#most of the words have a very broad meaning (/can have several meanings) and are 1-3 syllables

[measureyourlifeincake]

i just started the newest episode of d20 and i know that this isn't useful bc all of the episodes of burrow's end have already been recorded but @quiddie if you (or anyone else), for whatever reason, need to come up with more words for stoats, consider:

kijetesantakalu

[villainessbian]

Concept: most aliens can get anxious, can get scared, can get fight-or-flight. What most aliens do not get, however, is stress. Stress is a weird thing even by human standards. It can build up over time or be something tied to a very limited situation. It can be caused by a lot of things, and it comes in a lot of different ways. But it's a core human reaction, when a situation is wrong, it causes stress until it is righted. And it even affects different people differently!

Cue Human Cassandra, on a ship with her friend and co-worker Human Pauline. The ship is crewed with a mix of species. It's a cargo ship - load up in a space port, unload in another, get news and supplies during their stops, and live as an ever-shifting family as some of the two dozen crew members, give or take, get replaced. Some leave come payday, and new ones come looking for the thrill of low-level adventure, experiencing warp drives across the safer roads of the known universe.

But getting the supplies you need, or want, in stops is never so easy. Humans are new to the galactic community, and their needs misunderstood. Most broad-edibility food is bland for them, but that's okay. A big enough bag of their condiments can last them years. But ADHD meds... now that's less easy to get, the further from Earth you are. And a contract too big for their captain to pass on came up, much farther than the two humans expected.

Cassandra's mood deteriorated, her work priorities out of order, her sleep schedule in disarray. Little by little, she grew restless, shifting moods and gears unpredictably. A few weeks in and she was a mess, barely able to keep up with the minimum her job doing maintenance and running safety diagnostics for the route charting team required of her. While Pauline could help with the mechanical aspects of keeping the ship running, picking up the "slack", the safety had to be double-checked by the charting and pilot teams. When the curves of asteroid probability reached beyond a certain level, several hundred simulations had to be run, time-consuming processes had to be used, to avoid any collision at speeds beyond speed c. Some truly exotic things happened to ships that experienced those, but none of them contained the words "surviving crew." A safe route avoided any probability of collision over .1% and when going faster than light, any choice of course required thinking in 3 dimensions plus relative time to navigate dangerous probability fields in one piece, finding time-specific corridors and accounting for a dozen variables at once.

After she had a breakdown over a path she would normally have been able to find in under a minute, Pauline spoke to a concerned pilot team member:

"You have to understand her, this is a stressful situation and she's doing her best..."

"What do you mean by 'stressful'?" Gabalt asked. The furry little creature stood on two arched legs, and barely reached up to Pauline's shoulder, opening three wide eyes with curiosity and concern in equal parts.

"Things are... getting difficult for her, and keep getting more difficult because she does not have medication to help her brain be efficient. It makes her tired, and inefficient, and as it goes on, she's less and less able to cope with the situation. The longer this goes on, the worse it gets, and that is stress. Getting more tired because it takes more energy to deal with the situation, and less efficient because she's more tired, and things get harder because she's less efficient, on and on until something can solve the problem and the stress goes away."

"That sounds... hard. Do all humans have to deal with this?"

"Well, everyone has sources of stress, but she's got a disability. Without her meds, she gets stressed all the time. Not a lot all at once, but it always adds up."

"Oh no! So she'll be stuck like that until we get closer to Earth?"

"Most likely, yes."

But the most momentous thing to happen this day was not her breakdown. Not an hour later, alarms blared up. The simulation holograms all displayed blinking red masses - the less-travelled "safe route" was not as well protected! An asteroid range had been detected cutting through the border field, and it was in their way!

Pauline froze up, not knowing what to do. Gabalt was too surprised to act fast. All the courses from the ship's library of regular manoeuvres suggested a crash chance of over 60%, and mere seconds to act before entering the field!

Before anyone could react, Cassandra came in running from her corner to the front of the bridge, slamming the warp drive shutdown button. Most holograms stuttered and collapsed, the exit from FTL essentially dividing one or several of their dimensions by zero.

Looking quickly at the few remaining ones and gazing at the screens showing the current outside situation like a large window would have - plus a few critical extra points of data - she adjusted the angles manually while everyone still shuddered from the gravitational and temporal whiplash of suddenly coming back into normal time. Unblinkingly, she spotted the asteroids on the route while the ship was still going, if not at relativistic speeds, still fast enough for a single pebble they met to vaporise the Whipple shields, the outer hull, the inner hull, the crew members, and the hull again coming out if they but grazed it. Confirming the angles visually, she played with the reaction wheels, the thrusters, the gravity drives, to divert the ship's course just enough to miss a collision while not risking any grave injury on board. There was no time to react - if anything showed up straight ahead on the "unaugmented" outside view screens, it was too late to not get splatted. After half the crew had had the time to get thrown to the side or on the ground due to the rough handling, she'd managed to avoid any crash.

Gabalt was reeling. While it was surely not impossible, these was the kind of moves experienced veterans would never wish to attempt, and the margins for error were ridiculously low! She'd saved the ship and everyone on it, whereas she'd been unable to do a simple safety run so soon before?

Pauline was white as a sheet, but this was nothing compared to Cassandra, shaking violently and breathing unevenly.

"Pauline? What is she doing?"

"That's... probably the adrenaline."

"What's it for?"

"It's from stress. When it comes it overcharges the body. It's like the traditional, 'fight or flight' instinct from survival in prey-predator paradigms, it lets you move fast but paralyses thought... it feels pretty bad after a lot of it is released though. Now she's crashing down, must be harrowing."

"How did she do that? And you said her thoughts were paralysed for precision manoeuvres?"

Cassandra's voice came, nearly a mutter: "I just... had to. do it."

Gabalt needed to understand what happened.

"What do you mean you had to? Someone had to do it, but why you?"

"It- it was very stressful, I saw you freeze, and so."

"But... but HOW did you do all that? That was extremely complicated, few pilots -whose main craft is directly piloting- would want to even try doing that when given a choice!?"

"I had to. do it, so I did. I couldn't. couldn't make a mistake."

"This makes absolutely no sense."

Pauline interrupted. "She just works like that. Lots of stress and when people freeze up, humans with her condition... sometimes, surprisingly, function better in the moment than others can."

"Ah. So it's a human thing. of course, it's a human thing. NOTHING MAKES ANY SENSE WITH YOUR ACCURSED SPECIES" the diminutive pilot pouted.

And so one more story of the humans doing the impossible spread around. Humans of a subtype, more easily harmed, sometimes unstable and needing help for the simplest things... accomplishing odd, unthinkable, borderline heroic feats under duress none could be expected to withstand - but only then. Cursed, blessed? No story-teller seemed too certain. But the "magical" species never stopped surprising all others. And a new proverb developed: "it's not over until the human says it is".

[ninzied]

alex's birthday or, a ficlet based off this tzp birthday post

henry doesn’t usually bring out the cakes that he makes.

but pez had insisted—it’s the brother of the new girl pez has been seeing, or was it the best friend, or the ex, or—anyway henry hadn’t kept that part straight.

he does however agree to personally delivery this man’s birthday dessert.

there’s only one small problem.

actually there are several problems, and none of them small, starting with the man’s broad shoulders, and that deep-throated laugh.

he may in fact be the most indecently good-looking man henry has ever laid eyes upon, and—is that—is that the word ‘lube’?

this man who looks like a sex god literally has the word ‘lube’ in large letters right over his head like some sort of cosmic sign.

the other problem is this: henry does not see the table.

suddenly the man has his lap full of cake. henry finds himself there too. plus the candle he’s just lit.

“oh fuck me,” mutters henry as he frantically puts out the flame.

“i mean,” the man drawls, “can i get a name first, sweetheart?”

oh, fuck me harder, henry thinks helplessly. he’s always loved a nice deep tenor.

“hi,” says the man when henry looks up. “i’m alex. are you my birthday present? or are you my dessert?”

“this is henry.” pez looks smug. “and yes, you both are very welcome.”

.

henry keeps finding cake in strange places later. he finds that they both smell like burnt sugar.

and he finds that alex’s smile tastes even sweeter than henry possibly could have imagined.

[j2h5b5]

Oh hey. Another side quest into a world of married Sterek where Stiles’ little sister is Derek’s beta and how delightfully messy that could get. Because my last little snippet didn’t scratch the itch. Like? I got more a’brewin.

###

"Stiles, let me handle it."

"Don't pull rank on me, Derek."

Derek scoffed. "This isn't about hierarchy. This is about you being furious right now and me being calm. Well, relatively," he amended when Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. "And I promise you that coming down hard is not the best way to get through to your hard-headed sister."

"I'm not not looking to get through to her. I'm planning to kill her."

"See, now that's my point. I can't let you kill one of my betas, baby."

"She was my sister before she was your beta."

"Stiles. Look at me." Derek placed both hands firmly on his husband's shoulders, angling his head down so Stiles couldn't avoid meeting his gaze. "When she walks in that door, she's going to expect a confrontation. And if you give her one, you'll be playing right into her manipulative little hands." His lips curled into a little smile when he saw that Stiles was actually considering his words. "I've got this, okay? This is not my first time dealing with a rogue teenager. I managed to wrangle you and Scott into line, and THAT was no small feat."

"You didn't wrangle us," Stiles objected. "The way I remember it, you were involved in most of the stupid stunts we pulled." He sighed. "But fine. You want to handle it, you handle it. But save the killing for me."

Derek answered that with a kiss, then gently urged Stiles backward until the backs of his knees met the couch and he flopped gracelessly into a sitting position.

That was the moment the door opened and the Stilinski of the hour walked in. Derek took several beats to pin Stiles to the couch with his eyes, reminding him silently of their agreement, before turning around to face his problem beta.

"Before you start yelling..." she began, both hands extended outward toward her two guardians. "I can explain."

Derek folded his arms across his broad chest and gave her a look. "No one's going to yell," he said, squeezing Stiles's shoulder slightly. "We would love to hear your explanation."

She looked between Derek and Stiles with open confusion that melted into suspicion. "Oh-kaaay."

Faced with this curveball, she didn't seem to know how to proceed. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she stood there lost for words. So Derek decided to help her along. "Let me get you started because I'm very curious. Was your mission successful? Did you manage to steal the book and get out of the Alpha Pack den without getting caught? I mean, you must have, seeing as how you're standing here and not, you know, dead. So I'm assuming you were at least partially successful."

"I ... Scott..."

"Oh, that's right!" Derek clapped his hands and nudged Stiles, who was just as weirded out by this uncharacteristic display as his sister seemed to be. "I'd almost forgotten. We heard about Scott and Isaac showing up in the nick of time, just when you were about to be skewered to bits. They did mention that they lost track of you while they were fighting off the Alphas. Don't worry, though, they didn't get hurt too badly. Luckily Scott was there to help Isaac or things could have gone sideways." He let his words linger in the air, watching the color drain from her face as she pictured her Pack brothers hurt and bleeding. "But what matters is that you got the book. Let's see." He took a step across the room toward her, and she matched it with a step backward, not meeting her Alpha's gaze.

"Um, no. I didn't, um."

"Didn't what?" Derek pressed, deceptively gentle.

"I didn't get the book, I... somehow they knew what I was doing there and..."

"Ah, I see," Derek's eyes glittered, the faux jovial tone he'd been using up until now transforming into something darker, sharper. "So somehow, an entire pack of powerful, pissed-off Alphas who know full well that you're one of ours didn't get outsmarted by a fifteen-year-old? And they turned the tables on you? Who could possibly have seen that coming?"

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked down, suddenly finding her shoes very interesting.

"Scott and Isaac are okay though," she said in a small, husky voice. "They called you after, so they must be okay...right?"

"No thanks to you." Stiles' voice, cold as ice, cut through the silence Derek had been letting build up.

Her eyes snapped up to meet her brother's, tears liquefying her vision almost instantly when she saw the anger, hurt, and disappointment there. "I didn't mean for them to get involved," she tried, and it was a weak argument and she knew it. "They weren't supposed to..."

"What? They weren't supposed to save your ass? They weren't supposed to put their own lives on the line to protect their Pack sister just because she made a series of FUCKING RECKLESS decisions that could have gotten everyone killed?"

"Stiles..."

"You're not the only one your actions affect, not ever, but especially not anymore. I mean, I get that you don't give a shit about me; that's been clear for years, you've been risking your damn life at every turn since Dad died and I've never been able to stop you. But now? Now there are so many more people WHO I LOVE who will lay down their lives for you without a moment's hesitation, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you exploit that because you're too selfish and stupid to think about anyone but yourself. Now get the fuck to your room. I can't even look at you right now."

Somehow she managed to make it to her bedroom before the sob broke from her, but Derek didn't need to have werewolf powers to hear it.

"Stiles..." he started, sitting next to his husband and reaching for him, but Stiles jerked back out of his grasp.

"If you're going to tell me I was too hard on her I don't want to hear it."

Derek nodded. "That's not for me to say. But I am going to go talk to her privately, and while I do that I'd like for you to go take a long hot shower. Okay? It always calms you down, and then you and I can talk when you're feeling better."

Stiles pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he tried to soothe the oncoming headache. "Are you going to punish her?" he asked. "I know I'm usually kind of opinionated about the whole Alpha-Beta discipline thing, but right now..."

Derek paused, considering. "I'm pretty sure she's doing a good job of that herself, at least for tonight." He leaned over and kissed Stiles softly, catching his lip between his teeth in a gentle, playful nip to show he wasn't upset with him. Although if anyone else spoke to one of his betas that way...

"Shower," he reminded, standing up and heading toward the stairs. "I'll be back soon."

[room-surprise]

IS LAIOS A FURRY? AN ANALYSIS.

(Laios imagining himself transforming into a wolf in Marcille's mindscape.)

(SPOILER WARNING FOR THE ENTIRE MANGA! This is an excerpt and elaboration from The Essay about cultural and linguistic references in Dungeon Meshi)

WHAT IS A FURRY?

The furry fandom is a subculture interested in anthropomorphic animal characters. Some examples of anthropomorphic attributes can include human intelligence and facial expressions, speaking, walking on two legs, and wearing clothes, but not all of these traits must be present at the same time. Warrior Cats, The Lion King, Zootopia and Sonic the Hedgehog all have huge furry fandoms, to give a few examples.

Many furry fans feel a deep connection to these characters and desire to “become” one through designing their fantasy alter-egos (a furry persona, or fursona), making artwork, role-playing, and if they can afford it, building and wearing costumes called fursuits that allow them to dress up as their fursona in real life.

(Laios' ultimate monster design, you could argue this is his fursona that he's been dreaming about, and refining since childhood.)

Ryoko Kui self-identified as a furry on her blog a long time ago, saying that she “was a furry in high school.” I’ve been unable to track down the original artwork or blog post that states this in order to cite it properly, but I think by looking at Kui’s extensive history, interest, and skill in drawing animals, monsters, and anthropomorphic characters, one can clearly see the “furry” influence.

She has a very clear interest in the intersection between humans and animals, several of her characters are furry characters, and a lot of her work appeals strongly to furry fans in ways that work made by non-furries often does not. She even makes an extremely specific joke about the Japanese furry subculture in a comic about Lycion and Laios arguing about authenticity, which I will get to in a moment.

But whether or not Kui has ever considered herself a furry, I think it’s safe to say that she’s on the internet enough that she must be aware of the subculture, and so it’s possible that she wrote Laios with that in mind.

Laios’ intense desire to become a monster, the way he repeatedly fantasizes about being a dog or wolf, his fascination with all animals (but especially monsters), his skill at drawing animals (and lack of skill in drawing people, or anything else), his interest in becoming a beast-man, and his desire to visit a kobold country because they look like dog-people, all paint a very vivid picture of his interests, and his experiences match up astonishingly well with the experiences of many people who identify as furries.

Western fans often call Laios as a “furry,” or a “monster fucker” mostly as a joke, however I think this should be taken as seriously as interpreting him as asexual or autistic, which are other labels fandom commonly applies to him in a more serious manner… And, incidentally, there is a great deal of overlap between the autistic, asexual and furry communities, so if Laios is one of these things, it’s also very possible that he’s some of the others, too… Even if Kui didn’t intend it, and simply modeled Laios after “some people she’s known” without realizing they were furries, autistic, or asexual, or any combination of the three. This happens frequently in fiction.

I think the most accurate broad labels for Laios would be “therian” and “monster fetishist,” because I believe these two terms encompass the canonical behavior we see from him in the manga and extra materials in a way that I think “furry” and “monster fucker” do not.

JAPANESE FURRY FANDOM: KEMONO VS. KEMONOMIMI

Japanese furries use the terms kemonā (ケモナー) to describe themselves, or kemono (ケモノ) to describe the characters they create and love. Both words mean “furry,” as in, covered in fur.

