#might post it tomorrow if i manage to fix it

[starving-mimi]

you ever fuck up art so bad you can't decide if you want to give up on it or try to fix it? yeah.

[brittlebutch]

ok. we are now over 40k words and wrapping up the final draft. i think the first chapter will get posted on sunday :3c

[seventiesweetheart]

𓆩♱𓆪 party monster.

dark! ex bf! rafe x pogue! fem! reader

SUMMARY. in which y/n and the infamous rafe cameron once shared a secret relationship, one that she knew the pogues would be heavily against. and so eventually, after a series of events, y/n decided to break up with him and be done with his toxic behavior once and for all. but while sneaking into some kook’s house party with the pogues, she’s caught by the one person she was hoping not to find.

WARNING. smut, dubcon, a bit of violence, implied toxic relationship, oral (reader receiving), choking, manipulative behavior, jealousy, tons of swearing

A/N. this is the first ever fic i’m posting yaaaay >< just a note that this definitely ended up being way longer than i planned, so i might write a part two tomorrow since it also still feels kind of lacking :( but hope you enjoy!

it wasn’t easy sneaking in. but with sarah’s help, they managed to slip through unnoticed. and of course, jj wasted no time diving into the kitchen where bottles of booze were scattered like treasure, hence why y/n found herself struggling to maintain control of the situation, fearing that at any moment, someone would eventually realize who they were and the fact that they completely weren’t supposed to be here.

to be honest, y/n never wanted to come here. if anything, the last place she wanted to be after her recent breakup was anywhere near the kooks. yet, as soon as john b and jj heard about the party, they couldn't resist the temptation to crash it in true pogue fashion.

as usual, y/n and ki couldn’t bear the idea of those boys getting their asses kicked again, especially after the millions of times that that happened in the past.

“jj, seriously, that’s enough. this is absolutely no place to get wasted right now. please.” she begged her best friend who was now downing his third bottle and moving along to music.

“god relax y/n, no one’s gonna figure us out, alright? just drink, dance, and we’ll be out of here as soon as possible.”

her eyes bored into him, clearly not believing a word he said, “uh huh, you say that now but—“

“c’mon! just dance with me.” before y/n could protest any more, jj had her by the hand, dragging her out of the kitchen and into the living room. the air was thick with the scent of flavored smoke and alcohol. loud trap music pounded from the speakers, the bass vibrating through the floors and walls, matching the rhythm of her racing heart.

“jesus christ…” the girl muttered, watching jj get lost in the music, his head swinging and hair flying as he danced amidst the throng of bodies.

y/n's eyes scanned around the room, her anxiety mounting with each passing second. sweat slicked her forehead as she continuously looked around the crowd for any familiar faces who might recognize them.

and then she saw him.

his pair of piercing grey-blue eyes locked onto hers, sending a jolt of fear through her body. those same eyes flicked between her and jj, and before she knew it, she felt a chill run down her spine.

rafe cameron lounged on a plush couch, arms draped over the backrest with the usual unreadable expression on his face. next to him was some girl who was bent forward towards the glass table, snorting a line of powder. she raised her head back and pinched her nose, waiting for the rush to hit.

but y/n’s focus was solely on rafe. whoever the girl was didn't matter. either way, rafe’s attention was fixed on her, and she couldn't tell if that excited or terrified her more.

snapping out of the daze, she turned to her best friend again, “jj, we gotta go. rafe’s here.” she desperately tried to tug on her friend’s arm.

“jj!” she yelled over the music and that finally caught his attention.

“what?!” he yelled back, irritation flashing across his face at the sight of her anxious expression.

“we have to go! now.”

rafe never liked jj. throughout their secret relationship, he always thought of him to be a little too loud, violent, and far too carefree. on top of that, he also thought jj was always too close to y/n for his liking.

and y/n knew this. she knew both of them well enough to understand that she needed to act quickly before things escalated and this night became another reminder of why sneaking into this party had been a terrible idea in the first place.

her hand wrapped tightly around her best friend’s wrist as she moved as quickly as she can through the crowd in order to find an exit.

but almost immediately, she felt jj's wrist slip from her grasp. her heart dropped as she pushed through a dense cluster of bodies, the press of people making it hard to move.

"fuck, jj—" she started, her voice barely audible over the pounding music.

but it wasn’t jj behind her anymore. instead, she found herself face-to-face with the same pair of ominous blue eyes she saw earlier. she barely had time to think as she shoved past more bodies.

finally breaking free from the crowd, she found herself at the foot of the stairs. without hesitation, she dashed upwards. it didn’t matter, she was going to find a window and get the hell out of here. kiara would find jj, y/n was sure of it. and pope had to be somewhere downstairs as well.

reaching the second floor, her heart raced even faster. she frantically looked left and right, searching for a room to hide in. she pushed open the first door she came to, only to recoil at the sight of two strangers making out.

“fuck, sorry,” she mumbled, cringing as she backed out and moved to the next room.

she hurried down the hall to the last room, cautiously peeking inside. finding it empty, she slipped in quickly.

but the door couldn’t close behind her.

she attempted to push it again, but it wouldn’t budge. y/n stumbled backward as the door pushed back against her efforts, her breath hitching when she realized it wasn’t any problem with the door—it was rafe on the other side.

“closing the door on me again? i’m starting to think you love doing that.” a mischievous smirk played on his lips as he slowly stepped into the room, his presence making the space more suffocating as he closed the door behind him.

the silence in the room was deafening and the growing tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. y/n definitely did not miss the sound of the lock clicking into place.

she could still hear the music blaring from downstairs, the bass vibrating through the walls and floorboards. or maybe this time it was just her own heart, pounding in her chest as she kept her eyes locked on his. every fiber of her being braced for his next move.

rafe took a step closer, his gaze never wavering from hers. the dim light cast shadows across his face, making his expression even more unreadable.

she never expected for this situation to happen again, wherein they would be both locked in a room and none of her friends were even slightly aware of the fact that they were alone together. every instinct screamed at her to run, but she stayed rooted at her spot.

“not running this time?” he inched closer, his voice a low and threatening.

“i know you won’t hurt me.” it sounded like a whisper, as y/n back slowly to the desk behind her.

rafe scoffed, “you say that but i see you still trying to escape from me.”

y/n glared at him, defiance flickering in her eyes “well, what do you expect? for me to run to you?”

his glare intensified, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he moved closer. but then, in a flash, his expression softened.

“i missed you, you know?” his tone turned manipulative, a tactic she recognized all too well from their relationship. she had fallen for it many times before, but she wasn’t going to this time. “i really did, y/n… we were so perfect together and you-you just left without giving me the chance to explain myself.”

“well, i don’t think any more could have been said after you beat the fuck out of my best friend, don’t you think?” y/n's voice grew more aggressive, her anger flaring.

“yeah well he hit me too! and what’d you do? nothing!” he yelled, and she flinched at every word, her body tensing as she tried desperately to find an escape from the suffocating situation.

his breathing grew heavier as he looked at her with pain and frustration in his eyes, “you said you loved me but-but you didn’t even come to defend me.”

“rafe�� you started that fight and i-i told you if you laid a hand on any of my friends then that would be the end for us.”

“god, fuck!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the room. rafe's hand shot out, knocking the floor lamp until it crashed to the floor with a loud shatter, fragments of glass scattering across the hardwood.

y/n flinched, raising her arms to shield herself as she inched closer to the corner where the bed was.

“it’s always you and those fucking friends of yours.” he spat, his face contorted with rage.

and before she could even process his movements, his hand was on her throat, pulling her forcefully towards him. she gasped, feeling the pressure against her windpipe, her fingers clawing desperately at his chest in an attempt to break free.

but even in her panic, she couldn't ignore the familiar sensation of his solid chest beneath her hand.

“and now, let me guess, you’re moving on to that fucking blonde you claim to be your best friend.”

“jj really is just my best friend! p-please, rafe. let go of me.” y/n pleaded as she fought the urge to look at how close his lips were from hers instead of holding the weight of his intense gaze.

“see, that’s where you’re wrong, y/n. i’ve never let you go, and i’m not fucking letting you go now or ever.”

his lips crashed down on hers, the kiss intense and demanding, leaving her gasping for air as she struggled to keep up with his pace. his other hand found her waist, pulling her closer against his body.

“r-rafe…” the moan she tried to hide escaped freely from her lips, coming out as a breathless whisper as his lips trailed down to her neck, no doubt leaving a trail of marks.

“god, l-let me go.” y/n weakly pushed him while he backed her up towards the bed.

“you say that, but your body tells me otherwise. you’ll have to tell me what you really want, sweetheart.”

he continued to suck on her skin, marking her with dark red and purple bruises as his hands trailed down to the hem of her floral sundress. slowly, he slipped his fingers underneath the fabric until he was hooking one side of her lacy underwear.

“still haven’t answered my question, y/n. or do you seriously want me to fuck it out of you?”

his eyes locked onto hers with growing frustration and need, “just fuck me, rafe.”

finally, the mischievous smirk returned to his face, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he leaned in closer.

despite her initial reluctance, y/n lifted her hips, allowing him to easily pull her underwear down until it hung around her ankles.

her hand grew clammy as she clutched the sheets beneath her, her breath catching in her throat as she lay staring at the ceiling.

meanwhile, rafe moved his hand back up her thighs, brushing her skirt up slowly to tease her until the fabric pooled at her waist. she could feel the air around them mixing with his breath against her skin, making her exposed wetness grow colder.

“d’you let anyone get near this after you left me?” his voice came low and deadly as his fingers played at her entrance, sliding against the slick liquid between her lips.

y/n whimpered at his touch, trying to hide her face with her hand while she shook her head in response.

“use your words, princess.”

“n-no, i didn’t.” she stammered out, her breath hitching as she felt his finger plunge through her hole.

satisfaction evident in his voice as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin, “good girl.”

her eyes shut tightly as soon as she felt his lips wrap around her soft bud, tongue lapping over and over it, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body.

“w-wait, rafe! slow down!” she groaned, her hands moving to tightly clutching his hair, her body trembling with the overwhelming sensation.

but rafe didn’t slow down, his hands holding her legs firmly in place before they tried to snap shut and he continued running his tongue over her clit, his warm saliva mixing with her wetness, making his actions even sloppier and faster.

“sh-shit, i’m close—rafe, please.” she begged, her voice thick with desperation. her hips moved involuntarily, seeking more friction and intensity, driving her to buck her hips against his face, urging him to keep going.

her fingers pulled his hair as she arched her back, and rafe buried his face deeper between her legs, his hands gently and possessively molding her thighs like they were lovers. like they never broke up and she had always belonged to him all this time.

“come for me, princess. c’mon.” he voiced breathlessly, the tip of his tongue tracing maddening circles around her bud, pushing her closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

it was all too overwhelming for y/n. she felt her orgasm building up, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to engulf her completely.

“fuck, rafe!” she moaned, her entire body tensing as her release crashed over her in waves, leaving her breathless and shaking.

rafe wasted no time in savoring all her juices, his lips and tongue eagerly lapping up every drop as they poured onto the sheets of some stranger's bed.

with gentle kisses kisses trailing along her inner thighs, he moved up to face her, delicately wiping the sweat off her forehead and gently brushing her hair out of her face.

still recovering from the intensity of her climax, y/n struggled to catch her breath as she locked eyes with him. the full weight of her actions had yet to sink in but she pushed the thought aside for later as his lips came down again to meet hers, softly grazing the bottom with a gentle nip.

“finally remember who you belong to, sweetheart?”

© 2024 seventiesweetheart | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

[steviesummer]

inspired by and as a direct follow up to this post by @strangersteddierthings:

Eddie is horrified. He remembers the day Steve is referring to, though clearly not as well as Steve does. He calls out as Steve raced up the stairs and hears his door slam.

“Fuck.” He stares blankly at the wall in front of him. He can’t believe things went so bad so quickly. He’s been trying to get to know Steve better, get closer and damn if he didn’t just blow the hole thing. He’d shown up early, told Steve he needed to prepare as an excuse to spend some time with him. Despite everything that happened over spring break, Steve had remained guarded, standoffish no matter what Eddie tried. At least now he knew why. He’d fucked things up before he’d known there was something to fuck up.

He feels even worse about calling him a bully. Sure, Steve had looked the other way and even laughed at some of the mean jokes others had made, but he was far from the worst. That dubious award went to Billy Hargrove, but even without him, there was plenty of people who did far worse than Steve did. Especially because Steve is right. He did hit first, metaphorically at least. He can justify it all he wants as trying to protect himself, but that doesn’t make it right. Steve all but admitted that as he said the same thing. He feels nauseous at the realization that maybe he was just as bad as those he decried. That for all his talk about accepting outcasts and defying convention, he was just as prejudiced. Swallowing hard, he heads back to the dining room and looks at the clock. There is no way he is going to be able to run the campaign today. He’s not going to be able to focus or even play without thinking about how things might have been if he hadn’t driven Steve off all those years ago. He grabs the phone and dials Gareth’s number. “Emerson house, Sheryl speaking.” “Hi Mrs. Emerson, it’s Eddie.” Eddie is proud that he manages to keep his voice even. “Is Gareth there?” “Oh, yes! Let me go get him for you.” “Thanks Mrs. Emerson.” Eddie focuses on breathing while he waits. “Eddie? Hey man, what’s up?” Eddie breathes out. “Hey Gareth. Look, I know its last minute, but we’re gonna have to postpone Hellfire. Something came up.” He could hear Gareth’s frown through the phone. “Postpone? What happened, did Harrington do something?” As if he couldn’t feel worse. “Nah. I’ll explain later, but can you call Jeff and Frank, let them know? I gotta call the freshman, too.” “Alright, but I’m going to hold you to that.” “Fair enough. Talk to you tomorrow.” Eddie promises before hanging up. He weighs his options for how to tell the Party. Eventually, he decides on calling Mike, know that the younger teen won’t push too much. He’s dialing the Wheeler home before he can second guess his decision. “This is Mike.” Eddie feels a rush of gratitude that Mike is the one who answered, rather than Nancy or one of their parents. “Hey Mike, it’s Eddie. Listen, Steve’s not feeling great and having Hellfire here isn’t going to help. Can you call the rest of the Party, let them know we’re gonna move it to another day? I’ll keep an eye on Steve.” Eddie knows Mike is a confused, given how adamant he’s been in the past about not canceling or moving Hellfire, but as he expected, Mike accepts what he says at face value. “Sure. Need us to bring anything?” “Nah, I’ve got it. Pretty sure he just needs some peace and quiet so he can rest. But thanks.” They say their goodbyes and Eddie puts the phone back on the hook.  With that done, he checks that the door is locked and faces the stairs. Now for the hard part. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, if there is anything he can say that will fix this, but he has to try. Even if doesn’t change things between him and Steve, Steve deserves at least that much. Every step feels like it takes effort, chest heavy with guilt, but it only takes him a few moments to get to Steve’s door. It’s closed, which doesn’t surprise him. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before knocking. Nothing. “Steve?” If it wasn’t for the quiet sound of Steve’s breathing he could hear through the door, Eddie would think he had left. He glad that he at least didn’t drive Steve out of his own home. He rests his forehead on the door. “I’m sorry.” Eddie hopes Steve can hear how much he means it. “You’re right, I fucked up. I made an assumption and took out my anger at other people on you. And that wasn’t fair and it’s not okay. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. Even if it wasn’t you, I shouldn’t have done that.” He lets out a hysterical laugh as he realizes - “And despite that, you still humor the kids when they talk about D&D and agreed to let us play here and didn’t punch me in the face, which makes you a better man than I.” He falls silent, listens as Steve’s breathing slows. He isn’t sure how long he stands there. He wonders how many other people he hurt this way, without even realizing. Knows he wants to do better, be better. He sighs, feeling his shoulders slump. “Anyway, I canceled Hellfire for today. I told everyone something came up, don’t worry about that. I’ll make up some story, make sure they know its not your fault. And uh,  let me know if you want to hang out again or something. I know I’ve been around a lot; didn’t realize that I was making you so uncomfortable, which is probably another thing I should apologize for. Anyway. Yeah. I’ll see you around, okay?” He waits a moment for an answer, but when none comes, he backs away from the door and walks downstairs to gather his stuff. It hurts, but he knows Steve deserves space and to be the one to initiate contact. He has some thinking to do, anyway.

