#i got a little hot writing this

[guardioland]

Pep Guardiola/Reader Smut

I'd never considered myself as the type of girl who would follow a guy to his work, but then again, I'd never been in a relationship with someone like Phil Foden either. He was my best friend, my first kiss, my first love... but he just couldn't seem to get it right in bed. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy it, but there was always something missing, something that left me wanting more. And it wasn't like I hadn't tried to tell him how I felt, to explain what I needed, but he just couldn't seem to understand.

So there I was, tailing him to the Man City training grounds, my heart pounding in my chest as I watched him walk towards the entrance. I knew this was a huge mistake, that I should just turn around and go home, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I wanted answers, I needed to know why he couldn't make me feel complete.

As I followed him through the hallways of the training complex, my nerves on edge, I suddenly found myself in the presence of none other than Pep Guardiola himself. He was deep in conversation with Phil, his voice low and intense, but I couldn't help but feel like I was intruding on something private. I tried to make my way past them unnoticed, but to my horror, Pep caught sight of me. His piercing blue eyes fixed on me, and for a moment, I felt like I was caught in a web.

"Excuse me," I stammered, my heart pounding in my chest. "I didn't mean to intrude."

Pep Guardiola regarded me coolly, his expression unreadable. "You're with Foden, yes?" he asked, his accent thick and almost musical. I nodded, feeling a strange mix of fear and embarrassment wash over me. "Then you must have something important to say."

He motioned for me to follow him into a nearby empty office. My heart raced as I did as he asked, wondering what he could possibly want with me. As soon as the door closed behind us, he spun me around, pinning me against the wall. His grip was surprisingly firm, and I could feel the heat emanating from his body. "You have something to say to me, yes?" he hissed in my ear.

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "I-I just wanted to tell you that I think Phil could be a better player. He's got so much potential, but he just can't seem to reach it." I glanced up at him, hoping that maybe he'd understand what I was trying to say.

But Pep didn't seem interested in my words. Instead, his eyes raked over my body, and a dark, predatory look came into his eyes. "And what is it that you want from him?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "What do you need?"

I felt my cheeks flush with shame and anger. "I-I just want to be satisfied," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "In bed, I mean. It's not about the sex, it's about the connection. I want to feel like he cares about me as much as I care about him."

Pep's expression darkened even further, and suddenly, his hands were all over me. He roughly pushed me down onto the desk, pinning my arms above my head, and before I could even process what was happening, he was ripping my clothes off of me. "You want to feel connected?" he growled in my ear. "You want him to care about you?"

His touch was brutal and possessive, his fingers digging into my skin as he roughly caressed my breasts, sucking and nipping at my nipples until they were hard and aching. He roughly pulled my underwear aside, and before I could even think about resisting, he was thrusting his fingers into me, filling me up, claiming me.

My body arched off the desk, crying out in pleasure as his touch sent waves of heat coursing through me. He growled in satisfaction, his fingers moving faster, harder, his breath hot against my neck. I felt a strange sense of power and control over him, and it only seemed to fuel his desire.

He pulled his fingers free and roughly positioned himself between my legs, his erection straining against his pants. Without any preamble, he thrust into me, burying himself to the hilt with a groan. The sensation was overwhelming, intense, but it felt right. It felt like he was finally giving me what I needed.

Pep's movements were savage and primal, his body slamming into mine in perfect rhythm. His breath came in ragged gasps as he looked down at me, his eyes burning with a fierce desire. "You want to be satisfied?" he growled, his words hot against my skin. "You want him to care about you?"

I could feel the strength in his body, the power that came from years of dominating the field. He was in control, and I was helpless to resist. My own breath came faster and faster as he continued to thrust into me, the sensation building inside me, threatening to break free in a wave of pure ecstasy.

His movements grew even more frenzied, his grip on my hips nearly bruising. I arched my back, meeting his thrusts with my own, our bodies moving together in perfect harmony. The air in the room seemed to crackle with energy, with the raw desire that bound us together.

As I felt the first tremors of my impending orgasm building deep within me, Pep slowed his pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stared down at me with an intensity that made my heart race. "That's it," he growled, his voice rough and demanding. "Let it out."

His words were like a trigger, and with a shuddering cry, I came, my body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. He followed suit, his body tense and rigid as he thrust one final time, his cries echoing in the room as he released himself deep inside me.

