided smile. I stretched my arm out to the car's console and turned up the radio's volume.

The car rumbled along the graveled, mud-plastered driveway, flanked by towering trees that resembled skyscrapers, the only resemblance to the city we had just departed. Finally, the vehicle came to a halt. Connor shifted the gear to park and wiped his palms once more. He unbuckled his seatbelt, popped the trunk, and went to retrieve some of our luggage from the back. Before handling our belongings, Connor opened my door and offered me a hand. I grasped his hand, stepping out of the car.

“Thank you, Con. Chivalry isn't dead, I suppose. But you gotta do something about the sweat, baby,” I teased.

His eyes rolled, and he bumped me jokingly with his hip. Together, we made our way to the trunk. As I started to gather my things, Connor swiftly snatched the bags from me.

“Hey!” I yelped.

“Chivalry,” he smirked.

Connor, busy with all the bags, let out a huff as he unloaded his arms on the front porch. I rammed my finger into the doorbell multiple times, rapid-fire style, just to annoy my brothers.

“HOLY SHIT MAKE IT STOP!” I heard one of my brothers yell, muffled by the walls. The door swung open revealing the shortest of the three brothers. “QUINNIFER!” I shouted, jumping into his arms. “Hey, Peanut!” he shouted back. We shuffled back into the house where I was then greeted by the other two. After almost being squeezed to death, the attention shifted to the awkward blonde standing alongside the bags. I cleared my throat, “Guys, this is Connor!”

“Hey man, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Quinn said, giving him a handshake. Luke followed suit while Jack just stayed back. The middle brother narrowed his eyes, watching his other brothers greet the new guy. “Jack quit being a dickhead and say hello.

“I’m just busting his chops y/n, don't worry,” Jack smirked. “What's up?” He finally spoke, shaking Connor's hand.

“Quinny, can you please handle our bags while I give Connor the grand tour?”

“Whatever, anything for my favorite sibling,” he replied, immediately getting hassled by the other two.

I managed to grab Connor's hand and sneak him around the brawl leading him into the living room. His eyes trailed along the pictures that decorated the mantle; pictures that told the Hughes’ past summers, the quilt that was draped against the couch; the quilt that was ripped and resewn back together, it held too many memories to throw out. He soaked in the room, observing all the details laid before him. I plopped down onto the couch, also soaking everything in. “What do ya think?” I questioned.

“I think that you were adorable,” Connor gushed while picking up a framed picture from almost 14 years ago. He looked it over for another minute, then put it back down in its spot. I smiled watching Connor, seeing him in this house that meant so much to me. He fit in so perfectly, it’s like he's been here all this time. My smile only grew thinking about the events this summer longs to unfold, how this will be his first summer in Michigan with many more to follow.

[emmyrosee]

this is an actual thing that happened to me and my poor friend like, an hour ago lmao

——

It’s been raining for three weeks straight.

On the list of things that make Katsuki angry, rain is high, high up on that list, above most people and most things. Rain feels useless to Katsuki, does nothing but make things wet and gross, and he’ll never forgive the rain for drowning his plants as a kid.

Rain makes him a certain degree of agitated.

You, on the other hand?

“Baby, look! It’s raining!” You beam.

You like it. Freak.

The forecast had no called for rain, nor had his phone given any warnings, but as he paid the bill for lunch, seemingly as soon as the waiter took his card, the rain poured to godlike fury.

Phenomenal.

There’s nothing he loves more on his one Saturday off a month than sprinting through monsoon season in worn down sneakers and your feet padding behind him. There’s nothing he finds more euphoria in than opening the passenger side door for you and feeling the squish of a puddle in his shoe.

And he absolutely, completely, totally understands how on the gods’ decaying, rotten earth, why you enjoy this so much.

At this point, all Katsuki wanted to do was go home, curl up in a ball with you close by and nap all the frustration and cold rain away for the next few hours-

“LOOK OUT!” You scream, and instantly, Katsuki slams on his brakes, nearly flinging you both out the window. His face paled in panic before coming back in a complete anger.

“What the fuck was that!”

“Look!” You whimper, pointing out past the windshield with a worried pout. He squints as best as he can past the pouring rain, to no avail. You groan next to him and quickly leap out of the car to chase whatever you seem to see, making him snarl a firm ‘GET BACK HERE,’ through his teeth. You put your hands on your knees as you look down at the pavement, and he looks around for a oncoming car that you seem to ignore remembering that you’re in the middle of the goddamned road.