In the What-If comic where Lycion and Laios meet, Laios awkwardly says that Lycion isn’t a real furry because turning into a beast-man didn’t change him into a wolf on the inside.

“Isn’t that just like wearing a pair of animal ears on a headband and saying you’re a beast-man?” Laios asks, to which Lycion derisively tells Laios that he is just a “beast-man wannabe” or “poseur.”

This is a direct reference to one of the major conflicts in the Japanese Kemono fandom: are characters who are mostly human, but have animal ears and tails really kemono, or do they not count? The general consensus in the fandom is that ears and tail alone are insufficient; these characters are called kemonomimi, literally “beast ears”, like the headband Laios references. Most “cat-girl” characters fall into this category.

A real kemono character includes a muzzle instead of a normal human face and/or an animal-like appearance on the body surface, such as fur, scales, or feathers. According to researcher Inokuchi Tomohiro, this is due to the recognition that "disconnection from humans" is a crucial factor that distinguishes between kemono and non-kemono. He then defines kemono as "an animal that is depicted as a non-human being, but with the potential for mutual understanding/communication with humans.”

By this definition, Izutsumi in Dungeon Meshi is a kemono (furry) and not a kemonomimi (cat-girl), since her body is covered in fur, and she doesn’t have human breasts, but a more beast-like torso. The Winged Lion, the Goat, Kuro the kobold, and possibly the orcs are all kemono (anthropomorphic animal) characters as well.

IS LAIOS A THERIAN?

Though the terminology is very modern, and wouldn’t exist in the Dungeon Meshi setting, it’s possible that if Laios existed in the modern world he might identify as a type of Otherkin known as a Therian. Otherkin and Therians are sometimes part of the Furry fandom, but the two subcultures do not overlap completely.

Otherkin are a subculture of people who identify as nonhuman. Some Otherkin believe their identity derives from spiritual phenomena (such as possessing a nonhuman soul, reincarnation, or the will of God), ancestry, symbolism, or metaphor. Others attribute it to unusual psychology or neurodivergence and do not hold spiritual beliefs on the subject.

Therian refers to people who identify specifically as a real animal of the natural world. The species of animal a therian identifies as is called a theriotype. Therians mainly attribute their experiences of therianthropy to either spirituality or psychology, and often use the term "species dysphoria" to describe their feelings of disconnect from their human bodies and their underlying desire to live as their theriotype. The identity "trans species" is used by some.

Therians may seek out opportunities to perform species-affirming acts like wearing costumes, adopting animal-like behaviors such as making species-specific noises, eating species-specific foods, or moving/performing actions that their theriotype would do.

For example, someone with a horse theriotype may experience joy from snorting and neighing, pulling a cart, stomping their feet, or having a vegetarian diet. Someone with a shark theriotype may want to swim every chance they get, or enjoy eating a lot of raw fish. They may have special accessories they like to wear that make them feel connected to their theriotype, like animal ears on a headband, an actual animal’s tail or a symbolic tail hanging from their belt, an animal tooth necklace, or even just a t-shirt that has an image of their theriotype on it.

In Laios’ case, we know that he likes to imagine himself as a wolf, and in the real world he enjoys/is proud of his ability to bark and move like a dog. He’s practiced and performed this dog impression so often and so well that Falin thinks it’s his most noteworthy and amazing skill. He clearly holds hunting dogs in high esteem and admires them, and says that he learned many important life lessons from spending time with them. He enjoys playing with leftovers from monsters they kill (bones, skin, seeds, fur, etc.) and sometimes tries to collect them for either practical or sentimental reasons… And at the end of the manga he takes the pelt of his ultimate monster form and chooses to wear it as a cape, something that he continues to do for the rest of his life, possibly just because he likes to wear it, or because wearing it eases the pain of no longer being the ultimate monster.

It’s also possible that he’s only wearing it because he thinks it is a pragmatic, politically expedient move, but I think Kui very clearly communicates to us that Laios likes his monster cape, and it is the one thing he immediately thinks of when he wants to try and be king “on his own terms.” He’s willing to accept being king… if he can wear his monster cape. Whether or not it’s a good idea to wear it is secondary to the fact that he wants to do it.

Otherkin and Therian are of course both modern names for this phenomenon, but the concept of people strongly identifying with and being fascinated by animals is as old as humankind itself, so it isn’t impossible that Laios may feel this way, since so much of his behavior overlaps with things a Therian might do or feel.

MONSTER FETISHISM

In English, the word fetish originally described an object believed to have supernatural powers. Fetishes are often used in a spiritual or religious context. However, over time the word fetish has been used so frequently as a euphemism to describe a type of unconventional sexual interest that “sexual fetish” has become the primary meaning of “fetish” in English.

Fetishism is a sexual fixation on an activity, inanimate object, living thing, or human body part that is not normally involved in sex. The object of this interest is called the fetish; the person who has a fetish for that object is a fetishist. The current medical consensus is that sexual fetishes are very common, and as long as they do not negatively impact a person’s life, they are harmless.

Like the English word fetish, the Japanese word 趣味 (shumi), has multiple meanings, such as “hobby”, “interests/tastes”, but it is also used euphemistically to refer to “sexual taste, vice, or fetish.” What meaning is intended must be intuited by the context surrounding the word. I believe the other words used to discuss fetishes are the loan words フェティッシュ (fetisshu) or フェチ (fechi), but these are extremely blunt and direct, and shumi is preferred in situations where polite euphemism, ambiguity or plausible deniability is desired, or is perhaps even necessary in order to make a joke.

Shumi is used throughout Dungeon Meshi to describe various people’s interests, including Laios’ interest in monsters.

Meanwhile Namari’s interest in race-specific weapons and gear is never explicitly identified as shumi as far as I’m aware, but she is called 武器マニア (weapon maniac) in the World Guide, and in the Bicorn chapter, Chilchuck labels her as 武具フェチ (armor/weapon fetishist), and uses the English loan word フェチ (fechi) which is very unambiguously “fetish.”

(The official English translation from Yen Press changed this to “armor fiend.”)

It seems odd to me that Namari’s interest in weapons and gear is identified by most readers (though not Yen Press) as a fetish, but Laios’ interest in monsters isn’t always, when their behavior around their special interest is shown to be the same in the manga:

Both Namari and Laios blush while talking about their respective interests, and get embarrassed and/or excited about the subject. In the post-canon comics, Laios blushes, hides his face, and has to be prodded to confess to Yaad, Kabru and Marcille that he wants to have his body eaten by monsters when he dies. He obviously finds the idea embarrassing and titillating somehow, and is too shy to admit it out loud until they force him to do it. He also blushes on several other occasions in the manga while thinking or talking about monsters.

I think this is because having a “weapons fetish” is normalized: many people have a fetish for weapons or armor and find it sexy. However the idea of a monster fetish makes people uncomfortable because in a story were monsters exist and are a type of animal, they assume Laios having a monster fetish must mean he wants to participate in bestiality.

This is not necessarily true. A fetish of this nature can (and most often does, for reasons of morality and safety) exist entirely in the realm of imagination, and the sexual fixation may not even involve the act of having sex with the fetish object.

WHAT IS A MONSTER FETISH?

In a world where monsters exist, a monster fetish could involve a sexual interest in the sight, smell, sound and feeling of a monster (looking at or creating artwork of monsters, observing monsters in the wild, wearing a monster costume, or owning monster pelts or body parts that can be safely touched, smelled, etc.), the experience of hunting monsters, eating monsters, the fantasy of being a monster, or the fantasy of performing sexual acts with or as a monster.

The fantasy element could be Laios simply wanting to be a monster, and that giving him sexual gratification without any further scenario being necessary, or it could be imagining himself as a human having sex with a monster, imagining himself as a monster having sex with another monster, or imagining himself as a monster having sex with a human.

All of these possible scenarios would fit under the “monster fetish” umbrella. We know Laios canonically does at least six out of these eight things, but we don’t know whether or not he derives sexual pleasure from them… However, we do know that talking or thinking about monsters makes Laios blush in a way that interacting with other human beings does not, and blushing is often a sign of intense emotion or sexual arousal. Kui’s meaning is intentionally ambiguous, but both meanings should be acknowledged: Laios might be emotionally excited, or he might be sexually excited and Kui is leaving it up to us to decide which it is.

This is, specifically, why I think “monster fucker” isn’t an accurate label. We don’t have enough evidence to assume Laios wants to have sex with monsters, or for monsters to have sex with him. All we can tell is that he becomes excited by the subject of monsters, and often times it is specifically the idea of eating them or being eaten by them that gets him the most excited.

VORAREPHILIA

Because so much of Laios' interest in monsters revolves around eating them and being eaten by them, and Dungeon Meshi's plot revolves around the very concept of eating and being eaten, let me make a brief side-bar to discuss the extremely popular, but niche furry sub-culture of vorarephilia.

Vorarephilia is often used as the butt of jokes on the internet, and very poorly understood by most people, so I felt taking a moment to explain it would be beneficial. Most people are probably not even aware that a fetish like this exists, and therefore aren't able to identify that the things Laios is interested in are something he shares with an entire subculture of real people.

Vorarephilia is a fetish that revolves around the fantasy of devouring or being devoured by another person or creature. The prey can either be swallowed whole and alive, or killed and then eaten... But the former is vastly more popular, and most fetishists imagine themselves as the prey, not the predator.

The fantasy of being eaten or eating someone else is just an extreme form of power exchange. Since vore is an impossible fetish in the real world, it exists entirely as artwork, writing, or verbal role play.

Like in most sex practices, the majority of people want to be the submissive partner, and have someone else do the work of pleasing them. You could compare the "predator" in a vorarephilia roleplay session to a "dom" and the "prey" to a "sub" in BDSM. Incidentally, most predators identify as women, and the vast majority of prey identify as men.

Kui's personal work seems to involve some themes that are similar to vorarephillic art.

And Dungeon Meshi features a lot of content which appeals to vorarephiles.

Meanwhile, the many tiny Laioses being eaten by the Ultimate Monster is a classic example of Macro/Micro, another niche furry sub-culture that sometimes overlaps with vore... A giant monster eating mouthful after mouthful of tiny humans is a classic theme.

The vore fandom is extremely diverse, some of them are furries, others are not, and the exact element of devouring and being devoured that appeals to every one of them can be totally different.

What the demon does to Mithrun and Thistle, and Laios does to the demon, is specifically a fetish called "soul vore", where someone's personhood/soul/awareness is eaten and (usually) destroyed by the predator via some kind of "digestion"... Often while the prey is conscious and aware of the process.

For many, the fear and pain the prey experiences while dying is essential to their enjoyment... And remember, most people want to imagine themselves as the prey!

The art on these pages is indistinguishable from things you would pay thousands of dollars for if you hired a furry artist to draw them.

It's also very important to note that on the other end of the spectrum, some vore fantasies revolve around the prey wanting to be loved by someone so much that they would devour them completely, so that they can absorb the prey and keep them with them forever.

Sometimes it's about wanting to become part of something greater that the prey admires or idealizes… the way Laios admires monsters. He explicitly states that when he dies, he wants to become a part of the food chain… While blushing furiously.

And although it isn't about Laios, I think it's important to note that Mithrun's desire was for the demon to finish eating him. A key part of his depression is the fact that he felt he wasn't good enough to consume, that the demon didn't love him enough to want to eat all of him.

I won't go further into vore or macro/micro, because I want to keep this post as simple as possible, and it's already quite long... But if one wanted to dig even deeper into what specifically Laios' interests are, beyond the very broad umbrella of "monster fetishism", I think vorarephelia would be worth considering.

DO OTHER CHARACTERS THINK LAIOS HAS A FETISH?

Characters frequently notice that Laios gets very excited when he’s talking about monsters: he talks louder and faster, his pupils dilate, he blushes, and he forgets what he’s doing, where he is, and what the appropriate behavior for his situation is. This behavior almost universally causes other characters to react with intense scorn, disgust and disapproval.

I don’t think it makes sense for everyone in the manga to react as negatively as they do to Laios’ behavior unless they think there is something off-putting, unsavory, or creepy about it. Their reactions mean they must think Laios’ interest isn’t innocent. It isn’t just a hobby, but of course none of them will say this explicitly, it would be much too direct and rude, and also it wouldn’t be funny if they started accusing Laios of wanting to participate in something as horrible as bestiality.

Part of the joke Kui is frequently making is that nobody says what they’re thinking out loud. For example, at the end of the manga, Kabru gives Laios a disgusted look and warns him to “not talk about your hobby (shumi)” while addressing the participants of the feast. I think we can intuit that hobby/shumi in this instance is probably meant as a euphemism for fetish, otherwise why would Kabru have such a disgusted look on his face? If he just meant hobby, his expression would probably be much more relaxed. Shumi being a euphemism is the joke.

Another example is the fact that Chilchuck frequently calls Laios a psychopath, sick in the head, etc. Those are extremely harsh things to say if he thinks Laios has a completely innocent interest in monsters. He doesn’t call Senshi a psychopath, even though Senshi is equally interested in eating monsters… Because Senshi doesn’t engage in any of the other, suspect behavior that Laios does. Senshi’s interest in monsters is perceived as innocent, while Laios’ is not.

For clarity’s sake: I am not arguing that Laios’ interest in monsters is canonically a sexual fetish, I am only arguing that there is evidence that it is, and that other characters in the story perceive it to be a sexual fetish, whether it actually is or not.

DOES LAIOS THINK HE HAS A FETISH?

People who have fetishes, especially extreme fetishes that are not normalized, often try to hide them. They do this out of fear of social disapproval, and feelings of shame, because they feel guilty for having abnormal desires. This is true even though the majority of fetishes are completely harmless, and morally neutral.

Most people also know that things which provoke sexual excitement are supposed to be kept private, and it’s not acceptable to express those feelings in public spaces, so even if they see something related to their fetish while in public, they will repress their sexual feelings about it.

Laios, who has difficulty understanding social rules and nuance, is aware that his interest in monsters is socially unacceptable, even though there are many other social things he is not aware of.

Laios has spent most of his life hiding his interest in monsters as much as he can, and it is only during the events of the manga that he starts to express himself openly, because his monster knowledge has become useful for their survival, because Senshi encourages him, and because Falin isn’t there to act as a social buffer for him.

But Laios knows people won’t approve, he knows something about his interest in monsters and the way he expresses it will cause people to react negatively, like in the post-canon comic where he doesn’t want to tell his friends about his desire for his corpse to be eaten by monsters, and the part of the finale where he is hiding in the woods, too ashamed to let people see him because they now know that his greatest desire was to become a monster, and not reviving Falin, which he thinks is the "correct" desire that he should have had.

(This of course ignores the fact that the desires the demon preys on are unconscious, and cannot be controlled by the victim.)

This likely means that Laios has encountered negative reactions to his interest in monsters so frequently, and they have been so intensely negative, that it has trained him to conceal his feelings. It is one of the social rules that he has learned.

Laios thinks there is something shameful, wrong, and inappropriate about his desires related to monsters so he thinks it is something he needs to hide.

IS ANIMAL/MONSTER FETISHISM ANACHRONISTIC?

Some may feel that being a furry, a monster fucker or a monster fetishist is something only modern people do, and therefore anachronistic for Dungeon Meshi’s setting. However humans have been admiring, dressing up as and pretending to be animals for rituals (including fertility rituals) since the dawn of civilization, and continue to do so in the modern era every time someone dresses up in a “sexy cat” costume for Halloween, or wears a multi-thousand dollar fursuit to a furry convention.

There are many instances throughout history of people wearing pelts, masks and tails in order to “become” animals, poetry and art of people fantasizing about either becoming a beast/monster (modern werewolf erotica), or having a beast/monster ravish them (the many, many times artists choose to depict Zeus turning into an animal to have sex with women), or coming of age rites that involve animal sacrifice and the adoption of an animal-like persona as part of the process of becoming an adult.

The stigmatization of this behavior, where “sexy cat costume” is normal and “fursuit” is weird, most likely originates from the disappearance of religious and social context for it. In the past, the admiration, imitation and idealization of animals by humans was part of many cultures, but the modern dominance of religions that forbid the worship of anything other than one, immaterial god has left no room for such things, and so society can only view it as the deranged behavior of abnormal people, who have something “wrong” with them, rather than a harmless, common human impulse to admire, fantasize about, and imagine themselves as animals.

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober: Day 12 (Somnophilia)

Kink: Somnophilia

Pairing: NB!Shadow Demon x GN!Reader

Other kinks: Oral sex (r recieving)

Warnings: Dubious Consent (It could be inferred reader prior consented to somnophilia, but it isn't explicitely stated)

Word Count: 1119 words

Kinktober Masterlist

Xa’reth had never been more thankful for the heat.

Born in a void of inky black nothingness, feeding on dreams and ideas for most of their life, the human climate had never quite agreed with them. Whether it was humidity or biting cold, it always felt wrong against their skin, so used to the nothingness of subconscious space.