For a moment, we were both still, our bodies pressed tightly together, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. Then, slowly, Pep pulled out of me, his eyes never leaving mine. He reached down and roughly wiped some sweat from my forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"There," he said, his voice hoarse. "That's what you needed.

[carebeardean]

Charles has always left Edwin little notes slipped between the pages of his favorite books, in his science equipment, places he knows Edwin loves. Just silly things—post its that say “hi Edwin :)”. doodles of Edwin with his nose stuck in a book. reminders to stock up on wolfsbane. but.

Then, post canon, Edwin tentatively starts dating people. And it’s ridiculous, because Edwin’s right there, all the time, but Charles..misses him a bit. And his heads a mess, and he can’t sort out what the hell he’s feeling most of the time, and whenever he tries to say any of it out loud it comes out rubbish.

So. He writes down some of the shit he can’t say right, and because he’s a coward, hides them so he doesn’t have to see Edwin’s face when he reads them.

then Edwin starts writing back.

Neat lilac blue little envelopes appear in Charles coat pockets. In his bag. Once, in his shoe? Some nights, Edwin will clear his throat and mention something from a letter, offhand, like they’re just picking up conversation, and Charles can pretend they are. That they always have talked about the basement, the belt, the nameless fear that chokes him every time Edwin walks out the door with someone else on his arm.

Sometimes he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat. Edwin’s not mad, he’s maddeningly, stubbornly kind about it, which is worse.

Some nights they trade. A secret for a secret. Charles learns about the novels Edwin used to hide under his mattress, about all the lonely years before Charles got there. About Simon.

Meanwhile, Edwin is losing his mind, because Charles has accidentally stumbled onto what was a fucking courting ritual in his time. Love letters were something engaged couples treasured for years, kept and reread over and over. (Edwin does. keep them in a special box, will take one out and trace the words, tuck it in his breast pocket for courage).

Edwin would rather have to reattach a limb again than lose Charles trust, all the dark and beautiful things he shares with Edwin only. He knows—knows Charles doesn’t mean to make him fall more in love with him.

[lazylittledragon]

Your novel excerpts are incredible and I would love to see more. The warmth and care you put into it shines through and I just want more of it!

On a side note, incredibly unfair that you can draw AND write so masterfully. A true power house, haha.

aaAAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH :'DDD

as a treat you can have some more akdffd

if the main plot is 'Fantasy Murder Mystery' then the biggest subplot is probably 'Snow is Not Doing Well'

[harbingersglory]

hii could i req an soft dom arlecchino x sub/fem reader?? something w a really needy whiny reader n maybe like a mommy kink or thigh riding IDK tysm for ur time !

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader {☆} warnings 18+ content

"Slowly, doll. We're not in a rush." Arlecchino reprimands lightly, squeezing your hips with just enough force to keep you unmoving on her thigh– she was still being gentle, but the subtle warning in her tone spoke to how easily she could push you against the desk and turn you into such a mess that you couldn't even remember your own name..just that you were hers.

But the barest hint of stimulation from her slacks pressed against your throbbing cunt had you twitching, barely able to form words. All you could think about was the scorching, twisting need building in your stomach, desperation for relief slowly climbing until you'd think she was doing this on purpose to drive you mad.

"Please– 'm a good girl, right? I've been good.." You choked out, only to be met with the rough, husky laugh echoing in your ear that made you feel dizzy with a rush of need, her nails gliding along the skin of your hips as she pressed you down even more firmly– you couldn't see her face but it was easy to imagine the crooked smile twisting her lips at the way you inhaled sharply and tried to buck against her thigh.

"Shh. I know, doll. I've got you, just relax." She murmured in that sickly sweet tone that always had your knees buckling, the raspiness of her voice sending shivers down your spine. It was almost impossible to relax with her so close, the notes of metal lingering on her skin despite how well she presents herself– but you trusted her, despite how you know you shouldn't.

"There we go. Good girl." Arlecchino's grip on your hips loosened just enough for you to move if you so wished, and oh did it take every ounce of restraint to not do just that..she hadn't said you were allowed to, and you weren't about to spoil her good mood by being a brat. Not tonight, anyway. "Do you want to cum, doll?"