“Are you fucking insane?!” He snaps, opening his own car door and getting out to chase you. “You’re going to get sick, and I’m not going to take care of you.”

You pout up at him before fixing your gaze back down at the road, “you were gonna hit him.”

“Hit who?”

“The turtle,” you whine, fixing the hood of Katsuki’s sweater on your head to keep the rain off your face. With a furrowed brow, Katsuki does finally look down to see a small turtle settled in the road, blinking its slimy eyes softly as if half exasperated as Katsuki is.

He sighs in exhaustion, “you made me get out of my car, in the pouring rain, bordering fucking hail, to look at a snapping turtle?” His hands smack his face and scrub it in frustration, “this can’t be my life. There no way.”

“Can we save him?” You ask quietly, clearly very upset by the idea of this little creature being squashed.

“How do you- what- NO!” He snaps, mercilessly. You whimper softly before falling to your knees, water squishing under the bones. He’s got to admit, you do look very sad, but it’s 45 degrees outside and holy crap he’s gonna freeze out here and it’s your fault.

He hears you sigh from under his hoodie, and you reach out to touch the small turtle, only retracting your hand when it lurches out to snap at you.

“See? Why do you want to save this little shit?”

You scoff, “he’s just scared, it’s not his fault.”

“Yeah, snap at you again and I’ll give him something to be scared about.”

This, you give him a small laugh at, and he does sobsr up slightly. Your head turns up to look at him, rain hitting your face and lip still in a small pout. “Please, help me save him, Katsuki?”

Fucking god.

He growls softly, “how do you want me to save him? He’s a snapping turtle, can’t just lift his ass up.” You gnaw softly at your lip before looking back at the small turtle now receding into its shell in fright.

Then, you brighten, “just go home and get a shovel!”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not fucking going home, digging a shovel out of the garage, coming back and moving a turtle six feet to the other side of the road. You’re insane- he’ll be fucking fine, babe, let’s just go home.”

“I don’t want to leave him,” you say softly. “I’ll stay here, and if he moves, I’ll call you and walk home-“

“Are you fucking high? I’m not leaving you here, dumbass.”

Looking back up at him, you give him a cocky shrug, “guess you’re picking up the turtle with your hands.”

He could throttle you. Right here, in the middle of the road, right now.

With his patience running thin, and clothes soaked and heavy, he snarls softly before stomping back to the car, whipping out a small blanket he usually keeps for you when you fall asleep. He wraps it in his hands before stepping back over to you and the turtle, scooping the small reptile in his hands and grumbling as he walks it over to the sidewalk, placing blanket and all on the concrete. The turtle squirms and writhes, but once it’s placed on the sidewalk, it quickly scuttles into the mud and grass and far from the road. In the background, you’re cheering and clapping your wet hands, and he’s choosing to ignore you.

He grits his teeth and turns to you, “car. Now.”

“What about the blanket-“

“Car. Now.”

You’re still smiling as you round back to the passenger side of the car, and he hates knowing that you know he’s not completely mad, more talk than anything else.

Little rat.

He get into the driver side of the car and blasts the heat in a meek attempt to get warm, his temples pounding and heart more than ready to just get the hell home.

But his thoughts come to a halt when your arms toss around his shoulders over the center console and kiss all along his neck and cheek and temple.

“My hero,” you coo, pecking softly. “Saving everyone and everything for me. You’re the best ever. My handsome and brave hero.”

“Sit down,” he grumbles, trying to fight the warmth in his face. You ignore him, continuing to hum out praises and loving words as he drives you both home, knowing full well that you both know he’s weak to your pleas and requests and it’s going to be far from the last time he does something like this for you.

Freak.

[lady-forest-1142]

hiii I'm reposting my review of cordelia's honor here from my goodreads bc I need more ppl to share in my obsession dammit! (also if I've misspelled any names have pity on me, I read this on audio)

an instant favorite? an instant favorite that I read on audiobook?? in this economy??? unequivocally, yes. holy fuck. this had everything. large cast of compelling characters, fast-paced plot, romance, explorations of war and violence and power and motherhood and disability and morality, tight writing, dry humor - the works. I wish Barrayar had been six hours longer. I need to start the next book immediately. I don't know that I can do it justice in a review.