But now, looking down on your sleeping form, Xa’reth could kiss the heatwave that had washed throughed your town, and the AC repair guy who couldn’t come until tomorrow. All of it had lead to you, precious you, to discard pj’s for underwear and to throw aside your covers. Not to mention the way you splay out on your bed, trying to disperse any body heat and soak up the little coolness your two fans provide you.

All in all, it is quite a tantalizing sight.

Xa’reth feels them slipping out of the shadow in the corner of your room, soundless footsteps leaving imprints in your carpet as they step towards your bed. Their hulking form means the top of their horns brush against the ceiling and the bed creaks when they set their knee down. Neither sound is enough to wake you, breathing steady as Xa’reth sets themselves between your open legs, admiring the beads of sweat that decorate your thighs. Their form shifts and smokes, arms thinning to slip under your legs without you noticing, before bulking against to lift them over their shoulders. They take a deep sniff.

Oh, what an incredible smell.

Xa’reth murmurs, soaking up your human scent that enticed them so. You never seem to notice it, nose much worse than theirs, not even realizing the pheromones that leak out of your pores and drives them crazy. You’re so cute in that way.

Their clawed thumb brushes across your entrance, taking another sniff of the fabric covering. They can feel the saliva bubbling into their mouth, dripping through their razor sharp teeth and down their jaw. Xa’reth doesn’t need to eat, but at this moment they feel real hunger.

They kiss up your leg, tong trailing and soaking in the salt of your sweat. They can feel you begin to turn, still asleep but slightly reactive. Xa’reth sucks several bruises onto your inner thigh, lightly tugging at the skin and watching it pull back. A rumbling purr vibrates the bed. Your head tosses and you give a hesby exhale. Not exactly a moan, but Xa’reth revels in it all the same.

Xa’reth licks up the crotch of your underwear, sucking the fabric for just a taste of you. Its not enough, they quickly decide, hand shifting again to slip into your underwear and pull them down your legs, turning briefly incorporeal just so they won’t have to move. Glowing eyes in the darkness stare at your bare crotch, pulsing with desire.

Xa’reth digs in, tongue licking circles around your entrance before plunging in. Their eyes roll back in their head, sweet ambrosia finally on their lips. They are quick to prod at your walls, feeling you clench around them as they explore unhindered. Your feet kick, Xa’reth not feeling thing as a dreamy sigh comes out of your mouth. Xa’reth can see the content expression on your face, body soaking io the attention easily.

Xa’reth retracts their tongue to just the tip, teasing themselves before shoving it back in. Your thighs jerk around their head, clenching against their broad neck. The chill of their void-like skin must feel good in the heat, as your legs dance across your back like you're trying to soak them up. They lap at your insides with every thrust of their jaw, tongue lathering up and down. Drool slickens across your inner thighs, an erotic sound of sucking hidden under the white noise of the fan.

Your feet just barely touch around the broad muscles of Xa’reth’s back, legs warming up the sides of Xa’reth’s face like a muffler. Now this is a heat they can get onboard with.

Xa’reth crawls a hand up your stomach, petting at the skin, rubbing gentle circles into the soft flesh. A shiver runs down your sine, goosebumps across your thighs, unintentionally rubbing your hips against Xa’reth’s mouth. Their eyes roll back into their head, nuzzling their face back into your heat.

It’s damn near torture to detach themselves, to rip sweet divinity from their mouth, even for the moment. Only made worse by your sweet whines, your unconsciousness begging to be filled again. The ache it sends down Xa’reth’s chest is unbearable.

But there is reprieve, the sweet sighs as they sink two long fingers inside your whole. Properly stretched out by their tongue, the muscle relaxes as they scissor their fingers outwards, rough finger pads running along your walls. It's enough for Xa’reth to slip a third finger inside, now adding the sting of pleasure you were looking for.

Xa’reth can see your chest heaving in the dark, fingers curling around your pillow as your head tosses around. Sweat has begun to bead on your chest and stomach, the cool fans doing nothing to stop the fire Xa’reth stokes inside you.

Even as their fingers begin to thrust, fucking you open against their palm, Xa’reth can’t help themselves and go for a taste. They lap at the muscle around your hole, tongue wiggling in the gaps between their fingers. Your lips open in a pant, keening and whining so breathlessly.

“That’s it.” A discordant voice, layers of soundbites of conversations heard before. “Cum for me.” Xa’reth whispers, tapping into that haze of your sleeping mind. You may not be fully aware, but they can send the impulses well enough to your brain, have your body understand what they ask.

Your keeling voice goes higher, shorter bursts of moans as your hips rock back and forth on their fingers. Xa’reth smiles, eyes rolling over your desperate form. The way you ride their hand is euphoric, they’re sure there is no sight quite like in the rest of the world.

Your lower half raises up, a moan cut short as you tighten around their hand, orgasm racking your body. Xa’reth whispers more sweet nothings into your skin, kissing the sides of your legs as they let you ride out the rest of your high, only withdrawing their fingers once your body begins falls onto the bed.

They crawl up your side, their body too long for the bed, feet dangling off the edge. You still pant, sweatier than ever, but curl up against their side anyway. They watch as you nuzzle your face into their side, a content sigh of the cool skin against your flushed cheeks.

[writing-for-marvel]

Night Shift

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 5 | Series Masterlist | PART 7 > >

Summary: When you’re stuck on night shift for two weeks, you and Bucky find it difficult to spend time together.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, mention of sending nudes/audio within an established relationship, implied food play, mention of dialysis and an elderly patient dying, soft fluff

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: I truly didn’t mean for this part to be this long, yet here we are. Some soft smut and domestic fluff after the angst of part 5. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

“My place next weekend?” Bucky poses as he peppers delicate kisses over your face. You scrunch your nose and let out a little squeal of glee that promotes him to continue his trail of kisses along your jaw and down the column of your neck.

The prospect of spending an entire week without seeing or touching Bucky seems like pure torture. You suspect Thor didn’t take kindly to you turning him down in favour of Bucky which has resulted in you covering the night shift for the next two weeks.

With Bucky still living with and taking care of his Ma recovering at home after being discharged from the surgical ward last week, and your now severely conflicting schedules, you know you won’t find the time to see each other until the following weekend.

You have to remind yourself that you only have to endure six days without him, not even a full week, but it’s the six nights attempting to fall asleep in an empty bed without his strong arms cuddling you into his broad, musky scented chest that you suspect will be more tormenting to endure.

“What have you got planned?” Your eyes narrow, trying to see if you can get any clues by reading his countenances. Unfortunately, all he does is smile, which gives away nothing except for the soft flutter of butterflies in your stomach that indicate how you enjoy being the cause of his happiness.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” God he loves to tease, and as much as you adore him for it, having something specific to look forward to at the end of the week would actually be very helpful in surviving the week.

“Can it be next weekend already?” You whine between peppered kisses around your face. Bucky simply chuckles, but he feels your pain, he doesn’t want to have to endure the impending week without you either.

“I promise, the week will go by in a flash.”

But this one time, Bucky’s promise isn’t truthful.

The week feels like it’s moving through tar.

You’re awake when it’s pitch black outside and when you attempt to sleep at home, the sun is seeping through your curtains, almost mocking you that you can’t be outside enjoying it.

The night shift drags on more so than a regular day because you don’t have Wanda keeping you company, and you know that you won’t be able to steal glimpses of Bucky which normally sustain you throughout your shift.

You then come home and crash on an empty bed in a lonely apartment when most people are only just starting their day. Your mind can’t help but wonder what Bucky is doing at this very moment. Perhaps he’s making breakfast for his mom, and you smile thinking about them joking together over their cereal. Or maybe he’s having his morning shower, the hot water cascading over his toned body, his wet hair falling in front of his eyes as he washes his naked body.

Possibly thinking about you.

Maybe even touching himself to the thought of you being right there with him.

And that’s the image you manage to fall asleep thinking about and which enters your dreams.

The following day is no better. Sporadic messages from Bucky during his waking hours is the only contact you have with him, until it gets too late where his communication ceases altogether, under the assumption he finally fell asleep.

After driving home, and two and a half long days without seeing him, you’re desperate to hear his voice. Sadly, the only time you manage to hear it is when his voicemail instructs you to leave a message because you’ve missed him. At a very minimum he will be able to hear your voice if you leave a voicemail, so you decide to tell him about your day.

“Morning baby, I know you’re probably with your Ma, but I just finished my shift and I’m on my way home and I’d thought I’d see if I could catch you before I fall asleep. It was a tough one today, Mrs Stewart, that lovely lady on dialysis who read my cards, the one I told you about last week, she came into the ER again and passed away overnight. I organised for her daughters to come in to say goodbye, but it felt like such an injustice, she should have had more time and been able to meet her grandbaby. I wish I had been able to come home to a hug and kiss from you.” You take a short pause, trying to compose yourself. You’re a doctor, losing patients is part of the job description and just makes saving lives that more extraordinary, but it is always easier to cope when you have Bucky there to run you a bath and help wash the day off you.

You don’t get that privilege this week.

“How’s your Ma? I know you said the other day she was meeting all her goals so I’m sure she’s breaking all kinds of records and continuing to be a mischief maker just like her son is.” You let out a chuckle, thinking of your cheeky boyfriend and his even sassier mom interacting with each other makes you grin. “Two nights down, four more to go. Honestly the weekend can’t come soon enough, I already miss you and it’s only been two days! Oh also, I sent you some pictures overnight, I hope you enjoy getting to look through those before bed later, I think you’ll like them. Sending you kisses and dirty dreams. I hope we get to speak soon baby.”

You hang up feeling ever so slightly better. Even though you weren’t actually speaking with him directly, in some strange way you feel like you have.

When you wake up, a good eight hours later, feeling more exhausted than when you went to sleep, one of the notifications you’ve missed is a call from Bucky, and your heart flutters when you realise he’s also left you a long voicemail.

“Hey darling, it was so great hearing your voice just before starting my shift, I feel like my day is already brighter from just listening to you talk. I’m sorry to hear about your patient, she seemed like such a sweet lady. If I were with you I’d give you the biggest hug and kiss, you deserve them both. Just know you are an amazing doctor; and her daughters will be grateful that they got their chance to say goodbye.” There’s a long pause in the recording, so much so you think your phone has accidentally switched off, but then you hear his voice again. “Ma is doing so well, we’re getting out and doing some small walks around her neighbourhood. She’s friends with one of the lady’s down the end of the street and her poodle puppy, so her motivation to keep walking is to see little Millie and get puppy kisses. I have to take her to a follow-up appointment after work, so it might prove a little tricky finding a time to chat but hopefully I can catch you before your shift.”

Your heart sinks, after not actually getting to speak with him earlier today you had hoped this afternoon would be your best chance to do so. But as disappointed as you are, you don’t blame Bucky one bit - he has to take care of his mom, and seeing the relationship they share only makes you adore him even more.

“I had a sneak at those pictures earlier and you made me harder than a fucking rock looking like a wet dream in that lingerie set. You can guarantee I’ll be looking at those when I go to sleep tonight. I might just have to send you some audio of how much I enjoy them.” Excitement tingles down your spine and you salivate at the thought of hearing Bucky get off to pictures of you. That of all the people he’s ever been with, you’re the one he can’t get enough of. “I hope you’re resting up baby, you deserve it. I’m sure we’ll speak soon, and if not, I’m just gonna keep listening to your voicemail on repeat so I can hear your voice again.”

You listen to his message three times. Firstly, just to hear his voice, how elated he sounds speaking to your voicemail. Second, to actually take in what he said. And thirdly, to listen to the sound of his voice again.

The remainder of the week wouldn’t be such a drag now that you could listen to his voice any time you want.

* * *

After your shift ends on Saturday morning, you have a pep in your step as you exit the hospital, on your way straight to Bucky’s place.

You’re finally going to see him again and nothing, not even the wet weather that you drive through towards his apartment, will dampen that.

When he answers his door, there’s a moment's pause where you simply stare joyously at each other, as if trying to determine if this is actually real or something concocted in a dream.

Seeing Bucky’s gorgeous, smiling face after a week apart is like a breath of fresh air. After a week of suffocating, you could now take a long, deep breath, oxygenating all those cells in your body which had been crying out for him. By the achingly doting expression on his face, you are positive he has longed for this moment as much as you have.

Someone else would probably think you had spent months apart with how hurriedly you pull one another into a crushing embrace. Your arms fling around his neck, pulling him down to you, and he pulls your waist flush with his as he buries his face in your neck.

“I missed you.” You whisper in his ear, taking in the familiar scent of his eucalyptus shampoo and that musky scent which was just naturally Bucky.

“Not as much as I missed you.” He mumbles, pulling back so his lips can capture yours in a tender kiss. His lips are soft and meld against yours with languid motions.

You stay in each other's arms for a long moment, basking in the warmth of each other's embrace, letting the rest of the world melt away as you revel in the delight of being reunited.

With a kiss to your forehead, Bucky takes your hand and leads you inside, not wanting to be deficient of your touch for even a single second longer.

“I have something to show you.” He proclaims with a mischievous grin. You’re left to ponder what it might be as he doesn’t give you any hints, however, you don’t need to wait long for when he leads you through the doorway to his living space the surprise hits you square in the chest.

“Bucky…” Your jaw drops open and you’re left speechless.

His lounge room is lit up with candles, casting a soft, warm glow over the entire room and filling the air with a sweet vanilla fragrance. The couch and coffee table have been pushed to the back wall to make room for a makeshift bed of multiple blankets and pillows. A small projector sits at the foot of the ‘bed’, pointing at a now bare wall, the few pictures Bucky did have up now stored on the coffee table. To top it all off, rose petals have been scattered all around the room, with a bouquet of the same flowers tied up neatly in a pretty bow beside the bed which you can only assume is for you.

“You did all this for me?” You choke out, trying not to let your emotions get the best of you but the lump in your throat betraying you.

“I’d do anything for you.” He responds without hesitation. “I wanted to have a romantic weekend together after not seeing you for so long.”

He looks at you with such extreme fondness, like something precious he values and wants to keep safe, and you have no choice but to kiss him. Not soft and sweet like his was, but instead ardently, fiercely. As a ‘thank you’. As a ‘I missed you’. As a ‘I care about you beyond what words can describe’. As a ‘I need you right now’.

Your hands find his hair and pull lightly, in the way you know he likes and which helps you open him up to you so you can sweep your tongue in his mouth.

You’re in control of the kiss until Bucky manages to slip a large hand past the elastic of your pants, fingers finding the wet patch forming in your panties. Even the feel of his thick fingers through the material is enough to make you keen, and all of a sudden you’re putty in his hands as he takes charge.

“How long have you been this wet for me, darling?”

“All week.” You moan breathlessly as he runs his fingers through your soaking folds, making sure his thumb circles your clit with the just the right pressure he has come to know with experience makes your toes curl. “Jerking off to your pictures just isn’t the same.”

“You need the real thing, baby?” Bucky nips at your earlobe before sucking on your neck, the sensation making you dizzy with lust. You want him - no, need him, more than you’ve needed anyone before, more than you need to breathe.

“Yes, please.” You beg, hands reaching down to feel his hardening cock underneath the material of his sweatpants. His lips connect with yours again as you cup his balls through his pants, a gravelly grunt escaping his lips

“Lay down, darling.” Bucky instructs, his spare, strong hand running down your back to assist you falling backwards onto his provisional blanket bed. “I got you.” He promises as you let him hold your body weight, placing you down carefully and ensuring your head rests on one of the pillows.

Bucky cages you in, his muscular form and intoxicating scent consuming your vision and filling all your senses. His eyes are brimming with desire, observing you underneath him as if you are the most alluring sight he’s ever had the pleasure of gazing at, and it only makes the wet patch in your panties grow.

“Need you, James.” He smirks as his real name falls from your lips. Bucky knows you mean business when you use it, and though he loves to tease you, today is not the time for that, because as much as you need him, he needs you even more.

“I know baby, Imma take good care of you, make you feel so good.” Bucky coos before sliding down your body, pulling your slacks and underwear off in one go. “There’s my pretty pussy.” As soon as his plump lips suck on your sensitive bundle of nerves, you’re sent straight to heaven. Without giving you a moment to think about how almost painfully good he’s making you feel and how much you’ve missed the feel of his tongue swirling at your core, he’s slipped two fingers inside you, fervently stroking your velvety, fluttering walls.

“Shit, Buck. God, I’ve missed your mouth.” If you were with anyone but your precious Bucky, who you trust implicitly, you might be embarrassed by how quickly the band at the bottom of your stomach is tightening, ready to snap at any second. But you never feel self conscious when you’re with him - his utmost concern with your pleasure, ensuring you always feel safe and comfortable when you’re with him nourishes the trust you share.