The fervent nod you offer in place of words draws a laugh from her lips, one that is almost mocking, making your face flush in embarrassment– but the sudden tap against your hip makes your mind go blank to the point you forget it all together, focused only on the feeling of her thigh rubbing against your cunt as you bucked against her thigh, the fabric slick and wet against your inner thighs. You'd have half the heart to be embarrassed about that, too, if not for the sudden brush of her thumb against your aching, neglected clit. Just that small touch has you speeding up your movements, practically drooling as you whimpered like a dog in heat.

"That's more like it, doll. Such a pretty girl." Arlecchino hummed, her other hand trailing up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and ghosting across your throat before settling on grabbing your jaw in a firm, yet almost tender touch as she tilted your head to the side just enough for her to pull you into a burning kiss. It left you lightheaded, grinding down against her thigh as she claimed your mouth as her own, her thumb still ghosting over your clit sporadically.

She'd spent so long teasing you, constantly touching you but never where you needed her, that you already felt like you were going to snap like a wire. She must've been in a really good mood, then, when she pulled away from the kiss with an almost predatory lick of her lips, yet she settled on pressing kisses to your skin rather then the usual sharp bite of her teeth as they sunk into the curve of your shoulder.

"Are you close? Go on. I want to see your face when you cum– you look the prettiest when you finally break apart, doll." Arlecchino mused idly– as if she wasn't talking to you while you continued to rub your aching cunt against her thigh, chasing your own release through shaky, strained breaths. Her thumb swiped over your lips, brushing strands of hair stuck to your skin from your face– at the same time as she swiped her thumb more firmly against your clit, creating a vicious contrast that had you both melting at the barest hint of almost softness from her and the touch of her hand between your legs, dragging you into an orgasm that leaves you trembling and, had she not shoved her fingers into your mouth, screaming, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

"All done, little doll. Take it easy." She murmured, voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it, thumb swiping across your cheek to wipe away the stray tear, her hands pulling away to settle on your sides. "You did well– good girl. Let me take it from here."

[exoticlittlebird]

Having Sambastian thoughts… It’s Sam’s birthday and Sebastian has (foolishly) agreed to do whatever Sam wants that day, anything at all. Sam says all he wants to do is hang out in the city with Seb. So they do.

After a cheap dinner and a bit of bar hopping they wander down a lively side street with neon lights and house music reverberating all around them. They come up to a dance club packed with people and stragglers filing in and out, everyone swaying to the heavy bass and giving off such good vibes that Sam plants his heels and grabs Sebastian’s arm with both hands, excitedly pleading they go inside. Sebastian slurs out an “Absolutely not,” but Sam hits him with his best puppy dog eyes, reminding Seb that it’s his birthday and he said he would do whatever Sam wanted.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and gives an overly-dramatic groan before caving and Sam beams as he links their fingers together and drags Seb through the door and into the crowd.

Sam leads them straight to the dance floor, neither of them needing more drinks as they’re already a bit wobbly on their feet and maybe too loose with their tongues.

“Dance with me,” Sam breathes hot in Sebastian’s ear, and he can feel Sam’s smile on his cheek as they bump into the other sweaty bodies around them. Sebastian hates this whole scenario more than anything, except for the part where Sam is two inches in front of him laughing and smiling and looking more relaxed than he can remember in recent months. Sebastian reluctantly moves to the music, his usual inhibitions significantly lowered by the alcohol (and he might even be slightly enjoying himself, but will never admit it).

Sam’s hands find their way to Sebastian’s body, lightly skimming over his hips, waist, and arms. Sebastian finds himself unconsciously mirroring him, and suddenly the tip of Sam’s nose is grazing his.

They’ve never been this close before. Maybe in Sebastian’s late night fantasies, but certainly never in real life. It’s another log thrown onto the fire that’s been building between them lately. Sam had been sitting closer and closer to Sebastian when they watched movies or lazed around by the mountain lake on hot summer days like today. His hand would graze Sebastian’s or would linger on Sebastian’s leg a second too long, and then another second longer each time. And Sebastian knows Sam has caught him staring too many times to count, and must have noticed that when Sebastian ruffles Sam’s hair to mess it up he does so much more gently lately, almost caressing the blond locks as he cards his fingers through them.