Shards of Honor: okay, after all that gushing this was only ("only") a 4.5. we've got a survival story, a galactic war, a psychological thriller, and a romance all combined, and the plot shifted tones and focuses just a little too much for me (plus I'll admit the space battle parts lost me a bit). we're following cordelia naismith, a research officer on assignment on a (unbeknownst to her) politically-advantageous planet. cordelia's base is ambushed by a mutineering band of barrayaran soldiers, the enemies of her people of beta colony, and she finds herself stranded on the planet with the notorious barrayaran admiral aral vorkosigan. the plot escalates in leaps and bounds from there - to outline anything more would be a spoiler. needless to say, cordelia and aral fall in love, against a backdrop of the aforementioned mutiny, a war, a scheming emperor on his deathbed, and a masochistic officer. cordelia is a soldier, a captain, a captive, a prisoner of war, a psychic patient, and a lady in the course of 336 pages. and I love her. she's an absolute badass, she's deeply compassionate, she isn't afraid to call anyone (particularly aral) on their shit, she's reckless. she waterboards someone in a fish tank. she utters possible the most metal romantic line I've ever heard ("when he's cut, I bleed"). I want to be her when I grow up. aral falls sickeningly in love with her - he literally admits that he first got a crush on her upon seeing her throwing up in a creek and proposes marriage to her after less than two weeks. he's also a (CANONICAL) disaster bisexual whose idea of therapy is getting drunk in hideous hawaiian shirts with sentimental value and he has a sadistic murdering ex-boyfriend. actually this is a great book to read as a bisexual. I want to be their third so bad.

Barrayar: yeah this is the book that sealed the brainrot for me. political intrigue, a fancy-dress ball, assassination attempts, high emotional stakes, cordelia being the only rational person in the room 80% of the time, the BEST side characters, all escalating to a civil war that, naturally, involves cordelia beheading people? sign me the fuck up. I'm not gonna talk about cordelia and aral again save that I love them even when aral is being a moron with a horrible father. he doesn't rly deserve cordelia and he knows it. ok. now. koudelka is my babygirl and can literally do no wrong, okay? even though he is a moron of the absolute highest order who needs to be slapped approximately every 50 pages (cordelia usually takes care of it). (actually all the men in this book are morons and the women are perfect. no wonder I like it!) hottest man to carry a walking stick / sword since jem carstairs. droushnakovi my QUEEN, idolizes cordelia (as she should) bc barrayaran society is stupid and misogynist and she's never seen a female soldier before, deserves every good thing in the world (first and foremost a briefing on feminism). bothari....I am clenching my fist in emotion. when we are talking of COMPLEX MORALLY GRAY MEN....look no further. when he calls himself cordelia's pet dog???? gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. he is FAR from perfect and I'd probably want to be at least 500 meters away from him irl but GOD does he get in my FEELINGS. plus also girl dad, so we have to cheer. ohhh my god and I haven't even gotten into the politics and social structure of barrayar and how it is so similar to our own and how cordelia is in the perfect position to critique it bc beta colony is suuuper different and way more advanced, and critique it she does. the conversations about motherhood and the expectation that mothers carry their children to term biologically even when technology exists elsewhere in the galaxy to literally replace and replicate a uterus? actually every single discussion about motherhood and social expectations on barrayar vs beta colony. frighteningly prescient for a book published in 1991!! ALSO the conversations on disability and the validity of disabled life that I am sure will only continue?? (count piotr can go kick rocks btw). can you tell this is my favorite book of the year yet?? jesus christ. I need the next one immediately.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Been in a chomping gnawing kind of Mood™️ lately for some reason so I’m now writing a nieyao-centric 3zun modern-with-cultivation AU where nieyao keep having what they think are wet dreams about each other (but it’s more like the incense burner scenes [I think??? Never read them] where they’re both dreaming but definitely There For Real) that get progressively more and more desperate/feral/gory every night, but they’re both still so into it even when it starts crossing boundaries of what’s even physically possible to do/survive that when they learn the truth (that they were dreams but they were also Very Real) they have to confront the sudden ‘holy shit I accidentally showed him everything, all the bloodthirsty desperate animal parts of me because I thought he didn’t know, but he didn’t know either so he just gave it all right back to me with just as much pleasure as I got???’

And Lan Xichen watches them have this realization as an outside observer in real time like: 😳 (<- trying to telepathically shout that he’s a freak too and would like to get in on some of that bloody feral dream sex where sometimes an orgasm actually also means dying at his lovers’ hands too, please)

I just hope I can actually finish it and not get too bored with the bits in between the NieYao scenes to stop writing it halfway lol