[acid-ixx]

again &. again announcement (tag list update)

i finally have my christmas break phew. i'm planning to finish chapter 5 of again &. again either tonight or tomorrow, and split it into two (or three?) parts when posted, depending on my sleep deprived state lmao. sorry for the very long delay y'all, i'm trying my damn best to produce something decent with all the terrible things happening to me lately, promise i'm not giving up on this series; just coping real hard right now.

and i almost got kicked out of the house while at it too so that's a plus 🔥

anyways, i might need to update my taglist so please do comment down below (likes don't count, and don't spam my inbox please, i have almost thousands piled up) so i can fix it when i'm going to have to inevitably edit the list.

this is by far the longest chapter and the most draining to write. there's a scene where your first sighting of tim is, diary scenes, your relationship with your mother is furthermore expounded too (i hope you guys don't mind me writing quite a lot of lore for a fictional, almost oc kind of character, she has a special place in my heart ofc), conner scene, jason and reader hurt/comfort as i've already announced in the past, the entire batfamily is included too (i don't know how i managed to do so), and many more i can't recall.

also lots of song references, have fun finding or associating the scenes depicted with it. consider this an early christmas gift hohoho.

[thatdeadaquarius]

sagau with the language barrier issue except... the creator is sick and tired of trying to ask for things so they do everything themself.

and it gives their followers mass anxiety bc they can't even ask what you're doing... bc they know they won't understand anything...

SUCH A GENIUS NARVI 10/10 GOOD WORK SORRY IM SUPER LATE BUT THIS IS *chefs kiss*

Like, that's literally how I feel like I first played Genshin LMAO

Also this has a cont. Part 2 at the bottom bc tumblr fucking hates me UPDATE I FIXED IT THANK FUCK

Paimon was like "and then we go to Mondstadt- ! NO, not Wolvendom, to Mondstadt! NOT THE THOUSAND WIND TEMPLE WITH ENEMIES OUT OF UR LEAGUE, ENTER MONDSTADT FOR THE FIRST TIME BEFORE U EXPLORE THE REST OF THE MAP!! >:("

SO MANY IDEAS YET SO LITTLE WRITING SKILL GUYS HELP-

Also warning this is ROUGH in terms of spelling and editing and im so sorry abt that! I have my art show today so you're welcome to come back if you want to see it a little more readable tomorrow lmao

Edit Update 4/6/23:

Revised and fixed all the bad spelling and grammar (hopefully) so make sure to give another read if you havent read the cleaned up version lol

I dont have a beta reader so its just me trying my best ok-

Everything was like kinda chaos tbh at first

WOW- MY FIRST 1,000+ NOTES POST??!?! U GUYS, WHAT ARE R YOU DOIN??!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!! IM GLAD U GUYS ENJOYED IT SM!! Also look out for more encoded stuff in the future since i mentioned wanting to continue stuff like this + ARG stuff :) <3

Edit 9/7/23: 2,000+ NOTES?? THANK YOU???

Like u wake up under the Irminsul, and u think ur hallucinating a goddamn gacha game for like a solid 5 minutes, or ur lucid dreaming, 

but once u actually took what felt like hours to process that u might actually be in fucking Genshin Impact-

Nahida came running from, somewhere?? Its kinda just very floaty dreamy in here so, unclear, she’s beaming with a giddy little smile (💘)

It’s… so much more than what her game model could manage.

I mean, you knew that, of course you did, but- to see the tiny goddess smiling in person, her cute chubby arms waving in the air, her cheeks all plump with baby fat from her excited smile, pretty green eyes that sparkle only in the way excited toddlers do-

It was just…wow. 🥺

You can’t help it, her sheer carefree excitement, exactly like a child but you know that she must be really overwhelmed with joy if shes letting herself act like that so blatantly, you feel ur muscles tug gently into a smile, you try to muffle it but ur happiness leaks out anyway

She's panting as she stumbles on short chubby legs to reach you.

After just staring at you with those big green clover eyes for a few seconds, she physically shakes her head to knock herself out of it,

Nahida places her hand over her heart, and bows elegantly, going back to looking at you with a small but bright smile, her voice is kind of quiet, muffled in a soft way, much like her game depiction,

“Hzozn! R'ev yvvm dzrgrmt gl nvvg blf! R wrwm'g gsrmp blf dlfow wvhxvmw fmgro R dzh zg ovzhg z uvd gslfhzmw bvzih low!” *

…Nahida begins to look a little concerned… her eyes get impossibly bigger.

…Oh no.

♧

Nahida had apparently quickly spread the news that you can’t understand them, but luckily it seems like all the characters still know you!

Alhaitham is pretty much a constant by your side, you knew he was vaguely studying linguistics in the akademiya… but that knowledge still didn’t prepare you to be intensely stared at with his diamond pupils for hours. 💀

Then he’d tap your shoulder or something, and you quickly picked up that he wanted you to just try and say something.

Then he would scribble for hours.

Turns out they can understand you about as much as you understand Teyvat language (s? You can’t even tell if there are multiple languages, that’s how unrecognizable this language is, damn)

The more extroverted or friendly people, like Venti, Yoimiya, Kazuha, Jean, Noelle, Amber, Xingqiu, Hu Tao, Zhongli, Ganyu, Barbara, Beidou, Collei, Ayaka, Gorou, Nilou

At least attempt to talk to you, and try very hard to watch what you gesture with your hands or body language

They're pretty much ready to play charades at all times for you lol

Interestingly enough, they only ever understood you when you typed in the chat (with other ppl)

But even then not immediately, 

Sumeru scholars basically had to make a whole new department (regardless of how much you play with others) to decipher your ancient language (to them) like those old clay tablets with cuneiform we’re still translating?

Like that, your words appear in elemental magic heavy places (so like that abyss lang. It’ll appear on walls or structures, so like Andrius’ stone colosseum? in Wolvendom gained some of your chat replies inscribed and glowing a rainbow of colors on the top edges of the walls)

Much like the abyss language you see throughout genshin, most Teyvat scholars (across nations/internationally) agreed your language is the oldest form of language known!

It’s like modern languages having roots in older ones, like English with Latin, greek, or German roots, or Sanskrit and the Prakrit for Hindi language today

…so of course no one really speaks the root languages anymore, because they’re so old, so those ancestors who spoke those languages would have little to no understanding of their modern counterparts…

◇

Occasionally if you turned your mic on for whatever reason there would be a gentle whisper on the winds in Mondstadt of your voice,

or your laugh in the waves washing ashore in Inazuma and Fontaine,

your startled noises or screams from battling bosses mixed with the landslides in the mountains of Liyue

So they know what you sound like, but that doesn’t mean they understood your language :/

Nahida had been hoping that you’re actual physical form being here would help improve the language barrier

But unfortunately, those things remained the same, but at least you were physically here to talk to now and give more content for the scholars to study rather than them having to make do with your snippets of language from chats

…so needless to say, it took you a long time to realize they viewed you as a god of sorts.

You kind of knew something was up when at least two allogenes were by your sides at all times, or eremites would replace them if they really couldn’t stick around

You figured they knew you weren’t nearly as combatant-ready as they were at all times, hell you obviously didn’t have a vision hanging off you somewhere, and you only really had a knife strapped to a belt, courtesy of the Thirty Corps

You are still kind of convinced that the people of Teyvat, or Sumeru at least, are just pretty polite (and in the allogenes case, very kind or friendly, even people like Alhaitham or Cyno, resting bitch faces they have, seem to soften a little when they’re walking around with you… maybe you’re just imagining it…)

And as much as you would love to wait until they understand you to do something more fun, as you can see the frustration on Tighnari’s face (and his ears try to flatten back hehe) as he looked like he was debating heatedly with some of the Sumeru sages who insist you stay in the city

…so why not go?

It’s not like they’re going to get it anytime soon, and it’s still too frustrating for yourself to charade things or draw things for them because you can’t even hear their guesses 💀

You can totally handle being like the traveler too, 

You still have access to your inventory afterall! Plus, lucky for you, you still find a pass for the Serenitea Pot in your little pocket dimension!

So now you have somewhere to sleep at night, and while most of your stuff went to the traveler’s pack, the things like Primogems

(which.. Okay now you really want primogems bc theyre so pretty and shiny irl)✨️

And other high-level things, or just objects of no use for the traveler (so basically all your hoarded level up stuff and infinite amount of weapons lol) came along with you

So you did have to wander the first week or so around the city and even commission the Adventurer’s Guild to grab you food supplies to cook with

Filling up, along with a few big waterskins, you’re off!

...and everyone collectively has a heart attack!

◇

When you show up in Ghandaraville essentially all “✨️💖☺️✨️” on Tighnari’s doorstep-

He chokes on the tea he’d been sipping on before he opened the door lol

He looks a little frazzled so you try to just gesture with “calm yourself small animal” energy with your hands

“Tivzgvhg Oliw! R'n- R- sld wrw blf-?! Mvevinrmw, xlnv rm, xlnv rm, ivhg! ...R mvvw gl hvmw z nroorlm ovggvih mld gl ylgs gsv vmgriv xrgb lu Hfnvif, gsv Zxgrmt Tizmw Hztv, zmw gsv Nzgiz nlhg orpvob…” he began out looking at you and talking and gesturing to his small dining table (the game sucks, his house looks great and has lots of cool rooms filled with interesting plants… oooo…so pretty...) 

But then he kinda just devolved into rambling, no need to understand, you can read the vibes and just know that's what he's doing lol

Collei eventually ducks in, and she looks a little panicked?

She’s quickly followed by Cyno, pushing past her to call out into the house,

His voice seems hard and stressed, looking at Tighnari, “Grtsmzir, szev blf hvvm gsv Tivzgvhg Oliw zmbdsviv, gsvb dviv hvvm xlnrmt gl Tszmwziezeroov ozhg-” 

Cyno stops and blinks.

Collei’s mouth is slightly dropped open, she also just, blinks.

You blink. 

Tighnari blinks tiredly, he looks like he’d rather be done for the day, you think.

The doctor sighs, and moves his head to nod towards the other dining seats.

◇

Sumeru foods are so much better looking in real life, and they’re so good too, your practically bloated by the end of dinner, 

As a thank you, bc u cant say it obv, you just gesture for Tighnari to stay sitting, and he gives you a raised eyebrow and a suspicious ear twitch

But stays still, and you reach out to finally hit the eight-pointed star hovering over his, and all playable characters chests at all times.

Like you suspected, it brings up a holographic character menu, but rather than his full model, it kind of hovers in front of Tighnari’s face, replacing his old 3D model self with framing the real thing for a portrait just in front of his face

The poor Denro user nearly jumps a foot out of his chair as he looks in shock at your screen, you do the same “chillll boy” gesture with your hands and press his shoulders for a second to remind him to not run off or panic

Cyno and Collei had done the dishes and put up leftovers, and are now standing behind Tighnari, watching with equally wide eyes,

“...Dszg ziv gsvb wlrmt gl blf?

Cyno’s voice is even deeper and quieter than usual, you feel goosebumps run up your spine

“Ziv blf tvggrmt yovhhvw, Nzhgvi Grtsmzir?!” Collei’s sweet voice is also hushed like she’s witnessing something sacred, Tighnari gently shakes his head negatively in response, his shoulders shrugging,

“Nzbyv? R uvvo... z orggov hgilmtvi, zmw nb Erhrlm rh zxgrmt fk zh dvoo…”

Though he’s replying, Tighnari’s eyes haven’t once left your ancient magic? technology device? hovering in front of him,

and as he crosses his arms and squints to try and look closer at everything floating in front of him, you can see the childlike gleam of awe in his green eyes, (so cute) in fact, now that you glance up and look, both Collei and Cyno have the same quietly excited and fascinated sparkle in their eyes too

With a displeased sneer, you chuck his old level one bow into the material grinding spots, hope he wasn’t attached to that…

Oh well, he’ll like the new one better, afterall, with no characters, all your best weapons and artifacts are ready to use!

With a small smile of reassurance, you finally finish gearing Tighnari up, tap a miniature version of that 8-point star in the corner like an “X” button, and it retreats like a classic TV set📺 turning off into his chest, he startles but then carefully stands

You decide to just start making decisions bc its worked out so far ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And grab his hand and haul him out into the forest, Collei letting out a surprised squeak, her and Cyno hurrying after

You reach the nearest clearing, and gesture at Tighnari like a bow and arrow firing, he gets it, and your glad he already trusts you, because he doesn’t take long to summon his bow

He takes aim at a smaller tree about two cars length away

You can feel them all holding their breathe, as Tighnari charges it with Dendro, the arrowhead glowing, (it looks so cool and badass irl god you feel envious even tho ur already here-)

The ranger lets it fly, it streaks neon green, whistling through the air, it hits the tree-

and it fucking explodes.

Vines and leaves and the trees roots all rapidly swell like theyre filled with water, like it literally got hit by a superhero with plant powers, which, not that far off actually.

The green floating Dendro seeds make a ring around the tree its so full of elemental energy-

You give a wild grin, you still got it, hell yeah. >:)

Your grin widens as you look over at Tighnari, Collei, and Cyno

Cyno has a smirk lighting up his face, eyes eager, Collei’s jaw has dropped and she’s just frozen staring as the tree finally settles from the burst of the dendro powered arrow

…Tighnari has lowered his bow, and his mouth is only slightly open, his ears perked straight up into the air, shaking with excitement? Happiness? Interest? You don’t know how peopl-animal-hybrid ears work,

and you STILL cant talk to any of them to ask what they thought, so looks will have to do >:/

Tighnari is the first to move, his head snapping over to look at you, the brightest, kinda feral tbh, smile taking over his face-

“Blf pmld, dv xzm'g fmwvihgzmw blf, zmw blf fh, bvg R xzm'g dzrg gl hvv dszg rm gsv dliow blf'iv tlrmt gl wl mvcg. Blf'iv znzarmt."

… and you just 🙂? Cool!

And give a thumbs up👍LMAO

☆

Bonus:

Alhaitham was literally running around Sumeru City trying to find you when you left, tho you did try and leave a translatable-in-3-to-5-business days-note, he didn’t have time to translate that because you were gone.

Or worse, lost in the city, and he would never forgive himself if he lost you, esp as Acting Grand Sage-

Kaveh got a letter a day and a half later from Tighnari letting them know you were having a sleepover in Ghandarvaville lol

Kaveh also had to hunt down Alhaitham to give him said news, then force his roommate to go sit or lay down for the rest of the day to recover lmao

(Haitham honestly kinda freaked Kaveh out bc he’s never seen him that... desperate, it was like seeing a statue emote lol)

♡

ARE YOU KIDDING WE ALMOST HIT LIMIT AGAIN?!

Bro has anyone else had this problem???

I literally had to switch from PC to mobile and copy and paste it there to get all my shit in and tumblr not throw a hissy fit???!!!

FUCKING TUMBLR- SUCK MY BIG FAT- 👹👹 UGH

ANYWAYYYY SO I FINALLY CAVED 

And started doing ciphers for when you dont get teyvat’s language! I meant to do something fun like this for awhile but I wasn’t sure if that would be kind of annoying, but if you’re interested in learning what they actually say (which the whole point of this is that dw it doesnt rlly matter lol) here’s a hint:

*hint = Atbash

:> good luck!

Wish me luck on my art exhibition today!! Then I’ll be homefreeeee 😭

Safe Travels,

💀♒

♡ the beloveds ♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist

[iamnot-crazy]

Pushing the line

A Law x GN!Reader.

Summary: Your mission to retrieve a pirate captains heart took a nasty turn when a new devil fruit user was brought into play. You and Law get separated from the rest of the crew. Together you fix each other up and find a way to reunite with your crew. While alone you both share some intimate moments revealing that there might be more to your relationship than just being a Captain and head of tactics crewmate.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

A/N: I had a bit to much fun with this and wrote a second chapter with plans for a third chapter for this. I'll post the second chapter tomorrow which is my current favorite. Both chapter can technically stand alone but this one sets the tone and the start to your relationship with law.

****

You and your fellow Heart Pirates were in a clash with another rival crew after your captain Law had successfully stolen the heart of their captain. The fight took a nasty turn when it turned out the captain had just acquired a Devil Fruit. As the clash drove the attention away from the vice-captain he shoved the fruit down his throat.

The ground began to tremble violently as the pirate grappled with the fruits power. Law muttered as he analyzed the fruit and the list of powers it may possess. Cracks snaked in the ground splitting the fight in half with a crater.

“Captain! We should get going!” You shout at him from across the cracks. Law looked up before nodded giving you permission to take point. You turn to the half of the crew that was on your side of the fight. “Alright Guys let’s get a move on!” You ordered. The crew nodded and finished their fight with a pushing blow to their opponent before they took off towards the beach where the Polar Tang was docked. You look on the other side of the crater to see the other half of the crew doing the same with your captain following behind them with his sword drawn pushing off anyone blocking his or his crew’s way.

Instinctively, you gravitated towards Law behind the rest of the crew, your eyes flitting between him and the enraged pirates thundering at your heels. "Got the heart?" you gasped, lungs burning. Law met your gaze showing you the pirate captain's pulsing heart trapped in the cool blue cube he clutched. A curt nod of acknowledgment was all you could manage before a frantic yell from Law ripped your attention back. He skidded to a halt; his face etched with horror. The ground beneath your feet dissolved with a sickening crumble. Your stomach lurched; a silent scream trapped in your throat as you plummeted into the abyss.