Sebastian looks at Sam, sees his pupils blown wide and the beads of sweat sticking to the sides of his forehead. He sees Sam panting lightly but can’t hear it over the music, can’t hear very much at all really. Sam’s eyes stare into Sebastian’s, and even though Sebastian blinks a few times he swears he sees Sam’s gaze flit down to his mouth before returning up.

Sam’s hands settle on Sebastian’s hips and Sebastian loosely curls his into the fabric of Sam’s tshirt. They stare and sway faintly to the music and it feels like a thousand degrees in this tiny no-name club and a part of Sebastian wants to claw his way out of the hot sticky crowd but a stronger part is holding him to the floor and leaning him closer and closer into Sam like a magnet until-

The fingers on Sebastian’s hips squeeze slightly and the hands on Sam’s shirt ball into fists. Their mouths melt together in a mess of hot breathes and swallowed moans. Their tongues meet and Sam lets out a small gasp and Sebastian’s knees almost buckle. When they finally separate, both breathing heavily, Sam searches Sebastian’s eyes. He must find something he likes, because his mouth turns up in a teasing grin and he walks backward, pulling Sebastian deeper into the club. Sebastian follows easily. He promised he would do anything for Sam, after all.

[sixlane]

the bridge

jegulus microfic | just a few words | i only read this over like. twice. so um. hope you like it.

“Noooo, no no no Reg this is not happening,” James said, clinging to the railing of the pedestrian bridge.

“This will be fun,” Regulus had said, “amazing views,” he’d advertised. And now here James was, a million or whatever feet in the air over rushing rapids, his head spinning and his palms sweaty.

“James you can’t wimp out now. We’re already halfway across.” Regulus gestured toward the other end of the bridge where the rest of their tour group was waiting for them.

“Regulus, baby, I love you so much but there is no way I will make it over there. Just leave me here to die.” Maybe he was being dramatic, but it truly felt like the bridge would collapse with even the slightest movement.

“I’m not leaving you to die on our honeymoon. I think that would probably ruin the mood,” Regulus said with an eye roll. “Okay how about this. Just close your eyes. I’ll hold your hand and guide you the rest of the way.”

James started to shake his head. “I don’t know—“

“I’ve got you, James. It’ll be okay. Just me and you.”

And in that moment, looking into the eyes of the man he loved so deeply, so complexly, and so completely, James knew it was true. He would always have Regulus to guide him. His own personal north star.

“Okay,” James said, “Just me and you.”

As he took Regulus’ hand, even though they were 50 stories up, James had never felt more grounded.

[impossiblepluto]

Jack strolls into the house, heading immediately for the kitchen, and continuing the animated conversation that occupied the entire drive over. That he was alone in the car and upon entrance has gained an audience doesn't break his stride-- pace or verbal deluge. Mac's a smart guy, he'll pick up the topic and register his opinions-

Within the depths of the fridge, Jack stops short, bumping the back of his head as he quickly backs up, straightening, and staring intently into the living room.

Sitting on the sofa, Mac stares back. 

Jack crosses his arms as the refrigerator door swings closed. "What's wrong?"

Mac's gaze darts around the room as though searching for whatever raised Jack's hackles, before returning to Jack. "What do you mean?"

"Something's wrong." Jack takes a step toward the living room. He too scans the room, though his stare is slower, piercing and precise before lingering on Mac. 

"Something's wrong?" Mac repeats with an air of skepticism.

"Yeah. Why are you repeating me?"

Mac scoffs. "I'm not repeating you." Before Jack can retort, Mac shakes his head and continues. "I'm trying to figure out how you can walk in here, distracted by an argument you were waging against yourself, yet still apparently losing, barely look around and declare that something is wrong.” 

"Oh ho,” Jack leans a shoulder against the wall. “You are good."

"I'm good? Wait. No. I'm still not repeating." Mac squeezes the bridge of his nose. "I am just sitting here."

"Yeah,” Jack’s brow furrows. He straightens, feeling the pieces of the puzzle beginning to come together like he’s that one French detective from the movies Bozer makes them watch, and steps into the living room. “You’re sitting. On the couch."

"That is why I brought it. It's not just for you to sleep on."

"Sitting on the couch like a normal person sits on the couch. Not sprawled across it like a teenager with limbs askew in all directions just begging for back pain and bad posture.” 