You look down at Bucky between your legs still fully clothed, rutting into the blankets beneath him, as if he’s getting off on purely the taste of you. You swear you’ve never been with a partner who actually enjoys eating you out as much as Bucky does, rather than seeing it as a chore to get through so you’ll suck them off.

Through his long hair, strands of which have fallen in front of his face, his piercing blue eyes look up to find you watching him intently, overflowing pleasure etched on your features, whimpers and moans cascading from your mouth. This only spurs him on. With a smirk you can feel against your sensitive folds, his movements become more frantic, pushing you ever closer to your impending high.

“Make a mess on my face, darling.” His breath is hot against your centre, before diving right back in, tongue feverishly licking up every drop of arousal he himself is responsible for, as his fingers curl to find that spot inside you which makes you see stars.

“Buck- oh god, oh please, right there, fuck yes, yes, right there, don’t stop.” Your thighs squeeze around his head but it doesn’t slow him down. He’s been starving for a week and nothing, even not being able to breathe, is going to stop him from taking you over the edge of ecstasy.

And that’s exactly what he does. With a simultaneous thrust of his fingers and suction on your clit, you cum with a cry of his name, thighs quivering and toes curling as your back arches off the pile of blankets and pillows that are now in disarray.

“That’s my good girl.” He praises, continuing to pump his fingers inside you as his other hand frantically rubs your clit, prolonging your pleasure and causing your body to involuntary jerk as your orgasm fires through every cell in your body.

When you finally come down, completely out of breath and sweat beading on your brow, Bucky smirks at you in his signature, cheeky way where you can’t help a reciprocating smile blossoming in your own features.

“Now, let’s see how many times you can cum on this fat cock.”

* * *

“Bucky?” You mumble with a hoarse voice as your eyes blink open to the bright early afternoon sun streaming through the cracks in Bucky’s curtains, even though you can tell he’s tried to pull them across as far as they will go so you can sleep in mild darkness.

When you don’t get a response you turn over lazily, arm reaching out to the spot beside you on the makeshift bed only to find cool sheets and spare pillows. Your heart drops that even though you got to fall asleep beside Bucky, you haven’t been able to wake up beside him.

That moment of happiness and contentment as you both open your eyes in the morning, being the first thing you each see in the day, after being the last before falling asleep, as soft smiles spread simultaneously over both of your features, is a type of pure magic you don’t want to be deprived of once you’ve had a taste.

Hearing movement and faint sizzling coming from the adjacent kitchen, you pull Bucky’s discarded Henley over your naked form and, with a stifled yawn, shuffle towards your boyfriend.

You take a moment to lean on the doorframe and admire your burly boyfriend, shirtless, with grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, long hair tied back from his face in a small bun as he pours batter onto a frypan.

You could get used to this.

The muscles of his bare back flex as you rest your cheek on his shoulder blade, your arms snaking around his toned midriff

“Did you sleep well?” He asks softly as the hand he’s not using covers your left hand, fingers naturally slotting between yours. One of your favourite things since officially becoming his girlfriend is how physically affectionate he’s become. He’ll make any excuse to hold your hand, to sling an arm around your shoulders or have you sitting in his lap.

The fact that he seeks out that contact with you, makes your heart flutter each time. Warmth blooms in your chest knowing you’re the only person he wants that affectionate, lovey-dovey connection with.

“Hmm I guess. Wanted to wake up next to you though.” Your arms tighten around his waist, as if to reflexively keep him close and prevent him from moving away as he had done while you were asleep.

“I’m sorry darling, our sleep schedules are just off at the moment.” You kiss a freckle on his shoulder blade, a silent recognition that you understand what he means and you aren’t upset. You observe a shiver running down his back at your soft kiss so you do it again with a smile, loving that you’re the one person who gets to elicit that kind of reaction from him.

“Watcha making?” You ask lazily, standing on your tiptoes so you can see above his shoulder to what he’s cooking in the frypan. The room smells delicious, like sugary sweetness and melting butter

“Pancakes. Figured we’d need some energy after what we did this morning.” He chuckles as you let out a little squeal of delight. No man has ever put the effort in to cook for you before, and now Bucky’s making one of your childhood favourites. “Plus, they’re one of the only things I can make well.”

“They almost look as yummy as you.” You flatter, poking him at the ticklish spot he has just above his hip which makes him squirm and giggle.

“You’ll have to make sure to save room for your dessert then.”

You fall into comfortable silence as you remain resting on his back and Bucky continues to cook the pancakes one at a time, treasuring the closeness given your separation over the past week, but not needing conversation to feel at ease with each other's presence.

“Are you gonna fall asleep on me again, huh?” Bucky’s voice pulls you away from the dark void of sleep you were falling into without realising.

“Maybe… you’re just so comfy.” You mumble, your tired lips barely articulating the words, but Bucky chuckles like he knows what you’ve said.

“Here…” He places the spatula down and before you know it, he’s grabbing you by the hips and lifting you onto the counter beside his stove. He stands between your legs, casually kissing you and hands smoothing over your bare thighs. In this moment it feels as though nothing can come between you, even the prospect of spending the rest of your career on the night shift. “My sweet girl.” He mumbles against your lips, hooking your legs around his waist, getting lost in the taste of you to the extent that he almost forgets about the batter cooking on the pan and has to frantically untangle himself from you to turn them before they burn.

Once the pancakes are done, Bucky serves them up on a plate for each of you and leads you back to the living room with your hand in his, only leaving you huddled in the blankets alone for a moment to go grab all the topping options he purchased specifically for this occasion.

You start eating your pancakes as Bucky fiddles to connect the projector, cursing under his breath when it doesn’t work. You tell him not to mind, because after finishing your pancakes, you’re interested in other activities that don’t involve watching a movie, and making use of the rest of the whipped cream Bucky bought.

Though the weekend will surely go by in a flash, you want to stay in the moment with him and enjoy every sweet and sinful second you get together.

* * *

Before you know it, Monday has come round again and you’re back on the night shift. Yes, the week without Bucky had been difficult and you didn’t like it one bit, but you made it through once, so you know you can do it again.

Besides, your weekend of indulgence certainly made up for the lonely nights and days without seeing him, so you’re using the prospect of a similar weekend as motivation to get through another gruelling week.

Early on in your shift, as you’re preparing to send a young man in for an x-ray of his possibly fractured wrist, a familiar voice calls your name as they approach the nurses desk.

“Buck?” Your heart starts beating frantically thinking something must be catastrophically wrong for him to be in the ER at this time of night. “Is everything okay? Is it your mom?” Your voice is shaky, but your concern isn’t reflected on his face.

If you weren’t in a state of panic, you would have realised that him being in his EMT uniform was an indication of the true reason he found himself inside the hospital, but you fail to notice that detail in the moment of anxiety.

“Darling, everything is fine.” He punctuates his reassurance with a sweet kiss, his large hands calmly cupping your face and savouring the feel of your lips against his. “I swapped shifts with someone on nights for the week. I didn’t want to have to go another whole week without seeing you or sleeping next to you.”

Surprise stuns you for a split second - Bucky changed to the night shift because he missed you that much last week. Your stomach does a flip at how thoughtful his gesture is.

“Or do you mean sleeping with me? Are you a little pussy drunk, Barnes?” You tease.

“Oh I’m most definitely pussy drunk. Pussy addicted even.” He affirms with his signature smirk. Warmth blooms in your chest at how shamelessly he’s into you - you have become accustomed to men’s ambiguous signals, their aversion to commitment, but with Bucky, as soon as you proclaimed yourself as his girlfriend, he’s been nothing but unabashedly yours.

“You really swapped the night shift just for me?” You ask, voice softer and more vulnerable now. No one has ever gone out of their way to inconvenience themselves for you before. Part of your brain can’t believe seeing you more is the only reason Bucky has made the switch. Surely he must have some ulterior motive?

“Of course I did.” He says with an amused lilt as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Your stomach tingles with something of devoted affection when you perceive no trace of deception in his features.

“What about your Ma?” You question, very appreciative of what Bucky has done but concerned he hasn’t thought it through the whole way.

“Steve offered to help out, and I can still see her before each shift in the afternoon and afterwards in the mornings.” He reassures with a smile that relieves any doubt you were feeling. “Spending time with you is important to me. No one makes me feel as happy and content as I do when I’m with you, so when the opportunity presented itself, of course I took it.”

Looking into his steel blue eyes, which regard you with a familiar warmth and devotion, your stomach clenches as the realisation hits you - you have something in this world you’re terrified to lose.

Perhaps his edges are a little jagged by his past, but Bucky makes you feel like you’re in the exact right place at the exact right time, that there’s no rush, nothing to run or hide from, that you are precisely where you’re meant to be.

And though you don’t tell him that you’re falling in love, you kiss him like you do.

Part 7 > >

Be added to the series taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @roschele @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @fallenlilangel99 @princezzjasmine @mdrovert @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @netflixxgoddess @pop-rocks-818 @dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @marvelhoeland @thesadcatto-queen @kayden666 @amiimar @razor-blayde @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @Vickie5446 @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @moonymagician @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @unaxv

[neo-my-geo]

Hey gang, it’s your old pal Neo here. If you know me, it’s probably from one of the several very stupid TF2 comics I’ve posted to Tumblr.

However! I am also an English major (unfortunately). One who has read millions of words worth of fanfiction in their life. I have been part of the Sherlock, BNHA, Disco Elysium, and, of course, TF2 fandoms; I’ve been around the block.

The further I’ve progressed into my English education, the more I’ve noticed which mistakes are the most common in fanfiction. Many of them are easily fixable; writers just need to be pointed in the right direction. 

“Neo! Does this mean you think people shouldn’t be allowed to post their works online without a background in formal English education?”

Of course not! I can explain why if you’d care to venture below the cut with me!

Yes, I will explain how to use commas.

It’s important to note that this is NOT a post about formal writing. You aren’t writing an essay. Please, for the love of god, do not write fiction like you’re writing an essay.

There are no stakes to writing fanfic. No one is going to get hurt if an author doesn’t know what a dangling participle is. One of my favourite things about fanfiction is that it’s one of the only art forms left that’s done exclusively for fun! You should write what you enjoy, and share what you make with like-minded people. 

What I want to do is provide assistance as best I can to writers who want to improve their fundamentals without having to take the same university courses I did. Nobody is going to be getting a formal education to write fanfiction unless they’re ridiculously dedicated, and I’m not expecting that of anyone. 

The point I need to stress is that knowing these grammar fundamentals can instantly improve the flow of your writing. Punctuation is a ridiculously important tool for writers, ESPECIALLY in fiction. Commas, semicolons, and full stops (including periods, exclamation points, and question marks) steer the pacing in the reader’s mind; did you notice how your brain stopped for a second after that semicolon? I can show you how to do that.

You may be wondering why I’m going through so much effort to teach all of this to strangers on the internet. The answer is that I enjoy sharing this knowledge with others and helping them grow. By seeing this, my goal is to help you become more proficient at self-editing. Showing this to people who actually want to learn will, hopefully, benefit the community as a whole, and I think that’s very worth it. 

Also, while this post is obviously themed around TF2, the points I’m making can be applied to any fiction. Grammar is for everyone, and the church of the semicolon always has room for more initiates. 

Also also, as an edit, I should clarify that this is meant to cover the more objective facets of self-editing, which is why I'm mostly covering punctuation. Maybe I'll do another post about using adjectives someday.

With that out of the way, let’s get going!

I’ve teamed up with several English teachers (real ones! One of which may or may not be my mom!) and an editor to gather a list of the most common problems we see in amateur fiction. This post is going to be split into three broad sections: apostrophes, commas/semicolons, and other common problems. 

The apostrophe

This section is short, but it holds weight. Other than commas, apostrophes are the most typoed grammatical tool in any fanfiction I’ve edited. This is because, much like the rest of English, the rules surrounding them can be annoying and inconsistent. 

Apostrophes have two main uses: possessives and conjunctions.

A possessive is a word that denotes the ownership of one thing over another. The vast majority of the time, this is done using an apostrophe and an S.

There is, however, one glaring exception to this rule, and it’s the bane of my existence. 

When denoting possession of an object over something else while using the pronoun ‘it,’ you do NOT add an apostrophe before the S.

A conjunction, on the other hand, is when a writer uses an apostrophe to combine two words. The following are examples of common conjunctions:

What’s (what is)

They’re (they are)

It’s (it is)

Conjunctions are not often used in formal writing. Thankfully, we aren’t dealing in formal writing. Go crazy.

Time for a lightning round of the most commonly mistaken for each other possessives and conjunctions!

Your is possessive. You’re is a conjunction of ‘you’ and ‘are.’ When you can’t decide which one to use, imagine replacing it with ‘you are’ and seeing if it makes sense. If it doesn’t, use your.

Their is possessive. There indicates a location. They’re is a conjunction of ‘they’ and ‘are.’ 

The comma and the semicolon

You knew it was coming. I knew it was coming. It’s time to talk about commas.

Commas and semicolons are far and away the biggest grammatical hole in the toolset of fanfiction writers everywhere. They’re often treated like the rules surrounding them are complicated and difficult to understand, but the exact opposite is true! 

The big issue I’ve heard time and time again is that the rules of commas are often explained through metaphor instead of example; this means that writers everywhere have slightly different ideas of how you’re supposed to use them. The fact of the matter is that, yes, there are correct and incorrect ways to use commas. Knowing when they’re appropriate and when they aren’t is easily the fastest way to bring your writing from looking amateurish to sounding professional and experienced. 

In order to know how to use a comma, you must first understand the difference between a dependent and an independent clause. 

An independent clause is a section of writing that functions perfectly well as its own sentence. It MUST have both a subject and an action/verb.

A sentence without an independent clause is known as a fragment, and they’re the bane of English teachers with highlighters everywhere. 

A dependent clause is a section of writing that does not have both a subject and an action; it does not function as its own sentence.

Now, let’s say you want to combine the two. When joining a dependent clause to an independent clause, the order in which they are placed is crucial to whether you use a comma or not. 

When joining a dependent to an independent with the independent clause first, you do not need to use a comma.

When joining a dependent to an independent with the dependent clause first, you MUST use a comma. 

Keep in mind that, if one strives for total grammatical perfection, all narrative sentences MUST have an independent clause. This, however, does not apply to dialogue. Human beings do not think about whether what they’re saying is a dependent clause, and neither would the vast majority of fictional characters. Don’t be afraid to break the rules of grammar as long as it’s contained within quotation marks. 

Alright, that’s the easy part. Time to learn about joining two independent clauses. It’s semicolon time, baby!

If you join two independent clauses without properly using a comma or a semicolon, it is a run-on sentence. You do not want these in your writing. They’re awkward to read and mess up the flow.

When joining two independent clauses, you can use EITHER a comma or a semicolon. You just need to follow these rules:

If you’re joining two independent clauses with a comma, you MUST use a joining word (and, but, so, etc.) AFTER the comma. 

If you’re joining two independent clauses with a semicolon, you do NOT need to use a joining word.

Did you know that a sentence with a comma counts as its own independent clause? This means that you can make a sentence that includes a mix of both without it being a run-on! Just make sure that, no matter what, the semicolon is between two independent clauses. 

Still, try not to write more than two clauses in a sentence too often. Sentences with a lot of punctuation are very attention-grabbing, but shouldn’t be overused. Full stops aren’t your enemy and variety is the spice of life. 

It’s also important to remember that you should avoid using more than one comma in a clause (with the exception of the rule below). That part loops back to the 'avoiding run-ons' bit.

It’s really that easy! 

Commas are also used in informal writing to inject a separate thought or descriptor mid-sentence without breaking the flow by adding a period. This is often used when describing the perspective of a character experiencing something in a story, but not (usually) when using omniscient perspectives. 

The final issue I frequently see with commas in fanfiction is in regards to dialogue. Sometimes you end it with them, and sometimes you don’t. What gives? 

Well, my friend, the answer is, thankfully, much simpler than the previous section.

When following dialogue with a dialogue tag, use a comma instead of a full stop. If you’re continuing the previous sentence after the tag, use a comma after it as well. 

Note that a dialogue tag is a short phrase that identifies the speaker. It isn’t a complete sentence on its own.

When following dialogue with an action that does not serve as a dialogue tag, use a full stop instead of a comma. 

Other common problems

This section is dedicated to putting specific grammatical errors into words, along with how to solve them. 

Not sticking to the chosen point of view

Always choose your point of view before you start. Is it in the first, second, or third person? Is it omniscient or limited? Does the point of view switch during the story?

First person perspective is told as if the POV character is directly describing their experience to the reader. The character uses I and we to describe their own actions.

Second person perspective is told as if the reader is a character in the story and their actions are being described to them. This is the rarest, and the most difficult to write.

Third person perspective is the most common and the simplest to write. The events of the story are a separate entity from the reader altogether and the narrator uses they/he/she/it pronouns for characters. 

Omniscient perspective means the narrator of the story knows all, including the thoughts and feelings of each character. 