Before you let out a scream you were transported to the ground next to Law. “Holy shit!” You gasped, clutching at your chest as the world righted itself. A glance down revealed a gaping chasm where the ground had been moments ago, its jagged edges a chilling reminder of your near demise. Law grips your shoulder pulling you to your feet as you glance across the chasm, the crew’s faces were etched with concern. But your reprieve was short-lived as the enraged pirate crew closing in led by the vice-captain. Law whirled around, his sword singing a deadly hum as he spun it around with blue sphere materialized in his outstretched hand, crackling with ominous energy.

“Trafalgar Law!” The captain clapped walking through his crew to the front, “I am honored you came after my heart, but I would like it back now.” As the captain distracted your own you noticed a sliver of movement in the alleyway caught your eye – a glint of metal from a rifle held by a civilian. He had remained unnoticed amidst the chaos but now he had a rifle trained on your captain.

“Captain!” you screamed, the urgency ripping through your throat. Instinctively, you lunged for Law, shoving him with all your might as the deafening crack of a gunshot shattered the air. You felt the bullet graze your shoulder causing you to lose your footing and change you shoving direction into the chasm sending you and Law plummeting into the abyss.

Agony ripped through you as your back slammed against the unforgiving rock wall of the chasm. The impact forced a scream from your throat, choked off as another jolt of pain lanced through your shoulder wound. Law's desperate yell reached you faintly, a mixture of his name and a strangled curse as his hand shot out, fingertips brushing yours before the cruel distance swallowed him whole.

Panic clawed at your throat. Below, darkness crept in as the chasm walls seemed to converge, the sun's light fading into a memory. A frantic glance upwards confirmed your worst fear. The edge, once a gaping maw against the sky, was already narrowing. The pirate was closing it, sealing your fate.

Law's voice, raspy with exertion, echoed through the deepening gloom. "Room!" he roared; the word laced with a desperation. But even his devil fruit ability seemed to struggle against the relentless closing of the chasm.

The sickening descent mercifully slowed just before your body met the unforgiving ground. Law, with a final, desperate exertion, had managed to activate his Room for a fleeting moment, breaking your fall just enough to prevent further catastrophic damage. A groan escaped your lips as you rolled onto your side, spitting a metallic tang of blood onto the dusty cavern floor.

Through the gloom, you made out the faint outline of Law several meters away, slumped against a rock wall. Ignoring the throbbing pain in your shoulder and the dull ache spreading through your body, you dragged yourself towards him.

"Captain?" you rasped, “Are you alright?"

A low groan rumbled through the darkness, followed by the rustle of fabric as Law pushed himself to sit up. He winced, clutching his head with one hand. "Fine," he muttered. "You?" Law asked, his voice barely a whisper in the gloom.

He couldn't see you, not clearly at least. The only light was a faint sliver filtering down from the now-sealed chasm above, barely enough to cast long, grotesque shadows on the cavern walls. He knew you were somewhere nearby, the ragged sound of your breathing a beacon in the suffocating darkness.

Law extended his arm, groping blindly through the air. It wasn't just concern driving him – he needed a reference point, something solid in this inky void. His fingers brushed against your shoulder, the contact sending a jolt of pain shooting through you. You hissed, flinching away.

Law recoiled, his fingers slick with something warm and wet. He couldn't see it, but the metallic tang on his tongue confirmed his fears. "Shit, you got hit," he muttered, his voice laced with a frustration that echoed in the vast emptiness. "This was supposed to be an easy grab," he groaned, burying his face in his hand.

"Hey, hey," you soothed, reaching out in the darkness. Your hand brushed against his, cool and damp. "I'm fine. Barely grazed." You squeezed his hand gently, pulling it away from his face.

The touch seemed to ground him, "We got the heart," you continued, voice firm despite the tremor in your breath. "And the crew made it. We are just a little banged up, but alive. And the one who fired at us wasn't even a pirate, some scared civilian. You did everything right, Captain. We just got a little unlucky."

A smile tugged at your lips, "Now we just need to figure out how to get out of this damn hole," you thought out loud, your gaze sweeping across the impenetrable darkness. You shuffled around, brushing your hand against the rough wall.

Suddenly, your fingers brushed something unexpected - a thick, gnarled root protruding from the rock. An idea sparked in your mind. With a grunt, you tugged at the root, dislodging it from the wall. You ripped a strip of fabric from your sleeve, careful not to jostle your injured shoulder, and wrapped it tightly around the root's end.

Turning towards Law, a plan forming in your mind, you held out the makeshift torch. "Mind giving me a little spark, Captain?"

Law let out a low chuckle, A faint blue glow emanated from his outstretched hand, his Room crackling into existence for a brief moment.  The discharge arced towards your makeshift torch, igniting the fabric with a satisfying whoosh.  The darkness receded, replaced by a flickering orange glow that illuminated the cavern walls, revealing a cramped but navigable space.

The flickering torchlight illuminated your face, revealing your soft smile to Law. You cast your gaze around the cavern, searching for any sign of an escape route. As your eyes met Law's again, you couldn't help but notice the way his breath danced on your nose, the nearness of him both exhilarating and a little unnerving.

Law's gaze held yours, a storm of emotions swirling within its depths. He watched, seemingly transfixed, as you gently reached up. Your touch, surprisingly light, brushed his hair back, pushing his hat aside to get a better look at the wound on his forehead.

"It's a small cut," you murmured, your voice warm despite the chill seeping from the cavern walls. "Might need stitches if it keeps bleeding, but for now…"  Your voice trailed off as you scanned the wound with a practiced eye.

A blush crept up your cheeks as you became acutely aware of the intimacy of the moment. With a swift movement, you tore the remaining sleeve from your boiler suit. You pressed the makeshift bandage against the cut, securing it with a practiced twist. Finally, you replaced his hat, tucking a strand of hair back behind his ear with a tenderness that surprised you both.

You hastily pulled away from him, the heat of the moment flushing your cheeks. You held the makeshift torch high, casting its flickering light across the cavern walls. You noted a tunnel snaking towards the east when the polar tank was docked.

Turning, you saw Law pushing himself off the wall, a renewed determination etched on his face. Before you could move towards the tunnel, a firm hand clamped onto your uninjured arm. Law stood in front of you, his gaze dropping to your other arm – the one with the gunshot wound.

His touch was surprisingly gentle as he brushed the torn fabric of your suit away from the injury. Your breath hitched when he gently poked the area around the wound which had already begun clotting, a scab forming to staunch the blood flow, but the surrounding skin remained red and inflamed. You flinched as his fingers brushed the sensitive area, but before you could protest, Law grabbed your injured arm just above the wound, pulling it closer to him. With a swift motion, he tore off his own sleeve.

"Looks like we both need new outfits," he quipped, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he carefully wrapped the makeshift bandage around your shoulder. The unexpected tenderness of his actions sent a warmth through you. He turned towards the tunnel and began his hike.

You jogged to catch up with Law, the flickering light of the torch painting the cavern walls in an eerie dance of shadows. Curiosity battled with the pressing situation. "How'd that pirate do something like this so soon after eating his fruit?” you asked.

Law shrugged, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Devil Fruit powers hinge on the user's knowledge," he explained, his voice a low rumble. "For instance, the Ope Ope no Mi, my fruit, requires medical expertise to unlock its full potential I'm still learning its full capabilities.”

"So, your saying that guy knew about cavern and tunnel making?" you laughed at the oddity.

"Or construction,” Law replied curtly. "Either way, it seems fortune favored him more than skill in this instance."

"Speaking of devil fruits," you said, a playful lilt in your voice. "How did you acquire yours?"

Law's steps faltered for a moment, a flicker of pain crossing his features, barely visible in the flickering light. "That's a long story," he muttered, his voice strained.

You chuckled, oblivious to the shift in his mood. "Well, we've got all the time in the world down here, wouldn't you say, Captain?"

A heavy sigh of defeat escaped Law's lips. "I was just a kid," he began, his voice low. "Thirteen and dying from a disease doctors wouldn’t even touch. Then, someone… someone took pity on me, I guess. He forced the fruit down my throat." He spoke quickly in a clear effort to downplay the weight of the story.

"Was it Corazon?" you pressed gently, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

Law's entire body seemed to freeze. His eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, the only sound was the steady drip of water somewhere deeper in the tunnel. "How do you—" he began, his voice barely a whisper.

You couldn't help but laugh, a sound that echoed oddly in the confined space. "You have his name stitched on the back of your favorite jacket, Captain," you explained, a playful smile on your face. "It's a bit hard to miss."

Law's cheeks flushed a faint red, he clicked his tongue, a small sound of annoyance. "Yeah, it was…" he trailed off for a moment, finally meeting your gaze. "He saved me. I was a terrible kid back then, ungrateful and angry. But he… he was kind.” His voice dropped to a low murmur, filled with a quiet sorrow.

"I wouldn't be here without him, but I just wish I knew why," Law admitted, his voice a low rumble. "Why did he love me?"

The weight of his question hung heavy in the air. You reached out and gently placed your hand on his arm. "Maybe," you began softly, "he saw the person you would become. The strong, capable captain who leads with his mind and protects his crew." A grateful smile tugged at your lips. "I'm glad he loved you and saved you, Captain. Because then who would have saved me?"

Law met your gaze, a flicker of something warm passing through his stoic facade. He didn't reply, but a rare smile tugged at the corner of his mouth – a silent acknowledgement of your words.

As you delved deeper into the tunnel, a soft glow began to illuminate your path. Your heart pounded with anticipation as the light grew brighter, finally bursting into a blinding white as you emerged from the subterranean passage. Shielding your eyes, you looked up to see a small opening several yards above.

"Can your room ability reach that far?" you asked Law, who was already examining the hole.

He assessed the distance, his gaze focused. "With my current stamina, perhaps halfway," he replied.

Your mind raced. "Do you think you could create two smaller rooms, each reaching about halfway up?"

Law's eyes lit up with understanding. "I believe so," he confirmed.

You gripped your sword, readying yourself. As Law cast the first room, its blue sphere extended halfway up the hole. With a swift motion, you launched a rock high into the air. In a blur of motion, Law shambled you into the rock's place, your body soaring upwards. Desperately, you plunged your sword into the soft dirt wall, anchoring yourself. Looking down, you retrieved a small rock embedded in the wall.

Law's hand replaced the rock in your grasp as he was lifted into the air. With practiced ease, he created another room, its sphere reaching the top of the hole. Another rock was tossed skyward, and Law exchanged places with it, falling towards the opening. With a Herculean effort, he grabbed the edge and pulled himself to safety.

Reaching down, he plucked a few blades of grass. Once again, Law used shambles, and you found yourself plummeting towards him, landing with a soft thud on top of him.

Your faces were mere inches apart. The scent of pine and salt mingled in the air as your breath caught in your throat. A surge of adrenaline mingled with an unfamiliar emotion, leaving you breathless. Your lips grazed his, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver down your spine. In that moment, the world seemed to slow, and your heart pounded a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

But just as quickly as the moment had arrived, it vanished. You rolled off of him, your cheeks burning. Your mind raced, trying to comprehend the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed you. You took a moment in silence as you catch your breath.

Once you calmed yourself your face began to blush as you quickly sat up. "Ah well! That was crazy! But we're out now!" You laugh nervously.

Law sat up slowly, his eyes filled with a curious intensity and amusement. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing your jawline. Your heart hammered against your ribs as he leaned in, his breath was warm hovering just in front of your lips.

Impatiently you pressed your lips against his forcing him to the ground with you above him. Law Snickered through the kiss still cupping your cheek with one hand and pulling your waist closer with the other. His lips began to open biting your bottom lip requesting you do the same. You opened your lips holding his top lip between yours smiling as your kiss deepned.

"Captain!" a voice called out.

You broke away from Law, your heart pounding in your ears. You scrambled to your feet, your mind racing. Law groaned as you pushed him onto the ground, his eyes filled with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"Captain!" the voice called again, closer this time.

Law sighed, his expression shifting to one of resigned acceptance. "Over here!" he shouted.

A stampede of worried crewmates burst through the trees, led by the exuberant Bepo. The sight of you both alive and well caused an eruption of relief and joy.

"Captain! Y/N!" The furry First Mate squealed. The polar bear mink lifted you both into a powerful hug twisting you around. "We were so worried!" He cried, "We watched you both fall into that chasm but before we could come after you it sealed and the pirate crew chased us away."

"It ok Bepo." Law assured in a low and pained voice.

"Bepo can you please put us down?" You gasped as he squeezed the air out of you.

Worried the bear placed you both on the ground and you held your chest as it filled with air. Bepo quickly analyzed the two of you noting your dirty and injured conditions. "We need to get both of you to the infirmary!" He cried lifting you both up again and began running to the tang while you both tried to kick your way out of his hold.

You looked over to see Law trying to force a pout but you could tell he was happy to be reunited with his crew. You began to laugh at the situation with a smile.

[eamour]

feeling is the secret.

the saying "feeling is the secret" is another phrase that neville goddard coined. now, when speaking of "feeling" it to be true, neville did not talk about an "emotion" but rather "knowing" things to be true. but what's so important about "feeling" anyway?

thoughts come from feeling.

your thoughts come from your feeling. to simplify it for you: your feeling can also be reffered to as your belief in something or your state of mind concerning something. therefore, feeling is the cause of thought. first you have a feeling, then you generate thoughts coming from that feeling. your thoughts determine what state you are in or what your underlying belief/feeling is.

change feeling, change self.

your feeling is the root. the origin. the beginning. it's the only thing you need to change in order to see change be reflected back to you. when you do that, you change self — because self, again, is what you feel to be true.

since your thoughts are not the cause of your manifestation but your feeling is, we need to change that first. your feeling or your belief/state is where you think from. it's where thoughts come from automatically. if you change your feeling, your thoughts have no option but to follow in regards to that state.

change the feeling of "i".

how do you change your feeling? in your mind. you don’t change your outer self but your inner self. a belief or a feeling isn't hard to change. there are no blockages of your subconscious, there is no resistance that has to be dealt with. the only reason why you think that there might be obstacles you need to overcome is because you create them in the first place. you yourself are complicating it to change your state and make yourself believe in the difficulty or the idea that your mind needs to be "fixed". but you can uncreate those beliefs the same way you created them.

thoughts hold no power.

since the thought is created, it has no power of its own and no truth in itself. this is why you don't have to worry about thoughts or if you are thinking "good enough", having the "right" thoughts or micromanaging everything. don't try to think perfectly in your mind. the thought is not the root, the feeling is.

that's why "flipping" aka changing thoughts often doesn't do a lot. it does not change your feeling to begin with. and since you keep the feeling, you will also keep reproducing thoughts coming from that state. yes, today you managed to calm down by flipping thought A — but what if you get anxious again tomorrow because you get a thought B?

feeling is the end.

you know the term "live in the end"? this is what we mean we say it: when we want you to live in the end, we want you to feel as if you had your desire. we want you to go to the very end where you have it. we don't want you to worry about the how, the when, the circumstances or the bridge of events. we want you to feel. because once you do, you will also start to think from feeling aka from having your desire. just like edward art said, "change your feeling to what you want to feel. feel everything and the thoughts will come".

just feel it.

you waste so much time not doing what you should be doing. no, you don't need to firmly do sats every night before going to bed and attempt the void and make sure to write down all 100 affirmations in the same order and meditate for exactly 15 minutes... you need to feel. you need to be. you need to experience it in the mind. you need to give yourself the time to just have it. you need to allow yourself to get a taste of it. you have been forcefully and desperately trying to "do to get". just be it for a moment. give yourself the feeling you have been longing for. because you keep feeling what you don't want to, you just end up manifesting things you don't want. and you do things to get and not to change self.

this post was greatly inspired by edward art

with love, ella.

[arcane-vagabond]

Fool's Fare: Chapter One

Fool's Fare: Chapter One

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Trigger Warnings: Alcohol, Jake Seresin, suggestive language, fear of abandonment. I think that's it?

Word Count: 2.87k

A/N: Wasn't sure I was going to post again tonight, but here we are! Not sure I'm going to post a fic update tomorrow, but I might work on some drabbles and post some of the asks sitting in my inbox. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

The cool, night breeze twisted its way through the door of the crowded pub as a group of patrons exited, offering the briefest relief to your clammy skin as you busied yourself behind the bar. Patrons crowded around the various tables, some laughing in the open while others crowded in the dark shadows of the corners. Your regulars were easy to spot, most of them fishermen. Their carefree attitudes set them apart from the strangers passing through who kept themselves closed off and guarded in an unfamiliar places.