Mac snorts but it lacks amusement. He doesn’t rise to the usual ‘tease Jack about getting old’ bait like he normally would. 

“So, you want to tell me what’s up?” Jack sits on the old trunk which doubles as a coffee table. 

"I... " Mac sighs and splices together three or four words under his breath.

Jack squints, tipping one ear closer to Mac, trying to decipher the mangled phrase. “Say again?” 

Looking up, Mac enunciates, "I tweaked my knee."

Jack winces. "Trail running? I told you you need some better shoes if you're gonna be out there jumping over logs and scaling mountains."

"I wasn't trail running." Mac pauses between his words as though each one is painfully eking out.

Jack cants his head.

"I stood up wrong."

Jack's face twitches. He's a government agent, damn it. He's got a better poker face than this.

"Shut up," Mac glowers.

"I'm sorry." Jack swallows his emotions. It’s not amusement. He’s not sure what emotion he would call it, but it’s sure not amusement. He’d never find anything funny about Mac getting injured. If anything, this emotion is concern. “You stood up... wrong?"

“It’s not funny.”

“No. It’s not funny. I’ve been sitting here thinking it’s not funny,” Jack defends himself. 

“You’re smirking.”

“I’m not smirking. I wouldn’t smirk if I heard you got hurt.”

“Even if I hurt myself by standing up weird?” 

“No.” 

“Oh. Thought maybe you’d see this as some sort of payback.”

“You mean for the fifteen years I’ve spent sharing my wisdom with you and you ignore it because you’re young and your joints still work like they’re supposed to and you couldn’t imagine waking up one day and suddenly something as simple as standing up can leave you limping and hobbling around for the rest of the day?” 

“Yeah.”

“Nah.” 

“Oh okay. Thought maybe it would be something like that.” 

“And I could see how you might think that. A less sensitive, empathetic man might.” 

Mac hums. 

“You need an ice pack?” 

“I’ve been thinking about getting one.” Mac sighs, looking toward the kitchen. “Don’t want to try getting up yet though.”

“Do you need a doctor?”

“No.”

Jack eyes him carefully.

“I did think about it-” Mac hurries to continue as Jack stares harder. “I want to wait it out. If I’m wrong you can gloat.” 

“I wouldn’t gloat either.” 

“Right. No smirking. No gloating. Got it. I’ll remind you.” 

Jack stands, knees creaking. “No smirking from over there either.” 

“No smirking.” Mac winces in sympathy at the sound. 

Jack pats Mac’s shoulder as he passes. 

“You were like my age when we met.” 

“Huh, I guess so. About a year older.” Jack grabs an ice pack from the freezer and returns to the living room. 

“I remember thinking you were ancient.” Mac reaches out to accept the proffered ice pack.

“Hey!” Jack withdraws his hand before the exchange is made.  

“At twenty-one you seemed old. Listening to the way you groaned when you got out of the humvee, that seemed a whole lot older than I feel now. Or at least older than I felt this morning.”

Jack nods in concession as he settles on the couch next to Mac and passes over the ice pack. Mac claps it on his knee. With a groan he raises his leg and positions it on a pillow.

“One day you’re able to sit all curled up like a pretzel, and the next you sneeze and can’t turn your neck for three weeks.” 

“I am almost sorry I teased you all these years.”

“Almost?”

“Well, I mean, compared to me you’re still like ancient. I have a few good years of teasing before it comes back to bite me.”

Jack opens his mouth to protest, then purses his lip. “You know, I’d grab that ice pack and run but honestly, watching you try to move that leg makes me hesitant to try it.” 

“It wasn’t fun.”

“Didn’t look like it was. Last thing we need is to explain to Matty how the both of us got taken out getting up from the couch.” 

Mac flops back on the sofa, blond hair splaying against the cushions. He drops his arm across his eyes. “That’s going to be almost as much fun as moving my leg.”

“I don’t envy that.” Jack leans forward with a grunt and scoops up the remote control. “Die Hard?”

Mac shrugs, eyes still covered by his arm. “Might as well. Don’t think I’m moving for a bit.” 

“Yippee-ki-yay.”