Limited perspective means the narrator of the story only knows what the POV character knows. 

Past and present tense

When you decide between writing a story in past or present tense, it is crucial that you do not switch between them unless it is narratively intentional. Reading a past tense story that mistakenly switches to the present tense is like being pulled out of the room someone is telling a story in and suddenly taking part in it yourself. It’s disorienting and gives the reader unwanted pause.

Overly-long paragraphs

A common adage spread by English teachers is that most paragraphs should be at least eight sentences long. This is great advice for beginner essays. You’re writing fiction. 

If you have a new thought, start a new paragraph! A concise and well-read single-sentence paragraph is infinitely better than one that drags a thought for too long. Aim to have a blend of paragraph lengths when you write, alternating between the descriptive and the punctual. 

Dangling participles

A dangling participle is when a word is used to describe a noun that isn’t actually present in the sentence. Much like how a sentence without an action isn’t grammatically correct, neither is a sentence without a subject. 

Malapropisms

A malapropism is when an author mistakenly uses one word or phrase instead of another similar-sounding one. I’m not about to list every single malapropism ever made, but these are the ones I notice most often:

To comprehend is to understand something, to apprehend is to arrest someone, and to be apprehensive is to be anxious or fearful of something bad happening.

Could care less means you do care. Couldn’t care less means you don’t.

A lot means a large amount of something. Alot isn’t a word and you shouldn’t use it.

The only real solution to using malapropisms is to make sure you fully understand any words you use in your writing. Never guess, and make sure you always google it. Having beta readers also helps.

If you made it this far, congratulations! You now know the most common errors in amateur fiction and how to solve them! Thank you for listening to me complain for two thousand words. 

The most important thing to remember is that it’s okay to make mistakes. First drafts are always gonna be a little bad. The real key to success is knowing what your end goal is, and how you plan on achieving it. Here’s hoping this was a helpful tool for that!

Shoutout to @salmonandsoup for helping me think of the list of issues to address! You're a real one. Also shoutout to my mom, who doesn't have Tumblr. Also the third person. You know who you are.

[deathmoth-blog]

The mahi-mahi or common dolphinfish (Coryphaena hippurus) is a surface-dwelling ray-finned fish found in off-shore temperate, tropical, and subtropical waters worldwide. It is also widely called dorado (not to be confused with Salminus brasiliensis, a freshwater fish) and dolphin (not to be confused with the aquatic mammal dolphin). It is one of two members of the family Coryphaenidae, the other being the pompano dolphinfish. These fish are most commonly found in the waters around the Gulf of Mexico, Costa Rica, Hawaii and the Indian Ocean.

The name mahi-mahi comes from the Hawaiian language and means 'very strong', through the process of reduplication. By chance in Persian, mahi (ماهی) means 'fish', but the word mahi-mahi is Hawaiian. Though the species is also referred to as the common dolphinfish, the use of dolphin can be misleading as they are not closely related to dolphins; see Coryphaena for the possible etymologies of dolphinfish. In parts of the Pacific and along the English-speaking coast of South Africa, the mahi-mahi is commonly referred to by its name in Spanish, dorado. On the Mediterranean island of Malta, the mahi-mahi is referred to as the lampuka. In Indonesian, they are called ikan lemadang.

Linnaeus named the genus, derived from the Greek word, κορυφή, koryphe, meaning 'top' or 'apex', in 1758. Synonyms for the species include Coryphaena argyrurus, Coryphaena chrysurus, and Coryphaena dolfyn.

Mahi-mahi have compressed bodies and one very long dorsal fin extending from the head almost to the tail fin. Mature males have distinctive "foreheads"; it grows as the fish matures and often protrudes well above the body proper, which is streamlined by the musculature of the back. This "hump" is a sexually dimorphic feature; females have a rounded head. Their caudal fins and anal fins are sharply concave. They are distinguished by dazzling colors – golden on the sides, and bright blues and greens on the sides and back. The pectoral fins of the mahi-mahi are iridescent blue. The flank is broad and golden. Out of the water, the fish often change color (giving rise to their Spanish name, dorado, 'golden'), going through several hues before finally fading to a muted yellow-grey upon death.

Mahi-mahi can live for up to five years, although they seldom exceed four. Females are usually smaller than males. Catches typically are 7 to 13 kg (15 to 29 lb) and a meter in length. They rarely exceed 15 kg (33 lb), and mahi-mahi over 18 kg (40 lb) are exceptional. Mahi-mahi are among the fastest-growing of fish. They spawn in warm ocean currents throughout much of the year, and their young are commonly found in rafts of Sargassum weeds. Young mahi-mahi migrate past Malta where they are called lampuki and Sicily where they are known as lampuga or capone; there they are fished using nets and floating mats of palm leaves under which they collect.

Mahi-mahi are carnivorous, feeding on flying fish, crabs, squid, mackerel, and other forage fish. They have also been known to eat zooplankton. To pursue such varied pelagic prey, mahi-mahi are fast swimmers, swimming as fast as 50 knots (92.6 km/h, 57.5 mph).[citation needed]

Males and females are sexually mature in their first year, usually by the age of 4–5 months. Spawning can occur at body lengths of 20 cm (7.9 in). Females may spawn two to three times per year, and produce between 80,000 and 1,000,000 eggs per event. In waters at 28 °C/83 °F, mahi-mahi larvae are found year-round, with greater numbers detected in spring and fall. Mahi-mahi fish are mostly found in the surface water. Their flesh is grey-white when raw, cooking to an attractive white with a clean, non-fishy flavour.

[tinygarbage]

Do I Wanna Know?

part one

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x f!reader (Cheese)

word count: 4.4k

summary: december is passing and you start to wonder what you mean to your lieutenant.

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, alcohol consumption (reader and ghost have 3 drinks), no use of y/n, reader is mentioned to have hair (no specific length), readers call name is “Cheese”, American reader, mutual pining, fluff, implication of severe anxiety, swearing, military inaccuracies, drunk soap and gaz, not really edited lol (let me know if i missed any)

au: this chapter is inspired by hozier’s cover of “do I wanna know” by the arctic monkeys 😚 i linked it in the title just in case y’all wanted to give it a listen! im thinking about one more part for this bad boy :)

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

    The pub is busy when you step in. Loud music and noisy chatter smacks you in the face as you shove your hands into your pockets. You feel your heart beating faster as your eyes search for the team's faces. The painfully familiar feeling of anxiety crawls through your brain as you walk through the crowded space. People are dressed in all sort of attire, a mix of casual and fancy outfits scatter across the dark pub. Party hats and sunglasses work of people heads. Cheap, plastic necklaces around peoples necks. They all chatter, drinks in their hands as they watch TV at the bar or cheer of the people on the karaoke machine. You recognize a Bon Jovi song being sung horribly by a middle aged woman. Her friends crowding the stage with their phones in hand, drunkenly recording her screeching performance.

    Your heart races and your breathing quickens as your eyes continue to dart between the overwhelming amount of people. You were already late. Dreading coming since Simon gave you the invitation during training one day. Quietly mumbling about how the guys were carrying their tradition of going to Price's favorite pub. Inviting you to come along. Which you immediately accepted. Not stopping to think about the fact that crowded pubs make your head spin and stomach flip like the worlds most dangerous amusement park.

     "Cheese!" You hear Soap's thick accent call out through the crowd. His voice immediately sending a soothing blanket over your jittery nerves.

      Your head snaps in the direction you heard it from to see your team grouped up together at a large booth in the corner. They all sit tight together. Gaz and Soap clearly having indulged in their alcohol quickly. Soap's cheeks are rosy and his faux-hawk is tossled slightly. He's wearing a dark grey hoodie with some band graphic fading on it. Next to him sits Gaz. Who's wearing his worn baseball cap backwards. A navy hoodie with a grey and blue flannel over it. His eyes droop as he seems to be searching for where soap spots you. Across from them sits Simon and Price. Price wearing his typical beanie and a flannel. He's in the process of taking off his brown leather jacket. Next to him is Simon. Wearing a black hoodie. You cant see anything but his broad frame and the hood pulled up. But you can guess he's wearing his "civilian" balaclava or a black surgical mask.

    As you approach, Soap is still waving his arm like a maniac and Simon slides out of the booth. Turning slowly to watch you approach. You don't even try to bite back a smile as you get closer. He's in his black surgical mask and a pair of dark denim. Thick leather boots on his feet. Jeans cuffed to reveal the lighter denim on the inside. Hiding the very top of his boot. His pale hand reveals itself, gesturing for you to slide into the booth. To sit right between him Price's broad frames.

     You slip right in. Sitting close to Price. Your cardigan brushes against his flannel and he looks down at you. Giving you a sweet, genuine tight-lipped smile. "Hey, Cheese." He rasps, nudging your shoulder lightly.

      You smile back in response. Glancing back over the busy pub as Simon squeezes in next to you. Both of your arms pressed against each other. "It's packed." You observe, adjusting between the two large men.

     "Well, you did show up at 22:00." Gaz chuckled.

      "How long have y'all been here?" You ask. Your American accent standing out in the pub full of Brits and Soap.

     "Y'all!" Soap repeats in a southern accent. Surprisingly nailing it despite the fact that he's completely tossed.

     The group ignores it, Gaz answers. "Soap and I got here around 19:00. Price and Ghost got here about an hour ago."

     Before you can respond to Gaz, Simon speaks up from beside you. His gaze darting from you to the glass of whiskey sitting on the table in front of him. Pale fingers fidgeting with the wrapper of a straw. The straw from Price's coke. "How come you came so late?" His voice is quiet. Only being heard by you and maybe Price.

    "Oh, I was calling my parents. And i got a little distracted."

    It wasn't a lie. Not entirely. Just withholding the full truth. Not wanting to explain the fact that you had been doing every single chore and calling every single family member instead of getting ready to meet them at the pub. So you just wear a baggy, knitted cardigan over a grey cami. The lavender color of your cardigan and it's marble white buttons standing out amongst the men you were with. Who were wearing rather dull colors. A pair of light wash jeans on your bottom half and your trusty converse. The pair you've had since senior year. The fraying canvas and scuffed soles giving them character. And a sense of nostalgia. A birthday gift from your older brother. Who saved up all of his tips that he got working as a barista while attending college.

You shift awkwardly under his intense stare, waiting for any sort of response from him. Nothing comes. Instead, Soap leans over the table and speaks loudly. His accent thicker with the more he drinks, "Gaz and I have bets going on some pool games, you want to join?"

"I'll pass, I'm not very good at pool." You chuckle, speaking up so they could hear you over the crowded bar.

"That's better for us, means you'll lose!" Gaz chimes in, leaning against Soap.

"Maybe next time. What are you getting anyways?"

"Loser sings karaoke. Winner chooses which song." Soap answers with a drunken giggle, Gaz joking in. You've never seen either of them this drunk before.

"You're going to force an entire bar full of people to listen to your awful singing?" You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Cant be as bad as the Cougar screaming on stage." Gaz nudges Soap as they laugh loudly. God, they were obliterated already.

Time passes and eventually Price has moved to the bar, leaving you and Simon to watch as Soap and Gaz play pool together. You cant tell who's winning, so Simon updates you with each play. You now had a vodka cranberry sitting in front of you. After Price begged you to let loose for once and stop being a "block of cheddar." Whatever that meant. But when he said it was on Shepherd, you couldn't refuse ordering a few drinks on the dreadful man's pocket. Price giving a big belly laugh as you make a remark about Shepherd's bald head.

With the drink and Simon's calming presence, you feel your anxiety starting to rinse away. A second drink comes and you and Simon are still pressed together despite having more room in the booth now that Price disappeared. The two of you watching Soap lose brutally in a game of pool. Most likely due to the fact that he can't even stand straight. You watch as him and Gaz stumble to the karaoke machine, which is vacant now that people are more focused on midnight approaching. Typing in the song Gaz had chosen as the pair giggle and try to read the screen. Their vision most likely blurred and spinning. The song starts playing once everything is set up, the microphone in Soap's hand as he leans on Gaz for support. Probably needing a glass of water more than a song. You cant help but giggle as Come on Eileen starts playing. Typical karaoke song.

You're still sat in the booth with Simon, watching as Soap curls his arm around Gaz. His singing getting louder and increasingly incoherent as he attempted to read the words on the screen. His accent thick with each word. You wish your hearing was non existent as you watch the shit show in front of you. Simon sitting silently at your side.

"We're going to have to roll that man out," You say with a grin. Soap's an idiot but he's the team's idiot.

"I say we leave him to Price." Ghost replies, glancing at you while you take a chug of your drink.

You glance over to Price, who has his arm loosely around a blonde. A charismatic smile as he leans against the bar, the pint of dark beer half empty and her flashy margarita with nothing but the salt around the rim and the flimsy umbrella laying. It's place as a decoration looking rather sad in the empty glass.

"It seems like Price is on his own mission," you say with a raised brow.

"At least the old man is getting out there," he grumbles. You watch subtly as he lifts his mask to finish off his whiskey. Catching a glimpse of a scar down his pink lips. The sight bringing a familiar pool of heat to your stomach. Your ribs squeezing from the desire building.

You swallow your alcohol infused thoughts, turning back to your drink when you notice his brown eyes shifting under your gaze. You weren't being nearly as subtle as you thought. He had felt the tension build between the two of you the moment your eyes landed on his lips. Clearing your throat you speak up, "Yeah, he's been getting irritable lately. Maybe some stress relief outta do him some good."

You hear a small huff of laughter next to you, watching as his shoulders shook slightly under his black hoodie. A small smile creeps on your lips. Not able to hide the giddiness you feel every time you manage to break his shell. Even if it was something as subtle as a huff of laughter or a sheepish expression.

"Can't remember the last time I've seen the poor bastard do anything for himself." He responds, a hint of a smile in his voice. It was light, airy. But it was everything to you. A moment worth a mental picture in your brain.

"Good for him," you conclude with a proud nod. Watching as the blonde places a hand on Price's bicep. Which looked like it was screaming to be let out of the flannel he wore.

Your eyes flick back to Simon, admiring the curve of his nose. The very top of it peaking out from the surgical mask. The mere sight of him drowns out Soap's awful singing. Drawing you in and letting your mind wander to all the places you wanted the talk, blonde man to take you. You couldn't help but imagine how his nose would feel against your skin. His breath fanning on the open landscape as his lips trace every inch of you. Breathing you in with each peck. You imagine how it's feel as he leaves a trail of kisses down your stomach. Or pressed against your sensitive bud as he buries his face in your dripping cunt. Jesus, Cheese. Slow down.

With that last thought in mind, you stare down at your drink. It's your third. And probably your last. Given the fact that midnight was approaching minute by minute and you needed to be sober to try and get Gaz and Soap out. Simon was on his fourth and final glass as well. Announcing he was cutting himself off before he would have to endure a nasty hangover the next morning. Soap was finished singing, gesturing to you and Simon that they were going for one more round. A round that would probably tie them over to midnight.

And it did. Leaving you and Simon to drag him and Gaz out of the bar and to the Uber you had ordered. Price having left swiftly after midnight with the blonde he was chatting up. Her dragging him out as they laughed like a couple of teenagers. Price giving you and Simon a smug smile and a wink as he passed. You waving goodbye and Simon glaring at him. Pissed at the fact you two were left to taking care of the drunken babies screaming in the karaoke machine. Especially when Soap turned into a runner after 3 pints.

You and Simon wrangle the drunken toddlers into the Escalade. Gaz sobering up quick once you had buckled him in and gave him a bottle of water that the bartenders were handing out. On the other hand, Soap was being a straight menace. Making Simon's life ten times more difficult than it needed to be. Acting like a toddler in the middle of a bloody, screaming tantrum. Trying to slip out if Simon's tight grasp to take off through the streets. You and Simon having to resort to scaring him into sitting still in the Uber. Leaving you in the middle of him and Gaz, holding onto Soap's hand as he babbles. His thick, slurring accent completely impossible to understand. He even asks you a question. One that Ghost has to translate for you.

     "Why do they call ye Cheese?" He slurs, head turning to look at you.

      "Grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin." You explain with a shrug. You had gotten used to people asking by now. But internally you were certain you had told him already.

       "Oh," he pauses, his lips pressed into a small pout as he thought more about it. "Well, that's silly."

       "Your name is Soap. What if I think that's stupid?" You say flatly, watching his pout grow.

Eventually, you're back to base. Gaz walking up on his own, but you stay next to him. Ready to catch him if he takes the wrong step or needs to puke. Simon practically carrying Soap behind him. Who's now singing old Scottish folk songs while Simon grumbles profanities. Your favorite being a threat to make him sleep in the bushes. Which causes infectious laughter from the Scot. Which you are quick to quiet as there's other people on base.

Once you're in the confines of your groups own little sector. You and Simon get Gaz into the respective rooms. Propping them on their sides in case there were any accidents. Leaving a water bottle and a couple tablets of Advil for their heads in the morning. Simon was partial to dumping them and heading to bed. But you made sure they were out of their jackets, in their beds, converse with blankets, and had water for the morning.