“Y/n!” Called Tom, one of your regulars. He had been a good friend to your father, having known him from his early fishing days. Tom had done well for himself, having been able to put enough money away to buy his own ship - the Iceman. “How’s about another ale!”

“Coming, Captain!” you hollered over at him jovially, already moving to grab a fresh glass. You had always liked the old captain, and had considered him to be a part of your family growing up. When your parents had died, he had seen to it personally that you were taken care of and that Bradley was able to secure steady work on the various shipping vessels that docked on your shores. “Where’s Rooster?”

“Should be coming along soon, I suspect,” Tom smiled warmly. Bradley had been picking up different odd jobs as of late, his latest one being aboard the Iceman loading and unloading cargo. He had been dodging your questions about it as of late, and you had started to wonder if he was up to something.

“He’s going to work himself into an early grave,” you grumbled, sliding the glass of ale down to the captain who caught it easily. “He won’t even tell me what he’s doing all of these jobs for.”

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” mused Tom, lifting the glass up to his lips to take a swig. “He probably doesn’t want you to worry.”

“He’s worrying me by not saying anything,” you countered, leaning against the bar. At that moment, the pub door swung open, and an exhausted looking Bradley stumbled through. You rounded the bar to help him sit down as he staggered onto a stool. “Bradley, for heaven’s sake!”

“Think you can get me an ale, Guppy?” he asked, rubbing at the bags under his eyes. The tips of his ears and nose were seared pink from hours spent in the intense sun, and you frowned at him.

“What you need is sleep,” you countered, but Bradley shook his head, fixing you with tired, pleading eyes.

“Please?” he asked again, softer this time. You sighed, moving back behind the bar and pouring him a draft before sliding it over to him. He grabbed it, raising it up in a silent cheers before tossing his head back with a long swig.

“Easy, lad,” Tom frowned, watching the young man as he took another long pull from his glass. Bradley set his drink down, absentmindedly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Another,” he told you, but you shook your head.

“No, absolutely not,” you scowled as the furrow between his eyes deepened. “You need to go home and rest, Bradley.”

“She’s right, lad,” Tom started, twisting in his seat to face the younger man. “You’ll work yourself into an early grave if you’re not careful.”

“I’m fine,” Bradley muttered, resting his head against the palm of his hand. Tom gave him a wry smile before clapping his hand on the other man’s shoulder. He shot you a wink before getting up to join his crew that was gathered on the opposite side of the room. You watched him go before turning back to look at Bradley with a frown.

“C’mon, Roos,” you prodded, leaning your head down so you could meet his gaze that was fixed on the bartop. “Tell me what you’re up to.”

“Nothin’” he grumbled unconvincingly. You rolled your eyes with a purse of your lips.

“I’m having a hard time believing you,” you sniped, snatching the glass away from him. Without another word to him, you poured another ale and offered it to him. He took it, offering a small smile. He met your even gaze just long enough for you to see the flash of guilt that flitted in his eyes. “What was that?”

“What was what?” he asked, taking a small sip from his glass.

“Why do you look guilty?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you hissed, eyes blazing, “I have known you for twenty years now. Either you tell me what you’re up to right now, or I will personally see to it that you won’t be able to get another job for a month.”

“Alright,” he winced, setting the glass down and finally meeting your stare. “You have to promise me you won’t yell.”

You scoffed. “Are you twelve?”

“Guppy, promise me,” he insisted, hazel eyes pleading with you. You studied him another moment before sighing.

“Alright, fine.”

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re what?” you shrieked, causing some of the patrons to turn to the two of you as Bradley hissed at you to be quiet.

“You promised you wouldn’t be mad.”

“That was before you told me you were leaving,” you snapped. “Where are you even going to go?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted, leaning back. “Still need to find a crew that will take me on long-term.”

You stayed silent, watching him with furious eyes. After a couple of beats, you turned to walk back around the bar. “Caroline, I’m leaving.”

She waved after you, moving to tend to some patrons on the opposite end of the bar. Bradley watched you walk away with wide eyes before getting up to stumble after you. You flung the door of the pub open before setting off with a brisk pace down the road.

“Guppy!”

You ignored the man behind you, tears starting to gather in your eyes.

“Guppy?”

The tears began to fall, the trails they left behind on your cheeks turning to ice in the cool, night air. You turned to walk down to the beach past the docks. How could he drop that bomb shell on you? How could he keep that hidden from you in the first place? Your anger only served to cover up the true emotion you tried your hardest to ignore. Betrayal.

“Y/n, please,” Bradley begged, his long legs having helped him catch up to you by now. You stopped in your tracks, feet sliding into the sand beneath you as you whirled around. You shoved Bradley with all of your strength, shock at the unexpected movement being the only reason stumbled back at all.

“How could you?” you cried, tears falling quicker and your breath coming out shallower as you fought to keep your composure. “How could you just plan to leave me?”

“It’s not like that,” he started, but you shook your head.

“Don’t lie to me, Bradley,” you seethed, hands now clenched at your sides. “Don’t. I deserve the truth. Were you even going to say goodbye to me, or were you just going to vanish one day?”

“Of course not,” he murmured, staring at you with eyes once again pleading with you. “I would never do that to you. You know that.”

“I thought I knew you well enough to know that you wouldn’t leave,” you shot back, causing Bradley to wince. “Guess I don’t know as much as I thought I did.”

“Y/n,” he sighed, running a hand over his face and looking out at the ocean. He seemed to be mulling over his words. “It wouldn’t be forever.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” you laughed humorlessly.

“It wouldn’t be forever,” he continued, giving you a pointed look. “It would only be until I earned enough to buy my own ship.”

“You can do that here,” you argued, but Bradley shook his head with a small, empty laugh.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve barely earned enough these past weeks to live off of for a month out at sea. I’d be buried in the ground before I earned enough to buy a ship, and you know that.”

You couldn’t argue. You knew he was right, and you knew that this was not the life he had dreamed of. He had dreamed of going off with your father on one of his many voyages before the sea had claimed him. It had been years, but the pain of his and your mother’s passing still felt fresh in your heart.

You saw how Bradley looked longingly out at the sea when he thought you weren’t looking, or how he always looked happiest standing on the deck of a boat. No, Bradley was meant for a life at sea, and you knew it. You just never thought he would leave you behind.

“It won’t be forever,” he says again, moving to put his hands on your shoulders, bending down so he was eye level with you. “And when I earn enough money to buy my own ship, I’ll come back for you.”

“That could be years,” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper. Bradley sucks in a breath before slowly nodding.

“You’re right,” he conceded, wiping the tears from your cheek.

“What if you forget about me?”

Bradley huffed out a laugh before drawing you into his arms. He hugged you tightly, resting his cheek on the top of your head. “How could I forget my baby sister? Besides, I think you’d swim across the ocean to find me if I ever forgot about you.”

You huffed a laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “You’re probably right.”

“‘Course I am,” he chuckled, pulling away from you. “Now, c’mon. It’s freezin’ out here, and I’m exhausted.”

You allowed him to lead you up the hill to your shared home. He left a chaste kiss to the top of your head before wishing you goodnight. As you lay in bed that night, you obsessed over the one question you had refused to allow yourself to ask him down at the beach. What if the sea claimed him too?

The following night, you found yourself back behind the bar of the pub. You had heard snippets of chatter amongst the locals about an unknown ship that had docked on your shores.

“I don’t like the look of’em,” Tom had told you and Bradley as he sat at the bar. A lull in the crowd had granted you a moment to stop and talk with the two of them.

“Why’s that?” you asked. He frowned.

“When you get to be my age,” he grumbled, “you can start to pick out the rotten sorts from just a glance.”

Before you could respond, the pub door swung open, hitting the wall with a thud. All three of you turned to see a large group step through the doorway and into the warm glow of the lantern filled room. A blond man stood at the front of the group, lips curled into a confident smirk. You noted the handsome features of him and his companions, and you knew the other women in the room had as well due to the scattered giggles from around the room.

“That’s them,” Tom mumbled, taking another sip of his ale.

The blond scanned his eyes across the room before catching sight of you at the bar. A twinkle of intrigue shone in his eyes as he began to saunter over to you, his crew dispersing to find a table to sit at. You shot a weary glance at Tom before moving to meet the tall stranger on the opposite side of where Bradley sat.

“Evenin’” you greeted with a polite smile. “What can I get you?”

The man looked you over with lick of his lips. “An ale, and your company if you’re offerin’ that too.”

You felt your cheeks grow warm. It wasn’t the first time a patron had made a pass at you, but it was the first time a patron was that devilishly handsome. “The ale, I can get you, but I’m not in the habit of entertaining sailors.”

“Shame,” the stranger grins, watching as you pour his drink. You hand it to him, and you feel a shiver run up your spine as his fingers graze yours. “Would have been nice to have someone as pretty as you in my bed tonight.”

You saw Bradley’s jaw tick from the corner of your eye, and you shot him a warning glance. This part of your job wasn’t new, and you had long since learned how to handle yourself in these situations.

“I believe there are more than a couple of girls over there who would be willing to warm your bed tonight, Mr…?”

“Seresin,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Jake Seresin. And I’m not interested in having anyone but you, pretty girl.”

“Well, then it looks like your bed will go cold tonight after all,” you said to him. Bradley snorted, trying to cover it with a cough, but Jake ignored him.

“Seresin,” Tom grunted, causing all three of you to look at him. He shook his head, and turned to glare at Jake. “I’ve heard of you. You’re a pirate.”

The conversation died in the pub as everyone turned to look at your little group by the bar. Jake’s easy grin never faltered as he stared back at Tom.

“Pirate is such a nasty word,” he drawled, taking a sip of his ale. “I prefer the term…liberator.”

“Whatever you call it, you have no business here,” Tom snapped.

“I beg to differ, my friend,” Jake countered, moving to stand. Turning to the rest of the room, he stated, “I’m looking for men to join my crew. You keep what you can carry with you. If you’re interested, come see me.”

And with one final glance at you, he sauntered off towards the back of the room where his crew had taken up purchase.

“Pirates?” you asked, looking at Tom hesitantly. He shook his head and got up to go join his own crew in the corner. You peered at Bradley from the corner of your eye. He studied the rim of his glass as he stroked it thoughtfully.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked him. He jumped as your words pulled him from his train of thought.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, refusing to meet your gaze. You studied him him for a moment until you saw the quick glance he threw towards the back of the room.

“No,” you snapped, causing him to finally meet your gaze. “Absolutely not.”

“What?” he scowled, but you fixed him with a glare and a finger pointed into his chest.

“Don’t even think about it,” you hissed in warning. Bradley glared right back at you before hopping off his stool and strutting towards the crew at the back. You scrambled around the bar after him. You closed the distance just as he stopped in front of Jake.

“I want to join your crew,” he stated. Jake looked at him with an amused look, eyes flickering to you as you pulled on Bradley’s arm so that he faced you.

“Bradley, don’t,” you begged.

“Y/n, enough,” he snapped down at you, taking you aback. His eyes softened as you looked up at his broad frame with hurt bewilderment. He let out a long sigh, running a hand through his sandy brown locks. He looked back at you before continuing. “Don’t you see, Guppy? This is my chance. If I don’t go now, who knows when I’ll get another opportunity to leave and make my fortune.”

“Roo, you’re my brother. I can’t let you do this,” you pleaded, taking his hand in yours. You willed him to listen to you, but it was no use.

“I’ve made my decision, Guppy,” he said. You couldn’t stop the flash of hurt you knew passed over your face as Bradley turned back to the captain. You looked around at the other patrons desperately before settling your eyes on Tom. He was already looking at you with a solemn expression, shaking his head.

“Sign here,” Jake instructed, pointing to the piece of parchment he had rolled out onto the table. Bradley obeyed, scratching his name in quick strokes to the bottom. You felt the tears start to run down your face before you could stop them. You couldn’t stop anything, it seemed. Bradley straightened and turned to look at you. The two of you stared at one another for several moments before you turned on your heel and stormed away from him.

That night, as you lay in bed, you dreamed of the sea. You dreamed of blue and green swirling around you as you struggled to breath. You dreamed of splintering wood and echoed shrieks that were drowned out by thundering waves. You dreamed of strange creatures that lurked the deep as they waited for their next meal. You dreamed of golden hair and cocky smirks as they taunted you beneath the waves. You dreamt of a cold, calloused hand that pulled you under until the surface was nothing but a distant memory.

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟳: 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗮𝘀𝗹𝘆 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗳𝘁

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: witch!reader and potions master!pierre run a cute little shop to fulfill anyone’s magical needs. it’s nearing valentine’s day, and the shop is bombarded with desperate humans looking for love charms & potions, even though there’s no magic spell strong enough to replicate true love. oddly, news travels from a few villages over that there’s a potions master who managed to make a real love potion. pierre has to get his hands on it—for the bit, obviously. there’s no way it will work.  📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. not beta read. witchcraft. familiars. cunnilngus. aphrodisiacs. inherent dubcon. vaginal sex. unsafe sex. sudden orgasm? desperation. coming inside. vague structure and explanation of magic. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words. 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: pierre gasly x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: need to know • doja cat

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: inspired by amortentia. what can i say at every fanfic writer's core, they’ve read an unhealthy amount of hp ff’s, i don’t make up the rules. we know pierre is a fiend, but uh, i do not even feel like i truly tapped into his true unhinged power with this. n joy, loves !!!

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cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

the shop has been open for fifty-five minutes and it’s already been overwhelmed by desperate humans. valentine’s day is tomorrow; and every naive soul is scrambling to get a love charm or potion. the problem with that is: there’s no magic spell or potion able to mirror true love. however, nobody coming into the shop appreciates that answer. 

after the third time a customer hysterically screamed at you for saying there’s no such thing as a ‘love spell,’ you made a slight tweak to the doorbell. now, every time the door opens a bass-boosted audio of you screaming, “LOVE POTIONS, CHARMS, OR SPELLS DO NOT EXIST” echoed through the shop. unfortunately, that message did not seem to help. you had to change the way you welcomed customers when they stepped up to the counter.

“good morning! welcome in to runes and brews; if you’re looking for a spell of true love, it doesn’t exist. nor does a potion or charm. the most i can offer is a hyperfixation charm, which makes the subject pay more attention to you for twelve hours. this charm doesn’t affect their emotions, you still have to make them attracted to you with your, hopefully, natural charm. are you interested in one, they’re buy-one-get-one free for valentine’s day?”

your customer service grimace smile is stained across your lips as you parrot the same words to each customer. you’ve become an npc. the customers try to interrupt your spiel, but you act as if it’s a piece of unskippable dialogue. if they’re going to come here and harass you over their inability to rizz somebody up—they’re sure as hell going to listen when you speak. at this point, you’ve adopted the ‘it is what it is’ mentality. you’re selling a record number of hyper-fixation charms, you think you might run out of your entire supply hours before the store closes. 

at first, you felt a little guilty about selling these charms to the desperate souls. all they want is true love and you can only offer a temporary fix. but after you’ve been screamed at countless times for telling these non-magiques that you can’t supply them with what they’re asking for, the guilt quickly transforms to ‘idgaf.’ with a twitching eye, you kindly told the customers inside the store to wait just a few seconds while you adjusted the door’s charm. 

you grab the outer doorknob with a hand covered in lapis powder, and imbue it with your aura to edit the current protection spell. thankfully, you remembered to meditate this morning, so casting comes easily. you breathe deeply, before releasing the handle and you make your way back towards the customers. and suddenly, the amount of people entering the shop decreases dramatically.

you have such a manic grin on your face that the customers inside the building stare at you in mild terror. one of the humans swallows their fear, and asks the question they’re all afraid to hear the answer to, “w-what did you do to the uh- to the d-door?”

the lights brighten around you as your grin grows larger, and you nonchalantly answer, “the door reads your intentions before you step inside. if a customer plans to come in and harass me over what is magically impossible, they get cursed.”

the humans gasp in fear, and you’re eyes widen in realization, “oh! no-no, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad! it’s just a floating rose that screams out ‘i have no rizz’ to every person they talk to for the next forty-eight hours. they’ve ruined their own valentine’s day with their terrible manners,” you state proudly.

the mass of customers inside thins out pretty quickly after that. 

thankfully, the door charm seems to do the trick with keeping out unruly folks. you’re able to start working on requests from your usual customers—the barkeep needs her rune for a bottomless keg replenished, the butcher needs his new set of utensils charmed with sharpness, the baker’s assistant needs your help working on the heating charm for the warming-tables, and so on and so forth. you get a new vampire customer today, requesting a sunshade potion—they indulge in telling you that they’re planning to spend valentine’s day outside with their human partner as a surprise. you coo at the vampire adorably as you check them out, and you see their cheeks faintly tint with pink—they must have fed recently. this is why being open for valentine’s day is worth it to you; customers like this remind you that true love still exists.

you wish him luck with his surprise, and hand over the potion, which was made by your true love, pierre. who was supposed to be helping you in the shop about thirty minutes ago. he claimed to have to run out and get a few extra supplies to be able to fulfill all of his orders, but that he’d be back before the shop opened. when he shows his face, the true love between you two may not exist anymore. because you’re going to kill him for hanging you out to dry. you sigh, and make your way into the back storage closet to get a fresh box of dried peonies for the new batch of hyperfixation charms, when you hear the doorbell scream the warning message.

you call-out, “give me one moment and i’ll be right up to help you out! feel free to look around in the meantime!” you summon the box of peonies forward, and spell it to float after you as you make your way out.

turning the corner, you automatically begin your npc introduction, “good morning! welcome in to runes and brews; if you’re looking for a spell of true love, it doesn’t exist. nor does a potion or charm. the most i can offer is a hyperfixation charm—oh, it’s just you—ohmygod—how did you pick up my door curse??”

pierre stares at you in a mixture of bewilderment and amusement, as the rose screams “I HAVE NO RIZZ,” at you. you can only laugh, and summon your phone to your hand to take a video. pierre laughs in reflex, still not sure what’s going on, and suddenly he’s being climbed over like a cat tree by your familiar.