[lloydfrontera]

In my opinion, the reason the reunion scene was skipped was because the author couldn’t figure out a way to write it non-romantically and gave up after a while

honestly. i kinda agree with you nonnie.

it just. the set up to the scene is sooooo romantic. you have lloyd being absolutely devastated at the thought he's not going to see any of his loved ones ever again and that he's been dropped back into his terrible life, to the place he admitted he'd rather die than go back to,,, and then someone knocks at the door and when he opens it this is the sight that greets him:

his best friend, the person he's closest to, the one he's spent years with, the one he promised a peaceful life at his side, the one he wanted to grow old with, the one he sacrificed everything for, the one he effectively gave his life to save, the one he thought he'd never see again, standing at his door, having crossed literal dimensional barriers to get to him, a soft and teary smile on his face as he tells him "i missed you"

like. c'mon.

i'm all for platonic interpretations, i'm aroace, i love me a good best friendship as much as the next guy, but,,,, isn't this,,, like,,, really fucking romantic??? extremely so??? am i??? reading too much into it?? because it feels really, really romantic to me.

and like you say. where do you go from there. what response could lloyd give that doesn't involve throwing himself at javier and clinging to him with all of his strength. what conversation could these two have that doesn't involve them seeing how truly devoted they are to each other. what resolution does their arc together have that isn't them spending the rest of their lives together, at each other's side, like they so dearly wanted to.

but. alas. that wasn't the story bk moon wanted to tell. and that's very much his right. i just think that if he didn't want me to assume there's no in-character and narratively satisfying version of that conversation that doesn't end with them kissing he should've at least tried to give us something. and not completely skipped it lol

but that's just my opinion too :]

[flowerakatsuka]

denki!kuroba has plagued my mind for the past 24 hours so it's time to drop their design & lore. ( bonus + more lore under the cut! )

( ya'll knew i had to find a way to shoehorn kurokara into this au SOMEHOW. )

while they don't meet during the events of six idol statues of taboo, kuroha does eventually get to meet chorosuke's recently reunited brothers afterwards. strangely enough, it seems that karatsugu knows who they are. kuroha's life before the accident was much like the one kuroba lives ; having attended college for horticulture and working at their grandfather's floral shop. karatsugu and kuroha had known each other for a long time, having become friends in high school and staying quite close into adulthood. because of this, he was absolutely devastated when they suddenly disappeared a year and a half ago while on the way to visit family in yokohama. there were no reports of any crashes or deaths, no missing people found, nothing. it was as if they were spirited away, never to be heard of again. upon learning this, kuroha is rather distraught. even though his face is so familiar to them, the past he recounts to them refuses to come back to them. something they had been keeping a secret from the others at the midorito estate was that they had begun to recollect some things, but what they remembered seemed more like strange dreams than any memories they should have. memories of traveling with mononoke, fighting in gang wars, fending off youkai, a life much like what karatsugu described but not exactly the same... and in all of those memories, the six same faces, so eerily similar yet unsettling different. the most prominent of them all being the faces just like karatsugu's. they aren't sure why these strange memories are all they can recall, perhaps they're finally losing it, but with the brothers' help, kuroha might be able to figure out the true meaning behind them and even remember their life in this universe along the way.

ALSO, a quick explanation of denki!kuroba's name!

( fair warning : my understanding of japanese is very rudimentary so i may have made some mistakes in my translation or how names are written. please let me know if that's the case and i'll correct anything i've gotten wrong! )

kuroba / クロバ -> kuroha / 黒葉 ( くろは )

kuroba's name is written in katakana while kuroha's is written in kanji ( with furigana written in hiragana. )

kuroba's first name comes from クローバー ( kurōbā ) meaning clover. when the dakuten from バ ( ba ) is removed, it becomes ハ ( ha. ) the equivalent of ハ in hiragana is は, which is used in the furigana for kuroha's name. the kanji used for kuroha is 黒 ( kuro ) meaning black and 葉 ( ha ) meaning leaf.

yotsubana / 四つ花 ( ヨツバナ ) -> shinigusa / 死に草 ( しにグサ )

yotsubana comes from 四つ葉 ( yotsuba ) meaning four-leaved, notably used in the japanese for four-leaved clover / 四つ葉のクローバー ( yotsuba no kurōbā. ) the kanji for ba in youtsuba is swapped for 花 ( hana, ) which can be read has bana like in the surname tachibana. as a result, their surname can be read as " four flowers. "

the 四 ( yo ) from yotsubana, which can also be read as shi, becomes 死 ( shi, ) meaning death. the adverbializer に ( ni ) replaces つ ( tsu. ) the kanji for hana is replaced with 花 ( kusa, ) which is lifted from a synonym for clover, 詰草 ( tsumekusa. ) kusa becomes gusa as an instance of rendaku. their surname can be roughly read as " dead(ly) grass. "