Soon, you find yourself in Simon’s room. Listening to him grumble endlessly about the behavior from the other three men you live with. You watch in the corner as he lazily unties his leather boots. Body hunched over completely as he sits at the edge of the bed. Kicking them off with a bit of a tipsy struggle. Letting them plop at the end of his bed with a large thunk!

Awkwardly, you shift in your place by the door. He had invited you to come in. But this side of him was so foreign to you that it still felt wrong. Like you were in forbidden territory. But you bury the anxiety. Reminding yourself that the flipping of your stomach could be blamed on the three mixed drinks you had indulged in.

He’s sat up now, stretching his back. A loud crack sounding through the room as his spine arches like a cat. You watch as his hand reaches for his surgical mask. You don’t think twice of the motion. You’re occupied with a fuzzy brain. Crossing the room with a shy stride, blinking a few times as your vision adjust to the dim lighting in his dorm. Your eyes flicking back up to catch his movements. And it isn’t until the mask is pulled completely off that you realize what is happening.

“Simon?” You ask quickly.

His eyes snap to you, head turning towards you ever so slightly. Revealing the rest of his face to you. And god, he’s fucking gorgeous. The curved bridge of his nose that you always noticed is paired with a straight, and narrow length. Slightly tipped downwards. The pale scar you noticed earlier seeming to glow in the dim lighting. Crossing through his pale pink lips. His jawline strong and the shape of his face a little longer than you’d ever noticed when he was wearing the mask.

“You take that thing off?” You ask without thinking. Voice laced in disbelief and shock.

He lets out a huff of laughter. A small, boyish grin tugging at his lip. “Of course I do.”

You stare at him for a moment longer, taking in his strong, prominent features. Trying to drink in every centimeter to engrave in the back of your brain. “Why are you taking it off now? I thought you were hell bent on hiding your face.” You question, frowning slightly.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t seen my face.” He says bluntly.

“What? That’s no fair!”

“Perfectly fair.” He responds. You find yourself speechless. Now you got to put a face to the snappy, dry comments he had an endless supply of. Seeing the full expression of his face when he’s giving an unimpressed stare. You adore it.

“Why haven’t I seen it?” You ask, faking offense with a dramatic gasp.

“Because you’re insufferable.” He answers dryly. But the crooked smile on his lips give his intentions away. You grin, moving your body from its place on the edge of the bed with him. Leaving over to snatch the balaclava that rests on the nightstand where he had tossed the surgical mask. His “civilian” balaclava. The one with the skull print. “What are you doing?”

“Trying it on.” You giggle.

“Don’t touch it.” He says sharply, moving to reach for it.

Your reflexes are heightened. Holding his mask out to the side with a giggle, trying to push his massive body back. But he's too big and overpowering. Not to mention the three drinks you had were still buzzing through your system. He grabs your hand on his chest, pulling you into him as the other arm snatches the skull mask. He tosses it to his nightstand before using both hands to pick you up from the edge and throw you down gently on the middle of  his bed. The wooden bed frame creaking with age. "You're a brat," he says in deep voice. His dark, playful glare making your heart spike as you're pressed against the mattress.

      "Am not!" You argue, laughing as you realize he's about to tickle you. Picking up the lower half of your body as he inserts his larger frame between your denim covered legs. You wonder if it's third grade again as his hands move from holding you down to your sides.

    He then laughs and tickles your ribs, causing you to gasp out into a fit of giggles. Your hands shooting up to his wrists to stop him as you try and speak through the laughter erupting from your chest. He laughs mischievously. His hand moving down to your stomach and up your sides again. The action making you laugh even harder while begging him to stop. Words broken and squealed as you giggle. He finally stops the tickling but he keeps his hands on your sides, looking at you with a crooked grin on his face.

    You try not to dwell on the fact that you've never seen him smile before. And have never ever imagined it would look this good. Or boyish. This felt completely out of character. And it was. All you could think to do was blame it on the glasses of whiskey he had downed just before midnight. But that wouldn't stop you from memorizing each inch of his face without the mask on. Taking in the sight of his blonde lashes that are just a little bit lighter than his thick eyebrows. Or the scar running down his cheek to his jaw. The line dark and uneven, a contrast to his pale skin.  The other scar just below his nose and through the pale pink lips that spread thin with his smile. He was everything.

    The veins in his pale hand popping against your hips as he keeps your ass in place on this thick thighs. "You are and you know it." He finally says, a bit breathless from laughing at you.

    "You're so mean." You say breathlessly, giving him a playful pout.

    "I know, that's why you love me...right?" He asks you, with that charming smile and a smug voice to match. His hands on your sides, leaning down towards your face.

    You just giggle again, nodding slightly as you admire how he looks above you. Your breathing starts to calm as you two sit in the warming silence between each other. Your back is against his sheets, hair spread on his pillow. He's sitting between your legs. Your thighs pressed over his hips as his large body leans over you. As your giggling ceases, you notice him getting closer and closer. Your heart beats faster as his face leans a couple inches forward. Stopping for a second to look over your features. His breath was warm. The scent of a heavy mint mixed with a bit of whiskey. The slow exhales fanning your jaw slightly as his eyes flicker to your lips. His hands on your sides started to get lower the closer he got. Thumbs digging into your hips lightly. Like he was trying to imagine how your flesh would feel gripped beneath his bony fingers.

     Suddenly, you realize what's happening. It hits you like a train coming full speed ahead. You feel your heart lurch as a fire erupts through your hips. His thumbs brush over the skin that is exposed. The cardigan you're wearing rides up to reveal more of your skin peeking between its hem and your jeans. Wires in your brain start to connect when you realize the severity of your situation and your rising feelings. This was Ghost. Simon fucking Riley. These thoughts weren't allowed. These feelings are forbidden. This isn't real. This isn't him.

    You sit up, scooting back as you come to your senses."I...I should probably get back to my room." You clear your throat. Trying to even your breathing.

    He moves back, sitting up completely as your close proximity starts to sink in to his senses. You hear him swallow slightly, shifting back more to allow you to move. Sitting up, you shift towards the edge of the bed. Your feet dangle as you try and calm down the screaming arousal pumping through your veins. As you sit there, you wonder what thoughts run through his brain. Was this all good fun? Was this something he wanted or thought about? Were you something he thought about?

    "Right," his voice deepens and his dark eyes run cold, "you should probably go."

Fuckin' hell. The tension in the room grows thick. It's painfully obvious the affects of the alcohol have taken over their senses. Creating a false perception of each other in a close proximity. You internally calm yourself. Reminding yourself that you're human and a very large, brutally attractive man was hovering over you just second ago. Of course you'd be turned on. But he's your lieutenant. The second in command. The man who'd take over if Price left or retired. Your superior.

"Right." You repeat. Your voice just above a whisper.

    Another consequence of drinking rears it's ugly head when you feel tears start to burn at the corners of your eyes. Why were you so upset? You scold yourself, repeating the fact that you were the one to stop things from progressing. And he's your superior. Not like it should happen anyways.

    But your scolding only goes so far. Instead, a dark shadow of guilt and shame starts to crawl over your skin. You pull your cardigan tighter against yourself as you stand up from his bunk. Your converse tapping on the floor as you start to step away. Glancing at the way her shifts to sit on the bed. Long, large legs planted on the floor. His pale, striking face observing you.

    This type of look wasn't different from the look he always gave you. But this time, you could see his entire face. You can see his thick brow knitting together as his dark eyes scan over you. His eyes stained with dark circles. You could see all of the flaws he so desperately wanted to hide from everyone. But you. The face he allowed you to see. The one with a crooked smile. The sheepish smile that he'd try to bite back. Or the way his nose was a little crooked at the end. And it scrunched up when he lets out a boisterous laugh.

    But all you see is the dark wall that began to rebuild itself. The glaring eyes and the shadow from his thick brow. The rest of his face void of expression as the hand on his leg squeezes his thumb a few times. A nervous tic you had noticed. Something he does when he has so much more to say. When he has an overwhelming amount of feelings bubbling up in his throat. Threatening to spill out like when a toddler spills their milk. Accidental. Inevitable. 

    Slowly, you make your move. Spinning around and walking towards the door with your arms wrapped around your torso. Feeling the overwhelming urge to crawl into yourself like a little shell. Hiding from the reality of you being completely enamored by him. Hiding from all of the pining you shamelessly embraced. Shielding yourself from the fact that you want him to pull you back into his bed. Knowing that if he did, it would ruin this. All of the effort you made to get this close to him knocked over like Jenga blocks. Leaving him to be nothing but a stranger. This is for the better. You know it's for the better.

    A choked breath stops you in your tracks. Your footsteps halt and you turn your head over you shoulder. His large frame still sat on the bed with hunched shoulders. His voice monotonous, speaking out your name into the dimmed room. "Happy New Year."

    Your words come out fragile, on the verge of tears. "Happy New Year, Simon."

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

moot tags: @annasinterests @pertinentpostmortem

[amethystina]

Hi there! I don’t know if you’ve ever answered something like this before, but since you have such great writing skills and a nice taste (and by nice I mean similar to mine lol) in ships, I was wondering what your favorite books are (top 5, maybe?).

And since your latest ships seem to have a pattern, are there any books you’ve read that feature similar dynamics?

That being said, with the ending of The Right Set of Circumstances and Who Holds the Devil being far from concluded, I’m really looking forward to A New Dawn or anything Gahan-related.

Hope you’re feeling a little better! Congrats on your skills; I really appreciate them.

I have not answered a question like this before, no. But, as a librarian, I am of course delighted to do so! Reading is one of my biggest hobbies and I make sure to read at least 20 books a year. It has been a tradition for the last nine-ten years or so (and that's not counting any of the fanfics I might partake in as well).

I just think that, as a writer, it's important to have input as well as output. A writer who doesn't read may be perfectly servicable, but they will stagnate sooner or later. They might be creative enough not to run out of ideas, but they'll be stuck with the same vocabulary and understanding of whatever language they're writing in for the rest of their career. So, to me, reading is vital in keeping my writing engaging and exciting. And it's especially important for someone like me who's writing in a language that's not my native tongue. If I didn't read copious amounts, I wouldn't know even half of the words currently in my vocabulary — let alone how to use them.

But, with that said, I'm terrible at listing my favourite books. Not because I don't have favourites — I most certainly do — but because I have a hard time listing things. I can't accurately compare many of the books I've read because they're from so many different genres and have offered me wildly different experiences. It's the same with movies, TV shows, and practically everything else I like. It's incredibly rare for me to be able to definitively say which ones are my Top 5. It's just not something my brain is capable of doing, it seems, unless it's narrowed down to a small enough scope that I can see the full picture.

Another thing about the books I read is that they don't always match what I write. Some of the books I love the most aren't even close to what I, myself, want to write. And I've found that, with books, I focus less on the tropes and dynamics than, say, what joy they bring me or what they can teach me about writing. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that while several of my ships have a pattern (I am, apparently, into age differences? Who knew?) the books I like do not. Or not to the same degree, I guess? There are some that come kind of close that I can pick out from my pile of favourites, sure, but they're not the majority. I think I'm just more broad in my tastes in books than I am in my taste of ships and haven't made an effort — nor do I want — to try and combine the two.

BUT YEAH. With that very long explanation out of the way, here are a couple of books that are important to me for one reason or another. They're not ranked, nor are they flawless pieces of literature — and not everyone will like them — but they gave me something and that's what matters to me.

Luck in the Shadows by Lynn Flewelling — If someone asked me for my favourite fantasy series, nine times out of ten, this would be my answer. I found this at a point in my life when I was dying for an engaging fantasy epic and this delivered in every single way that I wanted. It's complex, has great world-building, lovely characters, is full of intrigue, and is also gay. What's not to love? I absolutely devoured the first three books in this series. That said, it features some heavy themes and I haven't actually read all of the books yet so I can't guarantee that it stays good all the way through. But based on what I've read so far? Fucking outstanding.

Red Leaves by Thomas H. Cook — By no means the best book I've ever read, but it taught me a lot about unreliable narrators, characterisation, how to pace and angle a story, and how important words actually are when writing. How certain choices can affect not just the story you're telling, but the emotions of the reader. This book focuses on a man whose teenage son is suspected of having kidnapped a little girl and just what that does to his view of his son, their relationship, and himself as a father. It's truly fascinating with a focus on the psychological that I truly enjoy. It also taught me a thing or two about gut-punching twists. So there's that.

Days Without End by Sebastian Barry — This book is an Experience. And I mean that in the best way possible. This book isn't for everyone since it's slow and ambling and not the easiest to read, but dear LORD is it amazing. Never, in my entire life, have I read a book so atmospheric. I shit you not when I say that I had to read it with an accent to get the syntax and rhythm of the sentences right. It is pitch-perfect. And crafted so meticulously that my head kind of spins when I think about it. This was the book that made me see how important rhythm, cadence, and word choices are because they can, in fact, influence the reading experience to the point where it feels like the author is taking you by the hand and gently guiding you down the path of the story. And that's something I've tried to incorporate in my own writing, to the best of my abilities. A tip from my wife: If this book feels difficult in text format, read it on audiobook instead since, at least in the version she listened to, the narrator had the correct accent which made the whole thing a lot easier.

Blood Harvest by Sharon J. Bolton — The book that has probably scared me the most in my entire life. And it's not even a horror? But, again, it's all about the atmosphere and the fact that some of the sections are told from the POV of a young boy and you can't really be sure if he's a reliable narrator but if he is then what the ever-loving fuck is going on in this town? That's scarier than ghosts to me. Very eerie, well-crafted, and with the bonus of a disabled main character. But it does also feature quite heavy and disturbing subjects (child sexual abuse, to name one) so please be careful.

The Good Son by Jeong You-Jeong — This is a slow, claustrophobic, and ambling descent into insanity and I absolutely love it. The focus is on the characters, their relationships, and the slow unravelling of both. As with most Korean literature, it's very contained and direct, without too much flowery language, and I think that definitely works in its favour. The steady growing unease and tension are exquisite and I appreciate the focus that's put on the main character's thoughts, actions, and behaviour. It's exactly the kind of thing you'd expect me to enjoy if you've read my fanfics. Also, incidentally, Yo Han is going to recommend this book to Ga On in The Devil's Due (if I ever get to writing it) because Yo Han is a fucking menace who loves to push Ga On's buttons and twist his perception. You'll understand what I mean if you read it.

The Circle by Mats Strandberg and Sara Bergmark Elfgren — This is a Swedish young adult series that is so good but also so unnerving. Because it doesn't shy away from difficult subjects and knows how to ramp up the tension and suspense in a way that's truly masterful. I also appreciate that it's very female-focused and that the characters are far from flawless. Some of their actions are outright problematic, even abhorrent. But the beauty of this series is that that's the point. They're supposed to be flawed and they're supposed to make the wrong decisions — because they're human. This book is about a group of human teenage girls put in an extraordinary situation and, as you might expect, the results may vary. I truly recommend it to people who want to learn a bit more about flawed characters and, again, unreliable narrators.

___

Those are all books that have influenced my writing but if you want a list more focused on romance of the M/M variety (which, admittedly, is what I read the most) where at least some lean towards the same dynamics I have for my ships, here are some favourites. The majority of them are of the historical or fantasy variety because that's just where my heart truly lies. I know that doesn't show in my own writing, but that has more to do with my own performance anxiety than anything else, I think. I haven't really dared to dabble too much in those genres.

And so, without further ado:

The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by K.J. Charles — Or just books by K. J. Charles in general, I guess? They're delightful, down-to-earth, and easy to read. The characters feel like actual people and not everyone is drop-dead gorgeous all the time. I've been reading a lot of her works lately because they give me just what I want and bring me a lot of comfort.

The Soldier's Scoundrel by Cat Sebastian — Or, again, just books by Cat Sebastian in general. She, too, has a very nice grasp on characters, tone, and can build a really nice story that's not dependent on unnecessary drama. They're comfortable and nice and I love them.

The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks by Josh Lanyon — Another writer whose works I really enjoy, though the focus here is usually contemporary suspense and murder mysteries. Of the kind that manages to feel urgent and tense but without turning dark and gory — which I appreciate. Also, Josh Lanyon has perfected dry, sarcastic humour into an art. One I am very jealous of, not going to lie.

The Capital by A. H. Lee — I ploughed through this series. Like, I don't even know what happened? It's a fantasy story with intrigue and necromancy and amazing characters and magic and lovely world-building. This, for example, is one of the few books I've read where the social issues of LGBTQIA+ rights are touched upon in a fantasy setting. I really liked that. I'm probably going to re-read this series during 2025.