“aha!” you exclaim. “i’ve been looking for you all day, ma’am. what pocket of the universe were you hiding in? you always disappear when the non-magiques come around instead of defending me, cat. what kind of familiar are you?”

pierre struggles to wrangle cat off of his head from where she’s fucking up the rose hanging over him. he side-eyes you heavily when he still sees you recording the whole interaction, and you put the phone down before you step over to get cat off of his head. “madame catalytic converter!” you yell with the force of your ancestors.

yes, you named your familiar catalytic converter, cat for short. it makes perfect sense, she improves your efficiency and decreases the chance for any harmful side-effects when you do magic; just like the car part. pierre says that’s why she never listens to you, for giving her a terrible name. when you asked him what he would’ve named her, he said, “probably, escargot, or something.” you said that’s probably why she hates him more. 

you remove the curse from pierre with a quick touch of your hand to his forehead, and the rose poofs away. madame catalytic converter, hops away quickly, uninterested in either of you again, and struts away to sit on top of the box of peonies you brought up. you narrow your eyes at your familiar, “oh—so you’re not even going to explain yourself? where were you?”

cat stares at you dead in the eyes, before she looks away and starts licking her calico fur clean, dismissing you. you scoff, rolling your eyes, and turn to pierre, “and where were you, monsieur?” you ask, poking a finger to his chest. 

pierre presses a kisses to your cheek in greeting, and raises the one bag he has in his hand as part of his answer, “i told you i was running errands, remember?”

you purse your lips at him, and he smiles at you, wrapping an arm around your waist to try and pull you in for a kiss. you smack your teeth disapprovingly, gripping his jaw with your hand, and holding him back, “yeah, you told me you were getting extra supplies. plural. and, that you’d be back in time to open the shop.”

pierre avoids your eyes, chuckling anxiously. 

“i’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but, you’ve only come back with one item, and it’s well past the time the shop opened,” you pause, letting pierre simmer, “explain yourself.”

“okaysoilied,” pierre rushes out, and you hum in shock sarcastically, gesturing for him to continue, “but—but! mon amour, i’ve come back with something that could potentially level up my potion making skills!”

you stare at him unamused, “oh ok—well, show me, what is this wonderful thing?”

pierre shifts on his feet, and you are suddenly afraid to know what he’s bought. if his confidence is faltering, you know whatever’s in that bag cannot be good. 

“so, you remember how people were saying the potion shop a few towns over has actual love potions,” pierre starts eagerly, you nod in resignation, already knowing where this is going, “i bought one! well, two actually. i tried to bug the potion maker into telling me what he put in it, but he was so shifty about it. which is completely understandable, if i made a new potion as great as this, i wouldn’t tell anybody my secrets either.”

“okay, pierre,” you sigh, rubbing a hand across your face, disappointed, “why did you buy two of them?”

“oh,” pierre begins, his usual ludicrous smirk returning to his expression, “one for me to study, and one for me to take! the best way to see if it works is to test it out myself.”

you tug his hand off your waist, and step away from him, pointing at him in vindication, “that’s why my curse worked on you! you’re harassing me with this goddamn love-potion shit—you snake, we both know it’s not real!”

pierre groans, following after you as you storm back to the front counter, the peony box floating over as well, cat yowling at the sudden movement. 

“oh, come on, mon amour,” pierre pleads, brandishing the love potion at you, “where is your hunger for magical breakthroughs? aren’t you curious to learn how it works?”

“pierre, babe, it doesn’t work! that’s why i don’t care! and, why would it work on you? we’re already a true love’s match. we’re soul-tied!”

“so, there’s no harm in me taking it,” pierre claims, like he’s found a loophole. 

“pierre, you shouldn’t,” you warn him. the potions master deflates at your words, and you sigh at the sight of his point. you take a few steps to press your lips to his in a sweet kiss, and your aura swells with pierre’s love passing to you.

“if you do end up taking it, which you probably will anyways, at least take the time to properly study it. you don’t know if they’re any weird side effects,” pierre perks up, his blue-green eyes losing their saddened look immediately. he happily presses a few more kisses to your lips, and pulls away before pressing a kiss to your hand.

“i will! i’m going to go to the back now and start studying it—“

“uhm, no you are not! you still have to help me run this store, sir! i have plenty of things for you to do. starting with cleaning our cauldrons!”

pierre groans in disgust and whines like a child, “mon amour! please, you know i hate doing that. you can do it with a snap of your fingers, why do i have to do it with manual labor?”

you arch a sharp brow at him, and gently remind him of his behavior, “you shouldn’t have lied to me then, hm?” pierre sulks, and moves towards the back to get started on cleaning the cauldrons.

“don’t look so sad—i could’ve had you collecting the eyes of spiders!”

pierre cringes when he accidentally slams the drawer of his desk closed, pausing cautiously to listen for any movement in the house. it’s late, and you’ve gone to bed hours ago; he’s stayed up trying to identify what exactly this so-called love potion is made out of, and what order of processes it was created with. the frenchman is certain that there are at least seven ingredients in the brew: mature peonies, smashed pearls, crushed dates, powdered rose thorns, rose water, and a potion base of moonstone and lapis. it’s odd, because to pierre the potion smells like warmed vanilla, shea butter, a dash of espresso, and a brush of peppermint—but with every extraction he makes from the potion, there’s no sign of those ingredients. in addition to that mystery, he can tell that this potion took a few weeks to prepare and that it needed constant stirring. he can figure out when ingredients were added to the potion based on how much affect the cooking and heat had on them; the dates and pearls were first, followed by the rose thorns, and it seems like the peonies were added last—he just can’t figure out how they were integrated in the brew. were they added in batches, all at once, did they need changes in stirring motion, etc.. 

putting aside all the unknowns, there is one thing that pierre is sure of: none of the ingredient combinations in this potion would cause any harmful side effects. the powdered rose thorns and crushed pearls are a rare sight in potions but, they create the base of hyperfixation charms and he hasn’t heard of any reports of strange or harmful reactions from these two ingredients. so, the only responsible option for the potions master is to drink the concoction and see if it lives up to be the ‘true love’ potion everyone is claiming it to be.

pierre knocks the draft back quickly and hums pleasantly at the taste, a curious eyebrow raised at how it doesn’t mirror the scent at all. the flavor is sweet and tangy, with a lingering dash of saltiness—it’s delicious. he finds himself wishing he didn’t waste the first potion with experiments so he could taste it again. 

the potions master rocks back and forth on his feet impatiently, he expected the brew to take immediate effect, alas, he feels nothing. pierre shrugs, the potion may take longer to kick in if it’s replicating one of the strongest emotions. he leaves his study and makes his way to the bedroom, and right before he enters the bedroom, he stumbles over cat. your familiar looks at him reproachfully, before she pauses and comes over to sniff at pierre. in the dark, he can see the calico’s eyes shrink into pupils and suddenly she hisses up at him, before she apparates into thin air. pierre scratches at his scalp in a confused manner; cat hissing at him and then disappearing, is not out of the ordinary (it reminds him of the you first brought him home and he tried to charm her with a laser pointer—the familiar stared at pierre like he disparaged her family name), he doesn’t know if that was a reaction just because of him, or if it was a reaction to the potion. 

he continues with his usual nightly routine before he joins you in bed, dressed in a pair of old sweatpants alone. you pout in your sleep, pierre can feel your aura calling to him, unhappy that he’s not curled up against you. he tucks you into his chest when he settled comfortably on his back. he feels your magic calm, the air relaxing when the force of your influence fades. 

the potions master tries to stay up for as long as he can to see if he notices an effect from the brew, but deflates when he doesn’t feel any changes. he knows the chances of this potion working was slim to none, however, he kind of hoped it at least had some effect on him. pierre’s eyes flutter shut as he drifts to sleep, and his last conscious thought is that you were probably right, the potion may not have an effect on true love’s matches.

you squirm awake. it’s boiling hot under the sheets and it shouldn’t be, you placed a cooling charm on the bed. as the fog of sleep unfortunately fades from your mind, you notice that the heat is radiating from pierre. turning around in worry and slight annoyance, you check in on your boyfriend, and the annoyance disappears when you examine his state.

he’s still asleep, but he’s drenched in sweat. his brow is furrowed in what must be pain, and his body squirms across the bed in discomfort. you press a hand to his forehead and hiss at the burning heat from his skin. you groan, already knowing what happened to your dumb potions master—he should be stripped of his title after this. he was working on the damn potion before you went to bed, and he fucking drank it, ignoring your warning, and now, he’s suffering the consequences. you take the same hand that was on his head, and bring it to his shoulder to gently shake him awake. pierre, on the other hand, awakens dramatically, jackknifing upright like you’ve poured water all over him.

the man pants desperately, chest heaving with his stuttering breaths, tongue swiping at his upper lip to clear the sweat gathering there, his teal irises swallowed by enlarged pupils, and his hair is matted and curling against his forehead from the mixture of sweat and heat. his eyes are glazed over, you can tell he’s not quite aware of what’s going on—that’s probably thanks to the incredible fever he’s running—but there’s a hidden glint to them that you can’t puzzle out. 

“oh, pierre,” you lean forward, hands coming to grasp at the sides of his face, steadying him, “you fucked around and found out, didn’t you? there’s no chance you’re capable of telling me the antidote to this, it seems. maybe a spell can alleviate the effects briefly enough…”. as you ramble on, mostly to yourself, you fail to see the look in pierre’s eyes change. the hidden intentions you weren’t able to make out are as clear as day now. the haze over his stare is still present, but the confusion has disappeared. only hunger remains.

you startle when pierre’s trembling hands grasp at your waist. you quirk a brow at him in question, but don’t receive an answer, a verbal one at least. you’re suddenly knocked flat on your back and pierre bodily shoves himself between your legs, hovering over you. and the intense look in his eyes is made aware to you; you’ve seen it before, but it’s never felt this ravenous. you press your eyelids closed and whimper under your breath at your revelation: the ‘true love’ potion is a fucking aphrosodiac.

pierre is so hot. he feels his body shivering dramatically as he holds himself on his hands above you. his muscles weaken from the strain of the fever, and he collapses on top of you. his head lands in the valley of your neck, and he moans at the cooling feeling of your brown skin against his face—he needs more of it, he needs you naked. reinvigorated, pierre attempts to wrangle your clothes off, but he’s unable to do much with his shaky limbs. he begins to anger when your sleep shirt fails to disappear, and tries to rip it down the center. you force his hands away, and tug the shirt up and away before tossing it aside, leaving you in just panties. his anger dissipates, and he presses his body against yours again, and a choked groan escapes him at the relief your naked torso gives him, he goes boneless. 

the relief lasts for less than a minute, before he starts squirming desperately again—he needs to be closer to you. he suckles marks into your neck, moaning lewdly when he feels your hand tangle in his hair, pulling at it firmly. he fights your grasp, unsatisfied with his unfinished claim on your neck and chest, but he submits when he notices you’re guiding him to your lips. 

the meeting of your lips is messy, he can’t manage to find any of his usual finesse. he pants into your mouth in between sloppy, wet kisses, if you can even call them that. his tongue fights against yours, and his hips buck forward at the feeling, which reminds him of the fact that he still has sweatpants on and you have on panties. pierre jerks away, resisting the urge to continue kissing you when you whine out for him so prettily, chest arching upwards, nipples perky and egging him to bite, the bruises on your neck blossoming with reds and purples—he shakes his head erratically, and focuses enough to tug his sweatpants off; he’s never been so happy that he’s not wearing underwear. the skin contact must have done him well, because his hands aren’t shaking anymore as they grasp at your panties. he may not have torn apart your shirt, but the cotton undergarment doesn’t stand a chance, he rips through it like water.

the sound of your shriek at his actions is muted in his ears, and he barely registers the feeling of you shoving at his shoulder in irritation. pierre can only see your pussy. a broken whimper escapes him as he stares; his eyes tunnel to your throbbing hooded clit, the way your entrances tightens and relaxes, like you’re taunting him to fill you up, and you’re soaked for him, lips shining with your wetness—he should just get a brief taste, before he fucks you. he lays between your legs, hands coming around to grip at your thighs to firmly hold you against his mouth, and he’s eating you out like he’s never had a meal before.

the potions master vaguely hears a pleasure-filled scream burst from your chest as he broadly strokes of his tongue against your vulva to collect any wetness you’ve spilled. he muffles his moan into your pussy at the taste, and shifts downward to prod his tongue inside of you to coax more of your juices out. he feels your hips try to buck him off of you, and he growls into you, tightening his grip on your thighs to allow you no escape. you leak steadily into his mouth, even as you try to run from the constant barrage of his lips, tongue, and teeth. pierre’s brow furrows with the effort he puts into eating you out—your taste is addicting. it’s a mouthwatering combination of sweet and tangy, with lingering saltiness. he has a small lapse of deja-vu at your flavor, but it’s quickly dismissed at the drag of his cock against the bed. 

pierre whimpers into you at the pleasure flaring behind his eyelids, as he begins to hump against the bed. he switches from forcing his tongue inside of you and moves his attention to your clit, suckling and twirling his tongue on the button. it sounds like he’s making out with your cunt. your thighs to clamp shut around his head, your hand scrambles to tug at his hair and hold him exactly where you want him, and you start rubbing your pussy against him. fuck, how did he not realize how hard he is. pierre sobs into your pussy overwhelmed, he wants to keep eating you out, and the friction of his cock against the bed feels so good. he knows being inside of you would be better.

the frenchman breaks free from the grasp of your legs, and scrambles back upwards, not giving you time to register the change in position before he breaches your entrance. when the head of his cock pops inside of you, he throws his head back and moans erotically at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him. he starts to burn hotter. pierre struggles to hold-off from thrusting into you in one smooth motion—he’s usually cautious when he fucks into you for the first time because he’s well aware of his size and how you struggle to take it all in one sitting. he whimpers hotly, and picks his head up to look at you—and all sense of waiting for you to adjust leaves him head. a line of drool has slid down your cheek, your eyes have rolled back in pleasure, and the sounds of your squeals of pleasure from just the tip of his cock break his restraint.

the man drives his cock deep inside of you in one smooth thrust, and he shudders on top of you, humming in satisfaction at the pulsing grasp of your cunt. pierre feels how he forced the air out of your lungs, your corresponding scream still rattling in his eardrums, but he can’t help how he grinds his cock into you, one, two, three times. he groans out, and starts making proper thrusts into you—he needs to fuck you properly. one of your hands sneaks between your joined bodies and presses at his navel in a weak attempt to halt his movements. pierre knocks it out of the way, before he brings both of his hands to tighten on your waist and starts fucking you with a purpose. it’s selfish and dirty; in a way pierre usually isn’t. he uses himself as a tool to make you cum first all of the time, but you can tell tonight, this is all about him—your orgasm is just a byproduct. he gathers you up in his arms, making sure there’s no gap of air in between you, and starts pumping his hips into you deeply, not pulling out of you any more than a few centimeters.

it’s feels so pleasurable that it could be torture. he’s applying pressure against that spongy spot on your walls so consistently, that you’re legs have already started shaking. he’s fucking you up the bed with the force of his thrust, and he’s conscious enough to place a hand on the headboard to make sure he doesn’t shove you up to hit your head. pierre’s making these sweet, whiny, whimpers, that he attempts to muffle into your neck as he feels himself start pulsating inside of you, dancing along the edge. he feels your nails claw into his back, and it’s like his senses are suddenly returned to full strength from where they were clogged with fuzz. he can hear you try and moan out for him, but his thrusts are so powerful that you keep choking on your words.

he catches the ending of your warning, “pierre-oh—m’ gonna cum! oh, fuck!”

the clenching of your orgasm pushes him into his own, and it’s the most intense crash of pleasure he’s ever felt. his vision whites out and it feels painful in a way only too much pleasure can give. his whole body shakes through each wave of pleasure, and he feels lightheaded at the feeling. pierre can’t even do anything more than jerk his hips forward to pump through the aftershocks, he falls limp on top of you, pinning you under him. his skin feels raw and blown open, and there’s a ringing noise in his ears. he whimpers against your neck, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, and then he’s pretty sure he faints for a few minutes.

when he comes back to the present, you’re humming underneath him, hands rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion. pierre brokenly moans against your throat, oversensitive. you shush him, and scratch at the nape of his neck, just the way he likes but won’t admit to. his breaths slowly even out against your skin, and in a croaky voice he starts talking, “the potion—it smelled like the shea butter of your lotion, the vanilla and coffee of your perfume, and the peppermint of your aura.”

you pause in your motions, and softly ask, “really?”

pierre shifts, hissing at the jostling of his cock still inside of you, and settles again, raising his head up to make lazy eye contact with you, “yeah,” he whispers quietly, before carefully pulling out of you and falling onto his stomach next to you.

you nuzzle up to his side and press kisses against his shoulder, before you offhandedly mention that his fever’s gone down. pierre’s fighting the call of sleep, and mumbles something into the pillow that you can’t make out, and he turns his head to the side so you can hear him, “i dunno how, mon amour, but it tasted like you too.”

you stare at him with wide eyes, neither of you are aware of an aphrodisiac of this caliber. pierre falls asleep, and you close your eyes in a quick prayer—this potion better have run its course, you won’t survive another round of that.