[jailedmoonshine]

ok so i used to be a fanfic writer back in the golden ages and im so serious, do yall want fanfic? cuz i can do fanfic LMAO

[jrueships]

josh x stef

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent-ish things ~

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Me after lightly burning myself: Ow that sucked but whatever

The burn: *is a second degree burn*

[clownery-and-fuckery]

The homoerotic nature of Kim and Jean smoking together my beloved.

Kim jostled, caught off guard when Vicquemare sat beside him. Off balance, Kim slumped a little, their shoulders bumping until he rightened himself sharply. He gave Vicquemare an odd look, confusion startling his hands, returning their previous tremble.

"Raise your hands." Vicquemare ordered shortly.

Kim blinked. "Pardon?"

Vicquemare dug through his pockets. "I said raise your hands." He repeated in a mutter, and when Kim did, raising his lighter instinctively and cupping his hand with the other to mask their shake, he noticed the cigarette that waited, stuck between Vicquemare's front teeth.

"Light me." He said around the cigarette.

Kim blinked hard, and fumbled. Between the two, Vicquemare's cigarette began to smoulder until he pulled away, taking a long drag, inhaling slowly.

Then, he produced a second cigarette, and held it towards Kim.

The Lieutenant sucked in the cold air, a wanting breath. "I had my one," He fell back on the reliable lie, because he wasn't sure what else to say. "I shouldn't."

"Do I look like I care?" Vicquemare asked with a raised brow. "Today was shit. Take the damn cigarette."

Kim squirmed until the outstretched offering was shaken in warning. He took the cigarette, rolling it between his fingers slowly until he caught the end with his teeth. His fingers rose to cup his lighter again.

He stumbled over himself like a schoolboy, his nerves fried, his composure lost, slipped. Kim blinked hard as he willed away the wish for certain company.

He felt his thumb flick dumbly against the lighter, but no spark caught. Kim huffed in annoyance, because of the lighter, because he had wasted a smoke he hadn't wanted anyway, because he almost killed a man all because he had an itchy trigger finger—

"Stop," Vicquemare interrupted, surprisingly gentle as he swiped the lighter from Kim's hand. "Come here."

With a jerk of his head, the Lieutenant leaned into the sparked flame, and looked pointedly to the crackling fire as his cigarette lit, and smoke filled his lungs.

Kim leaned back, sighing contently as he blew out a puff of smoke, flicking the ash from his bud into the mud below. He glanced to Vicquemare, who examined his lighter with mild interest before he tossed it back.

"I won't tell Shitkid you broke your special one-a-day rule," Vicquemare promised as Kim took another lungful. "Even if it's a dumbass rule."

Kim huffed what might have been a tired laugh, not noticing the way Vicquemare stopped to look at him as his gaze turned back to the muck. He stared down, taking slow, even drags, enjoying the now calmer, softer silence as his hands stilled.

Kim took a slow breath. "Thank you, Mr. Vicquemare." He said quietly.

"It's Jean," Vicquemare muttered. Kim froze in surprise. "We've been working together for over seven months, I think you've earned that right."

Kim paused, humming as he looked across to where Judit was talking to Trant.

[waywardsalt]

While Ganondorf is busy as king of the Gerudo and Linebeck is often out at sea, they hardly manage to find time to spend together- but with the right timing and allowances, find time for a bit of desert exploration.

-

ganonbeck fic complete!!

here's a new link to chapter 1, and chapter 2 is finally up as well.

FanFiction.net version: X

[blujayonthewing]

I've thought a lot about the several thousand year old gnome druid we met who was just bitter and jaded and had spent most of those millennia sitting in one place not doing anything in particular except mourning her tiefling wife who'd died millennia ago, and how disgusted and infuriated with her melliwyk is, personally but also as a gnome herself-- and I'm thinking about it again like. honestly I think it goes beyond general cultural values; that level of willful ongoing stagnation and joyless nihilism is probably completely seriously a gnomish sin