Kill Game by Cordelia Kingsbridge — This is another contemporary series about a serial killer and the cops who hunt said serial killer. So this is a bit darker but, boy, is it a ride. The series is a bit of a slow burn that bleeds into established relationship as it progresses and I just love that shit. Also, it took me until, like, book four (of five) before I could pinpoint who the killer was which is really impressive. Usually, I can do so within the first third of a story. It did drag at times, but the time you get to spend getting to know the characters makes up for that, I think.

Peter Darling by Austin Chant — I adore this book. It's a delicious, wonderful enemies-to-lovers that honestly made me go a little feral. But in a soft way, if that's possible? This book made me feel creative and excited and I was so invested in the characters and the slow build of attraction and awareness between them. I felt high after I finished it. I don't know if anyone else will feel that way (I might just have been very excited that day xD) but it worked really well for me. Highly recommend.

___

And there you have it! Because I can't miss an opportunity to talk about books, I guess xD (and give you more than you asked for)

But please remember to look up triggers and such before you read! I admit that I didn't try to list them all here, mainly because I don't know what people will find triggering so I'd probably miss some even if I tried.

As for my own writing, I hope to finish a couple of projects during 2025, A New Dawn definitely being one of them. Hopefully also some of the shorter Gahan projects I have, plus some older fics I have lying around for other fandoms that I just haven't been able to complete yet. Having too many projects makes me restless and while the easiest solution would be to dump some of them, I don't have the heart to do that when there's just another chapter or two to go.

So yeah. Next year will hopefully involve me finishing a couple of projects, especially old ones I should have completed long ago.

Wish me luck!

[catmansquad]

Winged

Angel!Miguel x M!Reader (Body/wing appreciation, size difference, Miguel having a low opinion of humans)

Out of sheer curiosity, you try to summon an Angelic figure. You do not expect that one will answer...

Enochian Magic. The spells that supposedly allowed the evocation and communication with angelic beings. All you saw was a headache in the making; a mess of painted symbols and candles and half a dozen books on the translation. Not to mention the huge amount of wasted time and resources if nothing even worked. In fairness, you held out hope that it would work, just so it could. It would be simply fascinating, to speak with an Angel. You carried out the rituals to the letter, trying not to splutter over the more complex words that you had practiced several times over and still struggled. Hopefully, it wouldn’t cause it to fail. Your words fell into silence, and only silence answered in response. Did the candle flames just flutter? Was that a sign? Hope fluttered in your heart as you lifted your gaze and called out, asking for the presence of an Angel to make themselves known. Nothing. Sighing, you began to recognise the folly of your efforts and blew out the candles one by one, the melted wax could be cleaned up quickly before it set.

You had finished packing everything away, a box that could gather dust in some lonely corner of your home as a forgotten monument to yet another failure into a cult. Bundling the box in your arms, you turned with disappointment in your heart, and it fell from your arms with sheer surprise, crashing by your feet as your wide eyes took in the sight of the towering figure who now barred your path. In every respect, he was huge; from his sheer stature, and rippling physique of sheer strength. Your eyes wandered higher up his tan skin; gold bangles around his ankles and wrists, and a simple white kilt around his narrow waist. His arms were folded across his impressive chest, his broad shoulders were taut and bristling. You gulped at the sight of his handsome face, of his smoothed brown hair, and felt fear in your heart as his ferocious red eyes narrowed softly. The most startingly impressive thing about him was the pair of massive red wings folded tightly against his back. ‘…Wow…’ Your voice was a whisper. His eyes narrowed further as he leaned down from his towering height, so tall he had to stoop to not hit his head on the ceiling. ‘Do you hear and see me now?’ He demanded with a scowl, voice deep and heavy with irritation. ‘I am. Right. Here.’ His great wings ruffled and spread out, spanning so wide that they could reach from one end of your room to the other and still need further to spread out fully. You nodded frantically, eyes wide, still drinking him in; here was an Angel, a real, living, breathing Angel. He was impressive, handsome, and looked very annoyed. The combination became quite intimidating with growling tone of his words. ‘Y-yeah, I can definitely… See you. Wow…’ You didn’t even realise your shaky hand had been reaching for him until he seized your wrist sharply in his huge, warm hand, there was a threatening pressure behind his grasp that was just shy of pain. ‘Do you assume that you can just touch me, human? Such arrogance. I am not your obedient pet, here at your beck and call. I am powerful, I am majestic, I came here because I was curious, and I am offended by your callous ignorance and obliviousness.’ Your eyes widened, and swallowed the thick lump that had settled in your throat. ‘I.. I’m sorry…’ You pleaded in a soft voice, trembling with apologies. ‘I-I didn’t mean to offend you, I just really wanted to see if it worked- I just wanted to speak-‘ ‘Stop. Talking.’ You were not making the situation any better. Your mouth was going to get yourself into deeper trouble. His red eyes closed as a low sigh of irritation escaped him, his broad shoulders slumped.

Slowly, he pulled his wings back in and his grip relaxed on your wrist, letting it slip through his fingers and fall back to your side. When he opened his eyes, his gaze was still haughty, but softened somewhat as he rose back to as close to his full height as he could manage against the ceiling. Your gaze wasted no time in racing up and down his sculpted physique once again; power coursed through each inch of him for every minute movement. If there was any sort of higher power, this Angel was a masterpiece of creation. You swallowed again and lifted your gaze up higher; those powerful legs, narrow waist, rippling six pack, sinewy arms and massive hands, up to his broad shoulders and… and handsome face with those crimson eyes staring right at you. The haughty smirk curled onto his lips as your eyes widened, and you knew that you’d been caught staring and admiring. ‘Hmm…’ His eyes were bright, sparkling with pride. ‘When you have had your fill, human, I may charge for the pleasure.’ ‘F-forgive me…’ You spluttered, head bowed with eyes on the floor until a huge hand cupped under your chin and lifted your gaze back to his eyes. ‘Ah, my dear human-‘ ‘I have a name…’ You gave it to him and watched him nod in quiet understanding. ‘I am Miguel.’ He answered, widening his posture, hands on hips, wings ruffling. ‘… and I will forgive you when you earn it. Now, get on your knees and beg.’ Deciding that “Saint Michael” was a smug Angel, you shoved the box aside and knelt before him, hands trembling.

He sighed in soft delight as your hands ghosted down his calves and rubbed softly across his ankles. ‘Hmm… Perhaps I should have you rub my aching feet if you are so inclined to adore my form.’ You glanced up to meet his crimson gaze, he was still smug. ‘I… Think I’ve got enough of you to get on with already, big guy.’ Your hands ghosted further up his legs, blushing as he moved again, shifting his weight, flexing powerful muscles beneath your touch. ‘Wow, you… Really don’t skip leg day….’ He beckoned with one hand, fingers curling, to draw your gaze and grasp further up. You heard him snort a laugh as you pressed a kiss to his bulging thigh that could crush a watermelon or a man’s head with equal ease. Looking up, he peered down at you over the swell of his pecs. ‘Hmph… Do not hesitate, your appreciation of my form, there is so much left of me that requires your… lacking touch.’ ‘Lacking touch? Wow, you really are an ass.’ His gaze narrowed, one hand curled into a fist. ‘Hmph.’ His wings ruffled, a loose crimson feather tumbled to the carpet. Then he leaned down from his towering height once again, one hand bunched the front of your shirt and when he rose back, he pulled you back to your feet with effortless ease, then lifted you clean off your feet, leaving you to dangle helplessly from his grasp, near the ceiling. ‘It is very unfortunate, little one, that even at eye-level with me, you still cannot see things from my perspective.’ Your hand wandered across his grasp, tracing a bulging vein down his forearm and up his bicep. It was like the rest of him; huge and solid. He hummed in thought as you squeezed a hand against it, and the muscle remained unyielding. He could lift you with one hand and utter ease, just how strong was he really? Combined with his impressive size and physique, your mind plummeted straight into the gutter; the thought of him pinning you under him, that smugness on his eyes, the kiss of warm lips against your own, letting your hands roam his body, and him listening to your requests for him to flex for you. This Angel could ruin any human man for you.

‘Mhmm…’ The amused hum escaped him as your hands began to rub his broad shoulders. What was little strokes became firmer touches, an impromptu massage and you watched the Angel ruffle his wings again, crimson eyes closing as he rolled his head, a little groan of delight escaping him. ‘Mmm…’ He rumbled, gaze on you once more as you applied more pressure, trying to work the tension from his taught shoulders. A tremble ran through him and his tongue licked slowly across his lips. ‘This is it. Now, you are meeting my expectations… Ngh, my good little human…’ You felt his arm tremble, and he nearly dropped you as your touch ran across his neck and down his broad chest. The salacious moan that escaped him made your blush worse, you wanted to hear a few more moans like that from him. Your eyes ran down his form and gulped at the bulge that was beginning to form in his kilt. His hands were massive; their span over a foot, the rest of him was probably frighteningly proportional. Another crimson feather tumbled to the carpet and you gently rested your hands on his shoulders again. His gaze was far more relaxed, a small smile on his lips. ‘Can you-? Please, can you put me down, Miguel?’ ‘Why…?’ ‘Can I tend to your wings? A-are you moulting?’ That little twinge of irritation set across his face again, but vanished just as quickly as he slowly set you back to your feet and released his grip, leaving your shirt creased from his grip. You stepped around him gently, fingers hesitating short of touching those crimson pinions. ‘Do I have your permission, Miguel?’ ‘Yes. You can.’ He nodded slowly. You reached out with a tender touch, running slowly across the soft feathers. They were silken and warm, and you brushed against each one like, tending to the feathers that were already loose and tumbling. ‘Miguel…?’ ‘Mm…?’ ‘How do Angels tend their wings?’ Miguel sighed again at your touch and care. ‘With great attention and pride… Mm…’ One damaged pinion came away between your fingers, like all the others it was long and beautiful, a shade of scarlet that seemed to shimmer in the light and imparted a smoky warmth, like a gentle, tender flame. In the spur of the moment, you slipped it into your pocket, as a memory to cherish later.

‘Miguel, please could you… Uh, kneel down or something?’ ‘Why?’ He ruffled his wings as you took your hands away. ‘Uh… it’s because you’re huge and I can’t reach all of you. Please.’ A great, amused chuckle shook his form and the Angel turned to face you with a smirk, resting his hands on hips again. ‘Little one, you are too small…’ He spread his wings out as much as he was able and knelt down to eye level with you in a great woosh of wings, shedding more feathers. ‘I came because I was curious about your call. Amateurish, but still driven. But I struggle with humans, your kind are simply too small, I do not know how you live like this at such a stature. I had to make myself as small as I could manage to fit in this very home.’ He took your hands softly in his own, swallowing them in his grasp, eyes watchful. You took him in and met his red eyes once more. ‘… H-how big are you normally?’ He hummed in thought, eyes narrowing with a smug smile on his features. ‘I do not believe you could comprehend it…’ ‘Try me.’ He chuckled softly at your annoyed expression; his smirk only grew. ‘Very well, little one; imagine that you were the size of a single grain of rice. That is it.’ He released his grasp on you and pointed to himself with one hand. ‘Me, myself; my true stature.’ He held up his other hand, thumb and finger almost pinched. ‘You; a single grain of rice. Think on that, if you are capable. I do not have a high opinion of mankind, for I do not understand how such small, frail, and short-lived beings can achieve anything of explicit worth in their lifetime. My brother would disagree with me, but he is not here… It is just you and I, little one…’ He closed his eyes, teeth gritted briefly, as if he was on the verge of admitting something he could not bring himself to speak, then it passed his lips. ‘… Your touch is divine. Perhaps you can change my stance… Perhaps…’ His smug smirk returned as he turned his back to you once more, wings still spread and glancing over his shoulder. ‘Now, return to your task, little one.’

As soon as you massaged the points where his wing joints met his broad back did you draw the greatest reaction from him yet, his whole form shuddered, his wings twitched, and a great moan passed his lips. ‘There.’ He growled, voice rumbling with pleasure. You paused with hands hesitating over where you had touched, and Miguel looked back at you, you could see the blush on his cheeks. You had apparently found the erogenous zone of your Angel. His crimson gaze narrowed. ‘Touch me there again with such presence and I will not be responsible for my actions, little one…’ You slowly drew your hands back and watched his gaze narrow further as he rolled his shoulders. ‘I did not say to stop.’ You glanced frantically between his eyes and your own hands, before Miguel exhaled slowly, head bowed. For a being so large, he moved incredibly fast and the very next instant you found yourself shoved against his chest, scrambling to wrap your legs around his waist hands lost amidst warm feathers, ghosting over them, finding the joints, the warm muscles, and finally the point where the two met once more. He moaned again as you stroked, and he bucked up into you. Your eyes went wide, meeting his own hungry gaze. Proportional, indeed. ‘You are playing with fire, little one… I could burn you with it… Is that what you want-?’ ‘Oh, stop speaking and just kiss me, handsome.’ You saw that brief glint of annoyance in his eyes before he closed the distance between you, moaning into your mouth as your hands continued their work.

You were sprawled on his chest, surrounded by crimson feathers as his hand softly stroked through your hair. You looked up to meet his gaze; relaxed, at peace, still smug. ‘Did I improve your opinion?’ You asked with a smile, listening to his heartbeat calm, the rise and fall of his chest that carried you like a moving mattress. He hummed in thought, arms moving to embrace you against him. Miguel had been amazing. He had been utterly mind-blowing, his size, strength, and presence had taken you to the heights of pleasure and the crashing ecstasy that waited beyond, over and over again. You had taken everything he had to give you. A fine way to spend an evening. ‘My opinion of you has improved… You will have to try harder than that to drag up the rest of your species, little one.’ The smile on his lips was fond. ‘Perhaps, when you finish tending to my wings, I will give you a treat…’ You lifted your head from his chest, curious. ‘Perhaps- perhaps, I will take you in my arms, spread my wings, and show you sights that only I can witness. Great places of beauty that elude your kind…’ He licked his tongue across his lips slowly, eyebrows raised. ‘Then, we may relive our passions in such places. But you have work ahead of you, no? Mhmm… A task for later.’ His arms were secure, inescapable. You did not wish to be anywhere else right now. You would make his wings look beautiful, and maybe one day he’d show you just how big of a man he really was. Miguel considered the human in his arms, of the swelling fondness in his chest, and quietly decided that Gabriel had the right opinion on humanity after all.

[kikyoupdates]

Infatuated ⭑˚💌⭑ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒

yandere!bnha x reader

yandere, reverse harem, bnha x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Your Quirk is rather unique. It plays out almost like a game, giving you missions and goals that help you become stronger. On top of that, you also have the ability to charm those around you. It sounds innocent enough on paper, and you can’t help but revel in the attention everyone keeps showering you with. But what happens when their feelings give way to something more sinister?

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Since obtaining One for All, Izuku has been training day in and day out.  

You admire his dedication. You always have. It’s the very thing that makes him, well, him. There are plenty of ambitious people in this world, and you know that for a fact, but in terms of sheer perseverance and hard work, none of them will ever come close to Izuku.  

Within the past few months, Izuku has undergone a discernible change. The most obvious one is his appearance. Physically speaking, his muscles have become toned and firm, and even the way his clothes hang off his body is slightly different. You can still remember the day you accidentally walked in on him while he was changing and caught a glimpse of how chiseled his abdomen was. He was only in his underwear at the time, so needless to say, he screamed.  

Izuku’s progress makes you hopeful for the future. To see him push forward like this, despite how grueling All Might’s training must be... it makes you prouder than you can even put into words. You’ve been with him ever since you were a kid, so you know just how long he’s waited for a moment like this.  

It’s taken a while, but finally, his goal of becoming a hero is in reach.  

Naturally, you haven’t been slacking off all this time either. You’ve been training in your own way. As often as your Quirk will allow, in any case. You regret to admit that you’re still not terribly strong physically speaking, but that doesn’t mean that your Quirk is necessarily weak. It’s situational, you suppose. Given the right opportunity, you know it can make a big impact. It’s just a matter of creating those opportunities in the first place.  

U.A’s entrance exam is rapidly approaching, and you can only hope that it’s the sort of trial that will allow your powers to shine.  

But there’s no point in worrying needlessly. Right now, you’d much rather focus on the present, which happens to consist of sitting on a beach and admiring Izuku’s impressive feats of strength.  

“Keep going,” All Might hums, and he’s sitting on top of a refrigerator, of all things, easily adding several hundred pounds to its weight. Izuku grits his teeth while dragging the fridge through the sand, but he doesn’t complain, not even once.  

You wish you could help out, but All Might told you that this is Izuku’s task, and Izuku’s task alone. He needs to prove that he’s ready to inherit All Might’s Quirk, and while it makes you feel a bit guilty to just watch, you don’t doubt that Izuku will pull through in the end.  

He is your beloved, irreplaceable best friend. You will always look up to him and take pride in his accomplishments. Nothing will ever change that.  