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld@buendiabebeta@butterfly-lover@lana-d3l-rey@dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhaj@miahgonzalez16@jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock@biancathecool@barnestatic@sweetpiccolo-blog@my-ylenia @zaynzierulez@reblog-princess-blog @lovingaphroditesworld @katekipshidze @darleneslane @inloveallthetime

© httpsserene 2023

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Duff 8

Warnings: groping, insecurity, food and body issues, manipulation, and the usual. Proceed with caution.

Feedback is always welcome. Love you and thanks for the wonderful responses so far.♥♥♥♥

Image credit (I want to give dues where due but don’t want the creator to keep getting tagged in my posts as I have been approached by some before that they don’t want me in their notifs)

“I just think I should go,” you fix your shirt, still warm from the dryer, “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to run out or anything but–”

“But you won’t stay. I get it,” Curtis says, “going to hang out with your friends?”

“No, um, just should…”

“So why are you in such a hurry? Is it that boss of yours?”

“N-no, I… It’s not you, if you’re worried. I’m tired and maybe it’s weird but I need my own space. I need to… chill, you know?”

He exhales and tilts his head, “yeah, I guess I get it,” he crosses his arms and comes closer, “can I tell you something? Before you ditch me.”

“Curtis–”

“Please Bunny,” he insists, “listen, alright? I… I don’t want this to end. I don’t want you to go.”

You give a perplexed look. He’s so sweet but persistent. And he’s right, it’s the most excitement you’ve had, well, ever.

“Can we see each other again?” He asks.

“Really? You want to?”

“Of course,” he assures you, “I– wait, do you think I’m that guy? The kind that just picks up girls and never calls them again?”

“Uh, no, but I don’t really know what kind of guy you are.”

“You don’t? I think I’m a guy who treats you pretty good, right?”

“Mhmm,” you hum with an emphatic nod.

“How about tomorrow? We can have lunch.”

“Yeah, sounds good–”

“You sure you don’t want a ride?” He puts his hands on your arms, rubbing them warmly, “I don’t mind.”

“I’m good, promise,” you smile as you resist the urge to pull away. You’ve never felt so oversensitive in your life. Like you might shatter if he doesn’t stop. This close to your escape, you can’t stop.

“You give good snuggles,” he steps closer and kisses your forehead, “I’ll just have to hug a pillow until tomorrow.”

You force a laugh. He’s kind of funny beneath it all, though you don’t know that it’s completely intentional. His hands squeeze your arms tightly, the reluctance lingering as he pulls back. He only lets go as you step back.

Once you have some time to yourself, you’ll be able to think.

🐰

You let out a sigh as you enter your apartment. It’s nice to be home. You bask for a moment in the familiarity, in the absence of expectation. You lock the door and throw your purse in the chair.

You take your time settling in. You change into a pair of pajamas and make yourself some tea. You put on your favourite youtube channel to fill the silence and keep your thoughts from running wild. 

Finally, you’re cozy, alone, and damn exhausted. You could fall asleep right there. You yawn and laze beneath the soft fleece throw on the couch. You can barely focus on the video as your eyelids droop. You can’t fight it. You give in to the midday nap.

You wake up and the windows are dark. Your television gleams with a vibrant landscape, the video well past casting. You cough and sit up, slightly dizzy from the depth of your sleep. You reach for your phone to check the time.

Twelve messages?! Jesus. Maybe it’s your friends finally responding to you, or you know, even checking in to make sure you got home safe.

You flick up the lock screen only to find all the texts from a single number. Curtis. Just before you managed to leave, he insisted on keying in his number. You didn’t see the harm in it.

‘Home safe?’

‘You there?’

‘When you get a chance, can you let me know you’re okay.’

Each is more frantic than the last. You’re a bit surprised at the tone. You did promise you would tell him when you got home but that’s just what people say. Stephanie has never once done so and she says she will constantly.

You shake the cobwebs out and type in your response; ‘sorry, fell asleep. Home and safe.’

The three dots of his pending response come up almost immediately. It was only two hours or so. It’s not that big a deal. You barely know each other, right?

The dots disappear and you frown. Well, you guess he’s upset.

Your phone jitters and you stare at the incoming call flashing. It’s him. You fumble to answer and croak a crackly, ‘hello?’ into the speaker.

“Do you know how worried I’ve been?” Curtis launches in without pretense, “I’ve been sitting here thinking of the worst things, bunny.”

“Um, okay?” You utter.

“Okay? Not okay. What if something happened to you? I can’t even come over and check on you.”

You chuckle nervously. The line is silent. You stop and swallow.

“Sorry, I forgot–”

“You promised you would text,” he hisses, “you did.”

“I know, like I said, I’m tired and I fell asleep.”

“You went home to sleep? You could’ve done that here, bun, you know that.”

“Er, yeah, but well…” you don’t know how to argue with him. You’re completely put off by his aggression. You spent one night together, you met in a club, it can’t be that deep. “Look, maybe we should postpone lunch, Sundays are pretty busy for me–”

“What? Bunny, are you a liar?”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t take you as the type. You're sweet, I know you’re not going to break another promise to me. Are you?”

There’s an edge in his tone. A challenge. He’s testing you and if you get the answer wrong, you feel like it’s the end of the world. You did say you would have lunch and really, it’s kind of flattering that he’s so worried. Isn’t it?

“No, I’m sorry, I’m only… I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he argues and softens his timbre, “I worry, is all.”

“Yeah…” you murmur.

“So, I need your address to pick you up for lunch,” he says brightly, the shift abrupt and disarming, “I got the perfect spot in mind.”

“Um, right, uh, I’ll send it to you.”

“Now? So you don’t forget. You got a habit of that, huh?”

You sniff. You can’t tell if he’s insulting you.

“Right,” you agree flatly and take the phone away from your face to put in your address. You return the speaker to your ear, “done.”

“Great, bunny,” he purrs, “so, what are you doing? Missing me?”

[copperbadge]

Told my therapist about NaClYoHo, and she likes the idea a lot. But she had a really important question that I couldn't answer: What happens at the end of November for people who want or need to continue?

Hey, I told mine too! She thought it was a smart way to systematize something that even people without ADHD struggle with. I did write a little about this in the manifesto but not in a systemic way, and perhaps I should add some kind of "What Happens After November?" onto the end, so thank you for asking this question!

No system works for every person, and often if a system does work, only part of it works. So when I went to write the manifesto, I wanted to make it as modular as possible. There's a reason that while NaClYoHo is a community, it's a very loose one, without a messageboard or discord or anything that would more intentionally bring people together. This is meant to be a framework on which you build your own home, not an apartment building.

So honestly, what happens at the end of November is up to you.

(I'm assuming for the rest of this post that you've been participating, but if you haven't, that's okay -- most of this should still apply, it's just less about "continuing momentum" and more about "committing to an idea".)

I talk a little in the manifesto about how doing this can help to systematize it -- having spent 30 days putting on a podcast and cleaning can teach you that it's easier than you think, and can put you in the habit. So if you feel it's good for you, keep doing what you're doing. Even posting about it, if you want. Maybe find a buddy you can talk to about it, or give it five minutes in therapy every week.

That said, doing this Every Day For A Month can also be tiring. I find it stressful! I manage the stress, but right now I look forward to giving myself permission not to see something dirty or broken and feel compelled to clean or fix it. Part of doing this in November, for me, is that the rest of the year I can say "Well, that's a November problem" and let it go. So you can, instead of keeping on, start keeping notes about what needs to be done, and either wait until next November, or designate a time period every few months to take care of it. Or have one day a week that's the Salty Pirate day, where you do dishes, or vacuum, or fold laundry or whatever.

NaClYoHo is going to taper gently for me -- it ends tomorrow, but some stuff is going to linger, like the craft projects I need to finish or the furniture I need to assemble that hasn't arrived yet. You can also do that -- keep cleaning as long as you have energy and, once you're feeling tired, stop for a bit.

Now, bearing in mind that I'm just a guy on the internet, it seems like your therapist is engaged with your process, so I would recommend bringing it back to her. She seems like the ideal person to help you make a plan for after November -- you can examine your options, maybe come up with some I haven't named, and discuss how each of them might impact you. And if you're checking in with her about it going forward, she can help you gauge how you're doing with it. At some point it might just be so habitual you don't need to worry about it as a process anymore -- or at some point you might need to set yourself a boundary.

It can be a little intimidating to put yourself so fully in control of something, but the only way you make this work for you is to make it your own. Whether that means continuing on with your whole chest, or shrinking it down for the rest of the year, or stopping -- you get to decide.

Good luck. :) And give your therapist a high five for me.

[ihatesocialmedia45]

My Debut Onto The Tumblr Homelander Fanfic Scene

I see a lot of other Homelander writers post their fics on here, and I think I will start, too! Here is Chapter One of my fic: (also - you should listen to Guts' Theme from Berserk while you read!)

Sunshine, Happiness and Rainbows

Vought's New Year's Countdown was in full swing; VNN was filming live, and the camera panned outside, to show the cheering crowd huddled outside the Tower. Homelander watched from the window, the flash of cameras lighting up his face, wearing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He would be hosting this event, he thought with an internal sigh. The people outside might have been genuinely celebrating - but to him,  to the rest of the Seven, it was just another soulless bid for attention. They hadn't even officially been asked to host; The Tonight Show had fought them tooth and nail for the time slot - but Stan would not be cowed, and Vought had won, once again.

All this, just to celebrate another pointless year... 

"Over here, Homelander!" a cameraman urged, waving wildly. Homelander flashed him a dazzling smile; the shutters clicked faster.

Deep was entertaining a gaggle of fans outside, taking pictures, while Maeve was nursing an old fashioned inside, leaning on the meeting room table. Noir, hidden the back, was wearing a neon sign that flashed colors and messages across the screen: 20 minutes till next year!  Sage, the sourpuss, had managed to find a way out of the affair entirely, and was probably scraping her brains out and eating fast food... or whatever it was she did during those moments of idiocy she quite literally carved out for herself. Homelander felt his lip curl in disgust. The Seven was in shambles, and Stan had saw fit to drag them on TV and make them dance, anyway. 

Starlight and Firecracker seemed to be making the best of it, at least, talking to the camera about their resolutions. "Well... I hope to beat my record for saves this year! 350," Starlight said, puffing her chest out slightly. Firecracker gave her a teasing look. "Oh, what a coincidence! I also hope to beat Starlight's record of 350 saves this year," she joked, giving Starlight a playful push. 

As Stan gave his annual speech - his State of the Union, Homelander scoffed, suppressing an eye roll - everyone watched as the camera panned to Noir and his sign: 10 minutes till next year!  Homelander watched the sign flash, Stan's voice like static in his ears. He was already thinking of what he'd do tomorrow; he'd go down to the 30th floor, maybe terrorize Ashley a bit (holidays made him angry), do his itinerary... maybe fly across the globe, sit at Mount Everest... He'd built something of a settlement on the summit, where he could sip his milk and watch the sun rise at the highest elevation in the world. Of course, he could have flown higher, but he'd recently decorated the place with a very deep leather recliner, complete with a heated cushion. Every king needed his throne, after all. Stan fixed him in his steely gaze, snapping him from his reverie. He smiled.

"Now that I've said my piece, I'd like to turn the mic over to Vought's own... Homelander," Stan said smoothly, making way for him. Homelander stepped to the mic, that same static from before in his ears, choking out the festivities and leaving him in a silent film of a scene.

Just move your mouth, John. Tell them what they want to hear.

He felt the words come out, heard the crowd's answering laughter at his jokes, their cheers... but nothing registered in his own ears. He watched the crowd give their silent shouts, mouths set in open grins - and he answered with yet another one of his own, clenched fist throbbing under the podium. His face was starting to ache.

Standing there, at the podium, ushering in a new year he couldn't care less about, but being too influential to miss the show, Homelander straightened his spine, even as he felt his face twitch when he saw a couple outside, wrapping each other into a passionate embrace. He kept his eyes on them, raking over the way they moved - a tender brush of hair, a kiss on the forehead. His eyes felt hot - the urge to laser. He stuffed it down, willed himself to smile.

Finally, though, someone announced that the time had come; there were only 10 seconds until the ball dropped. The city held its breath as Homelander raised his hands, counting down, the words falling on deaf ears, sweeping his gaze around once again.

Five!

Maeve, looking depressed as she stood apart from the show.

Four!

Sage, in her dark little den, lobotomy wand in hand, as the masses celebrated outside.

Three!

Deep hugging a fan, bristling as their hands brushed his gills.

Two!

Noir, forever mute and unable to join in on the countdown.

One!

And Homelander, overseer of the entire sordid affair, fists tied in a white knuckled knot under the podium.

"Happy New Year!" everybody cheered, and the crowd outside went wild. The air, once so charged with anticipation, seemed to let out a breath, the smattering of glitter and confetti shimmering in the night sky as New York celebrated. The Seven looked on, their rehearsed smiles growing wan.

Oh, God... Homelander groused, looking around; everyone had begun to embrace, swaying gently as they kissed, hundreds of thousands of hands that held their partners close, the breaths of a million contended sighs reaching his ears and turning his stomach.

He'd seen enough; his duty fulfilled, he stepped stiffly from the podium, shouldering his way past the throngs of people, his step determined. Maybe he'd be able to make it to Everest in an hour if he left now. Less, if he sped. 

In his haste to leave, he heard snatches of conversations ("Is that Homelander?!") that he waved off, his façade waning alongside his patience. He couldn't take a picture. Not today.

He'd finally broken free of the crowd, and was preparing to fly off - when a new voice sounded, a few dozen feet behind him, the melody low and soft in his ears. He stopped himself, lowering his arms. 

"Did you see him, though? He looked so..." they let their words trail off. The friend snorted, and Homelander felt a surge of irritation flash through him.

"What - sexy?" Homelander rolled his eyes but pressed on now, looking for the duo, only to find a hoard of faces obscuring his view.

"No," the reader said, a hint of disgust at her friend's callousness in her voice. "Lonely."

Lonely. 

The word bounced around in his skull, and for a moment, Homelander was incandescent with rage. Who did this... girl... think she was, to act as if she knew him? To lay his inner turmoil out so plainly, as if it was something she could understand. But as the word sunk into his mind - lonely, lonely, lonely... he felt his anger fade, in the wake of its truth.

Lonely. 

He imagined the New Year's celebration he'd planned for himself, sipping steamed milk on Mount Everest, with the heated cushion serving as the only other source of warmth for miles. But the speaker's pity grated on him; he grit his teeth at the feeling.

Was it pity, though? No... that wasn't quite the word. They'd sounded... concerned when they said it. Concerned, for him.  He found himself leaning in, waiting to hear more.

"Yeah, but he's Homelander. He probably has an afterparty to get to," someone else responded. "I doubt he has nobody to kiss on New Years."

"I'd kiss him..." the first voice mumbled furtively. Homelander raised a brow, craning his neck to find the person behind the statement. Their friend scoffed.

"Yeah, I bet! 'Oh, Mr. Homelander, you're dreamier than the posters give you credit for!" 

"Shut up!" 

So, this person was a fan? He stepped closer, his dark mood lightening somewhat. And the way they'd spoken about him... it wasn't in the same dismissive tone their friend had. Gods got lonely, too - a sentiment this fan's insipid friend couldn't seem to grasp. But they did.

Lulled by their dulcet voice, Homelander's legs carried him to her, lingering occasionally so as to make their eventual meeting seem organic. He ghosted behind them, hidden by the trees, the glint of his eyes the only proof of his presence, watching as the girl - wearing a Homelander shirt, he noticed with a wry little smile - walked her friend to her car, then set off, to walk home themselves.

Walk?  Homelander quirked a brow, cocking his head. That wouldn't do at all. Silently cutting through the air, he brought himself a few yards out, where the girl would eventually cross his path, and put on a contemplative face. Barely hiding his smile at his ingenuity, he waited for them, hand tucked into a fist under his chin - the Thinker, waiting for her to bring him to life.

Eventually, she reached him, headphones in her ears, jumping nearly a foot in the air when she realized who she'd discovered. Eyes like saucers, they stuttered out their greetings, hands shaking when they raised them to remove the buds.

"Homelander?!" she started. He smiled, genuinely for the first time that night; beneath the sounds of the city, and the celebration at Vought, he could hear the hummingbird patter of her heart as she took him in. 

"The one and only," he greeted them, rising to his feet. He pointed to their shirt, a teasing smile tucked away at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't tell me you've been following me," he joked, smile widening when their jaw dropped, hastily making to turn the shirt backwards.

"This isn't - no! Well..." shirt turned backward, they brought their shy gaze to his, cheeks turning rosy from the cold - and a hint of embarrassment.

Homelander extended a hand to them, eyes kind despite himself. It wasn't his way, to offer favors to fans - mudpeople, his mind spat before he banished the thought... but in this case, maybe he could make an exception. New Year, new Homelander.

He'd looked so... lonely, her words echoed in his mind. He felt his smile falter, but quickly brought it back to life.

"Let me take you home. It's too cold to walk," he said, the thin veneer of bravado melting slightly when she took his hand.

Warmth. Pure, unadulterated warmth. The shock of it, radiating from their hand, had him stuffing down a gasp, the softness of their palm seeping through his glove. She wrapped an arm around his waist, the warmth bleeding into him there, too, and when she looked up at him, he saw the full moon, reflected in her wide eyes.

I'd kiss him. I'd kiss him...

Then kiss me.

The thought shocked him, but try as he might, he couldn't will it away. It floated to the forefront of his brain, soft and insistent all at once.

Do it. Kiss me. Please.

The fan - the woman - murmured her address into the crook of his neck, her breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, and he held her to his chest as he breezed through the night sky, the gentle breeze wafting her hair. Homelander caught a whiff of her conditioner - vanilla, bergamot - and inhaled as quietly as he could. They seemed content to let him carry them, head relaxed on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The thought that that wasn't all they could hear gnawed at him, but he shook it off and kept his eyes forward, focused on how right their weight felt against him.

Finally, he reached their apartment, setting them on their feet, and giving them a strained little smile. They stood at the doorway, lingering, and for a brief, wild moment, he imagined them, inviting him in, sharing hot cocoa, hands entwined as they watched television. Through the window he could see she used warm lightbulbs for her lamps, nothing like Vought's clinically bright ones. The image burned him with its sweetness, and he felt the strange urge, again, to lash out. How dare she make him envision a vignette that could never possibly happen? Even as he fought from leaning into her, his rage flared. He hated her. He hated the emptiness she'd left in his arms, when she'd stepped out of them.

"Well... I'm sure you're very busy," they said, opening their door.

I'm not, Homelander thought, burning to follow her in. She turned to face him, a glimmer in her eye; Homelander held his breath and hoped against all reason.

"Thank you, for taking me home. You were right - it was chilly tonight!" They shared a small laugh, the ache in his chest throbbing.

"Goodnight, Homelander. Happy New Year," she murmured, closing the door behind her. He made to leave, only to retake his position outside the door for a moment, his breath floating above him in frigid puffs as he stared. The reader's farewell, saccharine as it was, left him with a sense of uneasiness he couldn't shake. He nearly pressed a hand to the door, but held firm. It wasn't right. It wasn't right.

John,  his heart wept, something inside him quaking as though to come apart. Call me John.

[drippingmoon]

Merry new year to everyone, again! 🥳💞🥂

I know it wasn’t an event this year, but writing a yearly wrap-up is really therapeutic, you know? So I decided to continue the tradition, and if anyone wants to join me, absolutely view this as an open invitation^^ Introduction is over, and now let’s see what 2023 looked like:

(spoilers: I adored it. I'm also probably going to make this my fixed post, in case anyone ever wants to catch up with me. And also because my second baby, AoS, is growing, and it doesn't have an intro, but I can't leave it out.)

Stats

Aquiver, Aglow: 181k (draft 4) + 195k (draft 5) + hmm, draft 6 is an outlier, because I didn’t rewrite from scratch, so I’m unsure of the written word count. I didn’t change much from draft 5, so I’d say an extra 15-20k. Total word count: 376k+

Remains of a Night: 120k 

Aberration of Sunlight: 134k

This was definitely my most productive year to date. And I got so hungry: the more I wrote, the more I just wanted to keep writing, and honestly? I’m proudest of myself for literally carving writing time whenever I got a spot into my schedule. Mostly it was from 8pm-11pm, but I had a mad run where my only free window was from 1am till I literally felt I was dying… I’ll talk about that separately🤣🤣👌

Though, I'm seriously understating it.

Like a lot of other people, I would have all these hours when I was younger when I didn't have anything to do, yet I'd still find some excuse not to write. "I'm waiting for the right time." "I'm anxious I'm not going to get it right." "Tomorrow! Tomorrow I can start right from the morning, and I'll have more time to write, yeah?" or "I'm too tired now, it's late..." and so the snowball rolled down and downhill and I found every reason under the sun not to write, now that I think about it. Sigh. So much time wasted. But I can't regret it either, because I needed those baby steps at that time.

And now! Now I do what I thought I'd never learn to: I prioritize, and I actually organize my daily stuff so it's not so impossible anymore to have a little bit of writing time. I don't take it for granted either. It feels like such character growth for me, I'm immensely proud of it.

And for the record? This year was a huge improvement over yesteryear mentally, too. It turns out, what I needed to get over my word count anxiety… was to be faced with people who literally didn’t give a fuck about it, and just cared about the story. One of the most unexpected things beta stage managed to do to me… was to quench all my anxieties. It’s as simple as that. I read and enjoy very long books. People also do that. So, I’m very happy to say I’m no longer in a tizzy about ‘quiv. It might kill my chances for trad publishing, it might not. I’ll be happy come what may.

Because it’s so simple how working on ‘quiv or thinking about it makes me joyous, and now I can just enjoy that freely. I will miss writing this story so much. I really will. But at least I’ll have it forever to reread, and I hope this thought brings comfort to everyone who also has problems letting go, like it does to me.

Let’s break it down a little, shall we?🤩

Aquiver, Aglow◇◇◇

My little star of the hour. How fond I am of it.

Like you could glean from above, ‘quiv went through three drafts this year. More specifically: in the first part of the year, practically almost as soon as February arrived. I knew it was getting closer to the final version, and gave me the push to finish all three back to back. I couldn’t justify anymore the bazillion AUs I do with rewrites (basically, WHAT IFs from events, WHAT IF it went this different way, WHAT IF Tyrone actually said this here… and so on and so forth. I wanted to test out as many pathways as possible, and did I exhaust every one of them in existence? Definitely not. I don’t think that can happen, you just keep getting new ideas. On and on. What happened, instead, is that these couple different pathways, at some point, cemented themselves as canon in my mind. I didn’t want to tease myself with alternatives anymore, and that’s when I knew they would be it. Some bits from the first draft, some from the third, some from the second. Some were even draft 6 originals!

It’s a bit of a weird process. I definitely didn’t need to reach draft 3, and meet Mezusa, because I could’ve feasibly made it work with just Yles in the story. It still would’ve made sense, though in a different way. But if I hadn’t… I might’ve missed one of the best characters I’ll ever probably have created, and the story (and Yles) is much stronger for her, if you ask me. 

For that matter, yes, full rewrites every single draft might take a lot of time and effort, but honestly I don’t think I’d ever change my writing process (save for the moments of frustration when I think I will lol) because of the sheer satisfaction of it. Whoever said so long never to settle on the first version, I owe you a beer and probably some curses as well lmao, but very lovingly. You shaped my writing life.

I don’t have much else to share about ‘quiv, other than it’s off with my beta readers my beloved, and maybe a tentative promise that, if anyone wants, you’ll be able to read this precious ball of hope of mine relatively soon. This story is so gentle to me. And as much as I loved to write and work on it, I dearly hope that whoever decides to give it a go, is treated just the same. That’s the only wish I have.

I also don’t know if I’ll go trad or self-published. Instincts say trad, because I fuckin’ suck at marketing (fact), and I know I’d grow resentful if I’d have to put so many hours into advertising when I know I could instead… write. I’m a writer. That’s the only thing I know how to do. Trad, however, might not be as kind on a ~200k as life’s been, so I might not have a choice. If it comes down to that… I’ll just treat it as I do everything. I don't love this story any less if I just write, publish without a fuss, hope that maybe, just maybe, a reader or two will stumble upon the story and we could talk. Maybe we can have the fun of our lives, create some genuine connection. I know that’s applies to a lot of writers. I hope we can accomplish it.

And so, I’ll finish this section of the wrap-up with a kiss to my ‘quiv, for all the warmth it’s ever brought me. It’s come so far, I know it can live distinct from me from now on. It brings me great comfort. And I look forward to the times I’ll reread it, and we can relive our best experiences together. Never thought I’d get to this point. Thank you, ‘quiv.

Remains of a Night♤♤♤

Mwhahaha! And because ‘quiv took all the pressure, this left AoS to be an extremely fun and spirited experience. Literally the chillest I’ve ever been writing. In many ways, it’s more my thing than I expected ‘quiv to be: I get to murder characters left and right, it’s more plot-heavy and banking on the tension created by a creature that horrifies the characters down to their marrow, but still the only way to defeat it is to know it better, which, uh, might have unpleasant consequences for them. It’s got chase and stealth scenes, and it always shoots me with adrenaline to think about them. In short, exactly my jam.

It’s not a new book, nope. You knew it before as Aberration of Sunlight, but from the get-go I felt it would be bigger than ‘quiv. Very fortunately for me, I had a place where to break it, and behold: there’s RoaN (book 1), and AoS (book 2). There might be a third book, which I dearly hope not because titling sucks, but it depends on the Sycamine arc. More on that in AoS.

One last thing to note, before we delve into the story (hoo-ray for earlier drafts, because I can talk more frankly about them). This is the culprit of my 1am writing adventures!!😫❤ My schedule became too packed, then NaNo came round and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to honor how AoS began, because it was last year’s NaNo, aaand I’m happy to say I won NaNo, somehow, with 56k down before I died. At that time, I only had one section left to write (from both books), otherwise, hahahaha, yeah, it wouldn’t have flown. Still, most of draft 2 I’d written in September-October, with my fairy lights, late nights, and cups of hot cocoa, exactly like how life should be<3

Alright. We’re going through them chapter-by-chapter again, exactly because I love seeing the titles so much:

ACT 1

Cracked Visor, Scorpion Grass

I did it! I did! Twas another shower thought I managed to get down in time. Bare broken sentences, but they did the impossible, and arranged this chapter into a structure I adore to bits and won't ever change. (And 'quiv's naughty voice left me alone for once and I could write it properly!) While I don't think I'll ever be happy with a first chapter (not as a concept, but the writing — part of me will always wish that the reader just had all the information already lol), this one is in the right place.

It pays its respects to the story of the broken helmet at the foot of a spaceship, and how it reconnects Madigan with all the people who'd suffered from being tethered to the planets when they yearned to fly, but the Beast punished them cruelly for it. It makes him feel phantoms of their efforts. The tone is exactly what I needed this story to start from: melancholy and numbly hopeless, against the backdrop of the Beasts's echoed cries.

Rain Through the Universe

Unlike 'quiv, because RoaN and AoS are way more plot-heavy, it's not as easy to change things willy-nilly (whereas 'quiv was all about character bonds and dynamics). As such, it's very similar to draft 1. Because of that, I'll frankendraft next (select and combine drafts 1 and 2, rewrite to connect them) and afterwards I'll try something I've always wanted to. (Scrivener keeps hinting at it!) I'm gonna split the chapters into scenes, and focus on those individually and how I can just rewrite them and set their purpose in stone<3 I'm excited!

As for the chapter itself, gods, I love the atmosphere. Just the wreckage of a sundered ship, and Madigan’s sudden madman appearance making a lasting impression on Spica, because how could it not. They no longer answer distress calls in that age, it just means more dead bodies. In fact, they're forbidden to. Madigan instead brings him what he himself lacks: hope. And a lot of crawling around while dreading the Beast's lambent eye opening, and oh my, the moments are really flying by😈👏 extreme fun for me as the writer.

Aberration of Light

If you remember, the books follow two timelines, which will connect at some point. The first and main one is Madigan and Spica’s story. The other is Holloway’s, in the distant past of that universe, and who’s been dubbed the most selfish man in existence. That’s important, because of how the Beast came to be. But that becomes important later. For now, a weird-ass new recruit has joined the ship, and the witchy crew will very soon start making bets if she’s the Beast in human flesh, which really wouldn’t bode well for their future.

Night Falls On Their Reflection

Draft 2 became Spica’s draft. It was high time. He didn't exist in the original idea beyond chapter 2, but he refused to die with his story untold. And now he's one of the most independent thinkers I've ever written. Now he's Madigan's son (yes, even at 25), best friend, back-to-back partner all in one, and I could watch the trust and mutual respect between these two forever. To be sure: Madigan comes up with the dumbass plans, and Spica's only too happy to follow him through everything (it is good fun.)

He's repaying the incredible kindness Madigan's shown him when answering his distress call, after all.

But it goes a bit further than that, doesn't it? Madigan is used to watching over myriad people. He's the Superintendent of his planet, and while he genuinely loves people, kindness is his default. It doesn't go further than that for him. He doesn't necessarily think people need, much less desire his presence there beyond Madigan extending help, and most of the time, he's content with that. Kindness does make him happy. And it should be the same with Spica now, shouldn't it? He's kind, but he's not Spica's family, nor ever will be. Yet he immediately feels a connection with the boy, that has nothing to do with bonding over escaping-a-cosmic-disaster. And so does Spica.

This is the moment when Madigan starts feeling guilty, for stepping where he should not. But here's the beauty of Spica's character: he's nothing if not dead sure of his own feelings, and what he sees with his eyes. It's okay if Madigan keeps unexpectedly taking steps back. For very long, there'd been nobody to support Spica's beliefs. So he does the same, as when he followed his heart to go into dead space: he believes in himself and Madigan, and that their paths aren't meant to diverge. They mean too much to each other for that to ever happen.

(In short, and legend says you can still hear me screeching about these two ten thousand years later, I love these two so much, and especially the parallels between Spica going alone into outer space and loving Madigan.)

(And, okay, obviously all these developments don't happen in a single chapter, but I couldn't stop gushing🤭🥰.)

Who Puts These Tombs in Ice

Overall, I think draft 2’s Luitgart performed worse than draft 1. Mainly it's the setting I want to revert (still an icy, sempiternally dark hell, but with different ice constructions) because some of the beats are a huge improvement, and again, I gotta combine the two. Otherwise, I’m still as obsessed about the Luitgart arc as I’ve ever been, and huge thanks to it for being so strong it could function as an ending of its own, allowing me to split the book.

Gettin’ into spoilery territory, but I have to un-kill Madigan so many times it leaves me in hysterics. That was what I was supposed to fix this draft. It got worse. Considerably.

(One constant: the chapter being a love letter to Madigan, and how his first answer will always be to help the other, no matter if they deserve it or not<3 and finally, finally, he gets acknowledged for it, and the favor returned.)

ACT 2

Lemon-Dotted Days + Remnant

Two Holloway chapters! I’m actually massively pleased with how they’ve turned out. Last year, I said the main issue was that I had an outline, and that never works for me. So I did what I do best and rewrote everything from scratch, and the result is both uncanny and… unexpected.

Unexpected, because I never in my life thought Holloway’s voice would make me laugh so much. He’s supposed to be unsympathetic, but then you get his interactions with Saintlark (the new crewmate, possibly Beast) where they’re contemplating the harvest of a nebula, and he’s harshly critical of it, which gives Saintlark hope… only to go deadpan One Moment Later: if they’d used the nebula to prolong their lives instead of bolstering the war, they wouldn’t have died like clown idiots. 

And, they could’ve maybe stolen immortality from the nebula. They would've had to share it with him, of course. Or he would've murdered them to get it.

That, my guys, is his personality in a nutshell.

I have a lot of feelings on Holloway now, and most involve me huffing and slapping my forehead while groaning, but oh my gods. Was it ever so fun. And wait, wait, wait. Since I'm talking of humor (apparently a lot of comedy fit into this horror lmfao) I have to show you guys the following section🤣🤣👏:

Corpse Snow

The drifters are set howling on the ice. They share glances, five separate vehicles nodding at each other. Madigan revs up the engine, splitting the air with a jet of steam and vibration.

The last of the marines are climbing into the box. A figure flashes past Madigan’s drifter — and he leans over, teeth grinding because of his ribs, and he does his very best to grab someone by the back of their suit and pull. Workout days were never his strength, though. He only succeeds in stopping them in the frost smoke.

It’s Spica dangling from his hand, expressionless.

Lieutenant Hahn instantly seizes on the situation. He throws Madigan a long, withering look. “Whatcha doing, Boss?” he asks softly, about to unhinge his jaw again.

Madigan nudges Spica into the drifter. “Picking up your boy.”

Spica gets the hint and deposits himself into the front seat, glancing from his father to his Superintendent. He seems to give up on whatever’s going on, and makes himself cozy in the frosty spot. And Madigan, of course, pretends not to notice Hahn’s drifter sliding closer.

“And you didn’t consider I might want to have my son with me?”

Madigan looks up and sighs. “Lieutenant, dear Lieutenant,” he starts pleadingly. “Why won’t you show some leniency to a poor, wounded man?”

Hahn’s drifter stops, summoning a breeze across the icy floor that gently rocks the other vehicle. His breathing distorts the comms with static. “And what exactly is my son right now?”

“My trusty navigator,” Madigan answers easily.

“Sir’s emotional walking stick?” Spica pipes in at the same time.

They both look over. Spica’s quietly turned to the navigation, as serene as daylight, seemingly oblivious to how Madigan's expression changes, lightning-fast. He quickly hides it under the guise of a polite mask, as the marines stir and turn their attention on them. They’re snickering.

Lieutenant Hahn throws up his hands, giving up on everything.

This is also the first 30k chapter I’ve ever written. It's everything I've ever wanted to do with ice.

Heart of the Void

The end of the book. Originally, it was the ending section to Corpse Snow, but since it already got so ungodly long, I chipped off that bit and I have to say I’m very happy with how it works as an epilogue! So it ends the frosty, weary journey, and I can’t see the two books as separate yet, but here we bid goodbye to the first.

Aberration of Sunlight♧♧♧

I did the unthinkable and created a fifth arc. This might not seem like much to you, but I was screaming bloody murder you guys😭😭😭. Sigh. It’s so sigh. For so long, AoS consisted of four clear-cut acts, but it was necessary. With the introduction of Sycamine, and making it two books, it was just needed. It’s still one of the worst things I’ve ever done because I was used to four😃💔

(The chapters continue from where RoaN left off – from chapter 10, to 21.)

ACT 3

Retro Spectrum

Sycamine, oh Sycamine. Definitely the break I needed before Days in Darkness. It made for a really neat beginning. It’s calmer, focusing on the knowledge they have on the Beast. It’s also a reflection on Procyon (their main star) and the story of the two straggler dog constellations, and what they'd been running away from. I liked the direction it took. It veered away from the Beast for a bit, so the tension kept expanding in the background. And when it returns, well... maybe they shouldn't have been so eager to see it again🤭.

It suffers from the same syndrome as draft 1’s first chapter… it’s there in the vicinity of the idea, but too much to the left. Not bad for a first attempt. The setting annoys me – I really don't enjoy writing cities, and AoS didn't change that. So, for our next try, I was thinking... maybe we don't need to be on the planet, but up close and veeery personal with it. It's a secret❤.

And, oh gods. I put a moustache-twirling villain in this. And then I couldn’t stop myself from naming some sucker Sweetman Calories. I don’t know what happened to me during those days, but I’m crying🤣🤣🤣.

Toast to the Light

Holloway and Saintlark’s story is slowly coming to an end. Unexpectedly bleaker than draft 1, yet it feels much more sincere. Holloway has a way of saying everything Saintlark needs to hear. No surprise. They did that to themselves.

Dissonant Recognition

Ahhhh, the Madigan-is-slowly-losing-his-grip-on-reality chapter, or maybe he should really stop staring into the suns. One of my favorites<3 Also because it features Moren (!!!) who has a blast staying in the grey morality area, because she doesn’t know if her actions could ever matter, or if she could change anything. Does she just exist? Is she a player or just pawn? Who knows. Besides that, she gets along great with Spica. They form such a teasing duo, the level of mutual respect they felt for each other on sight was a delight to write. My favorite ally of theirs, even if her destiny lies elsewhere.

Night Beneath the Elevator

Best title hands down, dethroning Solgesis. I’m going batshit crazy about the visuals, it's exactly my thing. This half-light slanted over an elevator waiting in a rundown basement to be boarded. And there's something underneath it, and always has been. Something insidiously creeping up and waving its tendril fingers at you as you're just waiting for the fucking thing to ascend. Immaculate, guys, I'm telling you, and I'm cursing my hands because I can't make a wallpaper of this. I want to eat that atmosphere.

Time-sensitive missions, y'all.

And why the heck did nobody inform me I was going to add Command as an actual character and have them talk with Madigan?! That entire convo, made up entirely on the spot but somehow with a direction, made me realize what an idiot I’d been for not doing it sooner. They mean so much to Madigan, after all.

(And Mariya. So much Mariya in these chapters.)

ACT 4

Loop System

Like Who Puts These Tombs in Ice, draft 1 might’ve done it better. Not Spica and Madigan, though, because of the sheer development Spica’s been through and the dynamic he’s managed to form with the crew. It's different from Madigan’s, but similar enough that it’s got Hahn commenting lightly: [Spica’s] picked up quite a few habits from Madigan, hasn’t he? Almost as if they’ve gotten very very close, huh? How about Madigan tell him more?

(I adore writing Hahn.)

Outreach

Another Holloway chapter. Doesn’t have the punch of the kids subplot from draft 1, but this just makes it worse for Saintlark personally, because, this time, the consequences are on her.

Days in Darkness

I knew the moment I first got the idea this would be my favorite chapter. Well, it finally happened in draft 2: when the entire crew is here, this time, and ready for the final countdown, to relive the experience of being trapped in a ship that's disintegrating. No more heroes left behind. I'd been so tired writing this chapter in draft 1, but this time around it was incredible. Everything went up sharply from here, both in terms of events and how on fire I was.

(Maybe less than the gorgon, but I was.)

ACT 5

Echo Terminal

The first of the two log chapters.

I've never written smoother, more visual chapters than in this period. Days in Darkness changed me so much, I was writing day and night by this point and couldn't get enough. Well, I hit my limit in the second half of the very last chapter, but I am beyond satisfied. Even the Beast's metamorphosis took me by storm, because I'd been wondering what the final verbs, the final images, the final design for it was going to be. I didn't expect it to come to me this early, and with such thrill. Those were my very best days of the year, and I toast to them.

(And I knew it was going to be fantastic when Halo's Warthog Run OST started blaring in my head, with as much adrenaline.)

Where, Now? + Solgesis

My beloved. The second and last of the two log chapters, but it’s Noelle Saintlark’s log.

Holloway’s timeline ends here. Or maybe it just gets carried into the future. I thought I’d want to rewrite his parts again, make the plot just a tiny bit more psychedelic and nonsensical because it’s so close to the Beast… but Solgesis put all my fears to rest. Even the formatting and layout is a bit of that special thing I’ve always wanted to try, and it really changes the perspective of the previous chapters. There's a new confession that stands at the heart of Holloway's stories.

Honestly, the only thing that needs urgent working on is the anger at the end of the chapter.

Anger is so hard for me to write sometimes. Not because I don’t connect with it, but because I feel self-conscious writing it. The wildest I felt it was when I tackled 'quiv's chapter 3 and Imera's Turning speech, both in quick succession (before I'd even written draft 1. I'd been taking notes.) Since then... I just thing back to how keenly I'd felt that anger, and I kind of intimidate myself out of it. Kind of like a natural resistence, I quench it from myself. Which is actually hilarious when you think about it. It’s like I’m going I BANISH THEE FROM MY BRAIN because generally, as a person, I dislike feeling and operating on anger. But no worries. I’m going to find a way around it.

Watch me😎.

What Goes Around…

(Now it’s the time for me to start crying some rivers, and, alright, it won’t be visible so I’ll say it: the chapter titles are holding a conversation, guys. They speak to each other. And sometimes it’s both sides of the same coin, like how What Goes Around (comes around) hints here. If you take two chapters, one from the beginning and one from the end (for example 1 and 21) it'll tell you a little secret. Okay, What Goes Around and Rain Through the Universe communicate through their plot, which I can’t spoil but of course it has to do with Madigan and Spica and how they first meet… but there is one title pair that does it best visibly. 

Lemon-Dotted Days and Days in Darkness.

And I hadn’t even planned this. All the parallels I wanted to draw… I feel like they built themselves, guys. They really did, and it makes me so wildly happy I don’t even know how to stop my hands from flailing.

And, with them being 21 chapters, they meet in the middle, on the one unpaired chapter.

Called Toast to the Light.

I friggin’ love everything.

New Sunrise, Forget-Me-Right

Of course, Forget-Me-Right is a play on Scorpion Grass. But it’s also such a gentle name for the chapter, because everything ends here. Lying on their backs, staring out into the universe, and it really, really is over. Just a dark horizon on which stars flare and bloom. And suddenly, that maddened rush to make every sacrifice count, to remember every soul they’ve encountered because the legend says the Beast absorbs you when it kills you – all that suffocating pressure dissipates. Lightness remains. Because they’ve protected each other.

For the first time in my writing journey, blood rushed to my head with such emotion I had to stop writing, which never happens. I had to look up and exclaim, holy fuck. But how could I not, considering how the story ends for the Beast? I am speechless. A lot of gorgeous surprises this draft.

Conclusion□●□

Whew, what a year it's been! As for how 2024 will probably look like, though I don't like making plans: finishing the beta stage for 'quiv, and tackling RoaN and AoS's draft 3. Thaaaat one I'm actually starting on Christmas, when I can (finally!!) reread draft 2 with my mug of hot cocoa (or maybe mulled wine for a change) and, no surprises here, I'm hyper stoked for that<3 <3 <3 I legit can't wait to see where the new draft brings them. I might not have set any expectations for them, but they're vying to keep up with 'quiv and I adore it🤭❤

As for my lovely friends... well, you know by how I spam your tags how much I adore you and wish you happiness forever🤩🥺🥳 I don't know what my activity will look like in the near future, so for now I won't be saying anything, and my semi-hiatus continues. Semi, because you're unforgettable and I crave to see what everyone's been up to and (!!!!) what you've written!

So let's meet in 2024 again, and all the best wishes to you, the reader🥰🥂❤.

[literary-motif]

Act I — The Proposal

Scene vi — The Aisle

previous scene // overview // read on ao3 // next scene

You collapsed onto your office chair tiredly, rubbing at your closed eyelids to soothe the permanent burning behind them. You were set to get some rest after you finished looking through some papers. Maybe send out some emails, even. A few people had tried to get a hold of you, it seemed. 

The papers on your desk seemed to suggest so, neatly organized and stacked according to their importance. They even had a quick summary written on a yellow post-it note. 

Patricia Kelley and her growing impatience with publishing the story of the year was just on top. 

Patricia Kelley, investigative journalist: Publication of findings on Tech-company Incessant Inc. (Sahsa Zilk)

You looked at the neat handwriting for a long moment, marveling at the prettily arching l’s and t’s that danced across the paper in a way only someone who wrote little — and therefore had the time to make their letters look delicate and picture-perfect — could make them stand out with their blue ink of the ballpoint pen they were written it. 

A quiet knock came from the door, making your gaze flicker up. “Come in,” you called, lowering the paper as you watched Julian open the door, stepping inside as he cleared his throat. “Have I ever told you that you have very pretty handwriting?”

Your secretary ducked his head almost shyly at the compliment. A few strands of brown hair had fallen into his face, but he did not bother to brush them back. 

“Many times,” he answered, fiddling with tomorrow’s paper before clearing his throat again and smiling tiredly at you, a faint blush still dusting his cheeks. “Welcome back. I hope you’ll find everything to your satisfaction. This just came in,” he said, setting down the paper on the edge of your desk. 

“How come you’re still here?” you asked gently, tilting your head to the side as you studied him carefully. He looked nervous in a way that had nothing to do with your compliment earlier. He looked exhausted in a way you had not seen from him in months, the tortoiseshell glasses he wore not quite managing to hide the circles under his eyes.

You did not rise from the bench for a while after Vic left, too caught in whatever spell of peace and quiet you had been granted to break it so soon. As you returned later than usual — and normally caught Julian just as he was leaving — you had expected him to be gone already by the time you arrived. To find him still here when he normally adhered to his daily schedule like clockwork made a low wave of worry sweep through you, curious and concerned as to what was the matter with him. He did look rather tired.

Julian fiddled with his hands. “I was just leaving, actually.”

“In that case, have a good night,” you said, not wanting to keep him longer. He seemed to be needing the rest, and you felt mildly guilty for returning later if he stayed to see you. “Rest well. I saw you cleared my schedule for tomorrow as I asked. Thank you for that.”

“Of course,” he said but made no move to retreat. Instead, he stood in front of your desk, rooted to the spot as if he wastrying to bring himself to do something, but his courage was evading him. 

You felt him hesitate. “Was there something else?”

He cleared his throat again, running a hand through his hair and tugging at his suit jacket to smooth out wrinkles that were not there. “I was wondering if I might voice a request?” he asked, slowly meeting your eyes.  

Gesturing to the seat on the other side of the desk, you silently invited him to join you. His hesitation made you frown, wondering what could have caused this sudden spike of nervousness. Julian was normally such a soothing presence. 

He wetted his lips, taking a moment to speak as he declined the offer to sit. “Perhaps you remember — and pardon, this is rather personal. I told you once that I’m in a relationship,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed on your desk, tracing the swirls in the dark wood.

You tensed, waiting for him to continue. The image of his past self — tired eyes, downturned lips, and cold in a way that had you narrow your eyes in concern at his shaking hands the first time you told him he did a good job — flashed through your mind. And as you looked at the person he had become since working for you, since finding a person that soothed the ache deep inside him and battled his all-consuming loneliness, you could not help but clench your fists at the idea that this very person had hurt him. 

Why else would he be so anxious? Why else would he nervously avert his gaze from you? 

You waited for him to elaborate, mentally preparing yourself to pull some strings and manifest karma. 

He opened his mouth, the words making your thoughts grind to a halt. 

“I proposed,” Julian said, smiling at the memory. “And he said yes.”

You blinked at him for a moment. “Oh,” you exclaimed, pleasantly surprised at the outcome. “Congratulations, then. Please don’t worry about work. Take as much time off as you need.”

He chuckled, smiling fondly as he shook his head. 

Unbeknownst to you, he had theorized about your reaction to his fiancé, insisting that he knew you would give him a vacation extending however long he wanted. His fiané had not believed him, saying he would get two weeks at most, having had to work overtime at his job to get even that. Julian was glad to know he won the bet. 

“Thank you,” he continued, biting his lower lip nervously again. “But that’s not— I wanted to ask something else.” He cleared his throat, hesitatingly looking up. “Would you attend, and—?”

“Of course,” you said automatically. 

“—and would you accompany me down the aisle?”

You froze. The information in his file hit you like a brick. The strained relationship with his family, the self-imposed isolation while he buried himself in work to forget how deserted he felt. The gradual change in him as he crashed into the awaiting arms of his now fiancé.

And he had been by your side throughout all of it, your distant care giving him stability in a way you had not even realized. Your gaze softened, recalling the change you saw in him, the morphing of his character as he finally found what he had been looking for all his life — love and acceptance.

It made your heart clench. Your gaze softened as you replied. “Of course.” You watched as his smile widened, wishing him all the happiness in the world. “It would be an honor.”

[makoodles]

neteyam's reader understands me like no other just like the sex education reader being open about how na'vi are hot and we deserve to be railed by one !!

anyway love parallel of father and son being like. Please Just Ask Me I've Been Yearning hahah. no rest for that family just every generation dealing with a small human trying to sleep with other na'vi while they suffer in the background

LITERALLY ahahahahha

okay you know what i'm gonna post my snippet of the neteyam fic here

sneak peek!!

As you tend to the scratch on his shoulder, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now. 

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you in rather compromising positions. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by their future Olo’eyktan, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was the Olo’eyktan’s son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job. 

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time with the Metkayina, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell. 

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment. 

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations. 

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.