After cleaning up for a while longer, Izuku eventually lets out a sigh and wipes a hand across his sweaty brow. He must be tired. More so than he can even express. But regardless of the exhaustion seeping into his poor, overworked muscles, he still manages to look over at you with a broad smile.  

When he smiles at you like this, you’re convinced he must be an angel.  

“That should be enough for today,” All Might nods, sounding pleased with his progress. “Go on. I’m sure you’d like to spend some time with your friend.”

Izuku smiles once more, bows his head and thanks All Might for his patience, then bounds over to you—almost as if his fatigue has completely melted away.  

“[Name]!” he beams, plopping down onto the sand beside you. “Thanks for waiting. Sorry. I hope it wasn’t too boring just sitting around and watching.”  

You shake your head. “Not at all. It was really impressive. I seriously can’t get over the fact that you can lift heavy stuff like that now. You’ve gotten so strong!”  

“N-Not really,” he stammers, then shyly glances down at his feet. “I’ve still got a long way to go. But I’m glad that you think I’ve been making progress. It’s been rough, and All Might even had to adjust his training regimen a few times, but if I keep going like this, then U.A won’t just be a dream anymore, right?”

“It’s more than a dream, Izuku. Soon enough, it’s going to become reality.”  

You return his smile, then reach over to ruffle his curly hair. Your words aren’t just intended as cheap flattery. You wholeheartedly believe in what you're saying, just like you’ve always believed in him. All these years... not once have you ever doubted him.  

And Izuku knows this. He knows this, and he’s so, so thankful for it.  

More than you’ll ever understand.  

“Here,” you say, holding out a bottle of juice. “I got this from a vending machine a little while ago. I hope it’s still nice and cold. If not, I can buy another one.”  

Izuku grabs the bottle without wasting a beat. “You bought this... for me?”  

“Mhm. You must be thirsty, right?”  

“Th-Thank you. Thank you, [Name]. Thank you so much...”  

You can’t help but giggle. He’s making such a big deal, over a bottle of juice, of all things. It’s such a small favor, it’s hardly even worth mentioning.  

What you fail to realize is that you could have given him a rock—or a pebble, even. It wouldn’t have made any difference. Anything, so long as it’s coming from you, is precious and worthy of praise.  

Izuku holds firmly to this belief, and he doubts it’ll ever change. That’s why, even though he drinks all of the juice, he saves the bottle and later tucks it away in his closet for safekeeping.  

Perfect.  

That’s what you are. So kind and patient, having put up with him all these years. Will he ever find another person that even comes close to you? No. The answer is clear, so there’s no point in even asking.  

Humans are born imperfect. They are all flawed, one way or another. Izuku tends to assume the best of people, and he strives to protect their smiles, but he knows that despite all of that, no one is perfect. Not even his hero, All Might.  

You are, and always will be, the exception.  

Izuku can hardly contain his smile as he gazes upon you. It’s been such a long day. He’s more exhausted than he can even put into words, and yet, just sitting next to you like this is enough to keep him going. It energizes him, makes him pulse with excitement. He wonders why that is. Because you’re his best friend? Because you’re so nice and easy to talk to?  

Midoriya Izuku is in love, but he doesn’t realize it yet.

But when he does—and it’s a question of when, not if—will you be able to look at him the same way? Will your relationship remain intact, or will it fall to pieces, having been damaged beyond repair?  

For the time being, both of you are blind to the chaos that is slowly building, so you just lean your head against Izuku’s shoulder and enjoy the sunset.

You should make the most of this while it lasts.

“Thanks for agreeing to come along, honey. This family has a son that should be around your age, and he’s apparently going to be applying for U.A too. It should give you something to talk about.”  

You smile and nod. It seems like your parents have made recently made friends with another couple, and they’re excited to get together for dinner with them. Seeing as the couple have a teenager themselves, your parents probably felt like it would be a good opportunity for you to make a new friend, and since you’re by no means antisocial, you agreed to join them.  

Besides, you think it’ll be fun. Especially if it turns out that you’ll both end up at U.A together. Maybe you’ll even be in the same class.  

“Thanks so much for having us,” your mother beams, then proceeds to wave you forward with a smile. “Ah, this is our daughter, [Name].”  

As a polite gesture, you bow your head. “It’s nice to meet you,” you greet. “I’m [Name]. Thank you for inviting us over and being friends with my parents.”  

“Well, isn’t she adorable?” they chuckle. “For a teenager, she’s surprisingly well-mannered. We really wish we could say the same for our son. Go on, Neito. It’s your turn to introduce yourself.”  

The boy’s name is Monoma Neito, and perhaps you’re reading into things too much, but he initially strikes you as a bit pretentious.  

“Hello,” he says simply, then sticks his nose up into the air, as if he just smelled something rotten.  

Well, then.  

You try not to take offense to it. After all, it’s possible he might just be shy, or introverted.  

“Hello,” you reply with a smile. “I hear you want to get into U.A. I do too, but I have to admit, I’m feeling a bit nervous about the entrance exam.”  

Monoma doesn’t reply. He just lifts a brow and peers at you through his grayish-blue eyes.  

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for the parents to start chatting up a storm, which gives you and Monoma the chance to get to know each other a bit better. He leads you to his room, perhaps a bit begrudgingly, and you take a moment to familiarize yourself with the new environment.  

“So,” he says, “what’s your Quirk?”  

It’s a remarkably common question in today’s day and age, but unfortunately, it’s one you still have yet to get used to. After all, it’s not exactly easy to disclose that you need to kiss someone every time you want to use it.  

You smile shyly. “Um... I can kind of control people. Just briefly, I mean. But only if certain conditions are met.”  

“And what are those conditions?”  

“M-Maybe we’ll save that for another time,” you wave off, awkwardly clearing your throat. “But anyways. I told you mine, so what’s yours?”  

 Monoma purses his lips. “Hm. I’m not sure I need to tell you.”  

“What?” you immediately gape. “No fair! I literally just told you mine!”  

“I asked, but no one said you had to answer,” he merely shrugs. Goodness, what a cocky little bastard. You can already tell he’ll cause a lot of people headaches in the future.  

For a few moments, you’re silent, but then you flash him a cunning smile.  

“If I wanted to, I could just use my Quirk on you, and then you’d have to tell me.”  

Of course, you’re just bluffing. You don’t like using your powers for your own selfish motives. That’s not why Quirks came into being, after all. They’re meant to help people and contribute towards society. You are by no means a saint, but as someone who is striving to become a hero, you still follow a certain moral code.  

Not that Monoma knows that.  

He hastily backs away. “That would be awfully rude of you,” he mutters. “When you’re in my home, no less.”  

You decide to tease him for a while longer, so you move closer to him, inch by inch, and it’s funny how red his face is getting. Whether out of embarrassment or frustration, you can’t be sure.  

Eventually, you let out a chuckle.  

“I’m kidding,” you muse. “I wouldn’t do that to you. But with a power like mine, people can be quick to assume the worst. Anyways, I promise that no matter how often we see each other, I’ll never deceive you or try to take you by surprise. I’ll only ever use my Quirk on you if you let me.”  

Monoma keeps his guard up for a few more moments, but he eventually realizes that you must be telling the truth. It seems like he’s going to drop the issue altogether.  

Or at least, that’s what you think.  

“Ha! Caught you off-guard!” Monoma laughs, then quickly touches you on the shoulder. You’re not sure what he’s trying to do, or why he looks so full of himself all of a sudden, so you can only frown.  

It doesn’t take long for him to frown too. 

“...huh?” he mumbles, staring down at his hands in disbelief. “I swear I just copied it. Crap. Is this a dud Quirk?”  

You blink repeatedly. “Copied it? Copied what?”  

“Tell me the conditions required for your Quirk to take effect,” he says.  

Instead of telling him what he wants, you just cross your arms at him. “I already said I wouldn’t do that. Not yet, at least.”  

“Shit...”  

He doesn’t explain right away, but after a few more moments of irritated huffing, he eventually lets out a sigh. 

“My Quirk lets me copy other Quirks,” he reluctantly admits. “So long as I touch them first. I thought I’d take you by surprise and turn your powers around on you... but I guess it didn’t work. This happens sometimes. Not all Quirks are able to be copied, unfortunately.”  

He can’t see the screen?  

You’re not sure how your Quirk would appear to others, but in order to control someone, he would have to kiss them first, and he obviously doesn’t know that. But maybe he’s right, and your Quirk just can’t be copied by anyone. You already knew that it’s rather unique, and this instance seems to further solidify it. 

“I guess this means I win,” you grin smugly.  

Monoma scowls. “Hardly. You just got lucky, that’s all.”  

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”  

He reacts by rolling his eyes at you, but you’re unfazed and just keep grinning at him.  

“Still,” you hum. “A Quirk that lets you copy other Quirks. That’s really strong! That means you can use so many different abilities!”  

“Strong? Well, I guess.” He seems a bit happy with your praise; he even lifts his chin up, as if he’s boasting. “It’s certainly a lot more versatile than yours. You mentioned that you feel nervous about the U.A entrance exam, but I can’t say the same.”  

“Really?” 

“Of course,” Monoma huffs. “Why would I let myself be discouraged right at the very first obstacle?”  

Well, he’s right that there’s no point in driving yourself insane by worrying, but it’s not like your nerves will just disappear overnight. You also can’t even tell if he genuinely feels that way, or if he’s just putting on a brave front.  

But you suppose it doesn’t matter. None of it matters, so long as you both end up at U.A one way or another.  

You tilt your head to the side and smile. “It’s good to be confident. Your Quirk is strong, so I can understand why you’d have faith in your abilities. By the way, how long can you copy someone’s Quirk for? Does it just get overwritten when you copy someone else’s?”  

“There’s a time limit. But as long as I touch the person again, I can easily activate it once more, so it’s not too difficult to manage.”  

Wow. There are so many amazing powers out there. I always thought Katsuki’s was super strong, but I’m sure that if I get to U.A, I’ll meet countless other people that are strong like him.  

You’re happy that Monoma has such a cool ability, and you feel confident about his prospects of passing the entrance exam. You can only hope that with your Quirk, you’ll be able to do the same.  

No. You should do more than just hope. No matter what it takes, you’ll turn your dream into a reality, just like Izuku did. 

“I guess that’s probably enough talking about Quirks for one day,” you shrug. “But at least we’ve established that my Quirk beats yours.”  

Monoma gets awfully red in the face, and you laugh, realizing that he doesn’t very much like the idea of losing.  

“Fine, then! Let’s play Uno! Prepare for a humiliating defeat!"

It was a fun day.  

Monoma is clearly the competitive type, and true to his word, you eventually did end up losing to him in Uno. But only after you’d won five rounds in a row. You actually started feeling a bit bad for him after a while, and you even considered letting him win out of pity, but thankfully, he managed to pull through on his own. 

Anyways, you ended up having a good time, and you’d like to think that you’ve made a friend, if the new contact in your phone is any indication.  

Later that night, you lie on your bed, watching videos on your laptop that occasionally prompt a chuckle or two. It’s late, and truth be told, you’re half falling asleep by this point, but you keep on staring lethargically at your screen, waiting for fatigue to finally wash over you.  

Before it can, though, your phone starts buzzing.  

You pause the video, then grab your phone and take a quick glance at the caller ID. It’s Izuku, so naturally, you pick up.  

“Hey, Izuku,” you hum, and you wonder if your smile carries over into your voice. “What’s up? How did training go today?”  

“Hi, [Name],” he replies happily. “It was good. I just, um... I-I just wanted to talk for a bit. Sorry for calling so late in the night. I hope I didn’t wake you up.” 

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t sleeping. What did you want to talk about?”  

“Nothing in particular, I guess.” He pauses, and you can hear him swallow nervously. “I just... wanted to hear your voice for a bit.”  

You can’t help but giggle, because you feel the exact same way. It’s impossible not to be in a good mood whenever you’re talking to him. 

“Aw,” you muse. “Did you miss me?”  

Perhaps you shouldn’t tease him too much, because already, you imagine him being red as a beet.  

“A-Anyways!” he splutters. “What... what did you get up to today? My day was just the same training as always, so there’s nothing really worth mentioning.”  

Obviously, you can't possibly know how he’ll react to your next words, so you utter them freely and confidently.  

“My parents made friends with another family, and I had dinner at their place earlier,” you say. “I met someone my age there. His name is Monoma, and he’s planning on going to U.A, just like us. I already knew as much, but a lot of people are super passionate about becoming heroes. There’s bound to be tons of competition, but it still doesn’t change what we need to do.”  

For some reason, Izuku isn’t saying anything, so you continue.  

“Monoma’s Quirk lets him copy other Quirks. Isn’t that cool? Ah, but he tried to copy mine, and it didn’t work, so I guess he’s got his own limitations to worry about. He’s kind of a sore loser, but it’s pretty funny to see how strongly he reacts to things. I beat him at Uno over and over again. I was actually kind of starting to feel guilty about it, haha.”  

Strange. It’s still silent. Perhaps you’ve been rambling on for too long and he hasn’t had a chance to interject.  

“Izuku?” you frown. “Everything okay?”  

The call ends abruptly, and you’re left staring down at your phone in disbelief.  

A few moments later, you receive a message. 

You don’t usually assume the worst of people. It’s partly due to your cheery disposition, and partly because as an aspiring hero, you like to see others for their good qualities rather than the bad.  

Izuku in particular is free of any suspicion. He’s been your best friend for years, and you’ve stuck together through thick and thin. Why would you assume that he hung up on you on purpose? He’s never once hung up on you, and it’s inexplicable to think that he would start now.  

You are more than content to believe that it was a simple technical difficulty, so you set your phone aside and start getting ready for bed.  

Meanwhile, in another house in that very same neighborhood, a freckled boy sits by his desk, staring vacantly at the wall ahead. Izuku doesn’t know how to explain what he just did. Everything was going just fine, up until... up until you mentioned someone else.  

Izuku’s shoulders begin to shake, and slowly but surely, tears fill his eyes.  

It’s normal for you to make friends. You’re pretty and kind, smart and lovely, so of course other people would be drawn to you.

It’s the rational conclusion. It’s what makes perfect sense.  

So then, why does he hate the thought of it so much?  

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[tathrin]

Many Lines Monday

Thank you very much for tagging me to share a wip snippet, @chthonion! I am elated by the chance to oblige.

This bit is from And In The Darkness To Unmake Them, my Celebrimbor-joins-the-Fellowship AU, which has run into a bit of a mental roadblock in a few places recently, so hopefully sharing a little of it here will help kick the brain back into gear!

One of the Riders nudged his mount forward, moving out a few steps in front of the rest. He sat at no great height, but his shoulders were broad—broader than most—and his grip upon his reins was casual and steady. The helm he wore was topped with a long pale horsetail, and his braids hung long and thick beneath it.

"And who are you," the Rider demanded, "to speak thus to us in our own lands? For you strangers are no Men of Rohan; indeed, I see that many of you are no Men at all! Who is to say that this burning was not done at your hands, and your words of Orcs and assistance now are but pretty lies to throw us off the trail? Speak! For the Men of Rohan do not lie; and thus are not easily deceived."

"That is well," said Elladan calmly, "for we do not intend to deceive you; nor do we mean harm to any good folk that dwell within Rohan, neither Horse nor Man. Nor are we all of us strangers: we have been in your lands before, my brother and I, although our last journey hither would have been very long ago indeed by your mortal reckoning."

"Indeed, although you may know us not, we know your folk well enough, Son of Rohan," said Elrohir. "For my brother and I fought in the battle that forged your kingdom, some several generations of your kindred previous. I am Elrohir of Rivendell, and this is my twin-brother, Elladan. Those we ride with are called the Grey Company, for their mail and raiment, and for their purpose also; and they are Elves and Men of the North: Rangers of the Dúnedain, and Elvish warriors of Imladris. We seek travel through your lands to Gondor."

The Rider eyed them suspiciously, and his men exchanged wary glances. "Your words are fair," the leader of their éored said after a long moment. "Yet we have oft heard fair words in the Riddermark of late, which have fouler means behind them. Have you any proofs which you can offer that your passage through our lands is to as innocent a purpose as you claim? And what, for that matter, is your purpose in riding so armed to Gondor, long our allies in both war and peace?"

"Their purpose is to return to my land with the answers for which I left to seek Rivendell, some several months ago," Boromir said, raising his voice before either brother could answer. "For I am Boromir of Gondor, son of Denethor, and I am riding home at last."

"Boromir!" Several of the Riders startled, and some leaned across their horses' necks to peer closer at his face. Boromir raised his chin and met their eyes, his gaze firm and unflinching.

The leader doffed his helm at last, and revealed a face that Boromir had seen before: strong, but weathered from sun and wind and long rides across the open plains; fair-haired like most of the people of Rohan, yet sporting locks that were less bright meadowflower-yellow and more of a dark cornsilk, sun-streaked and heavy in the light wind. The thin scar that marred the short beard that graced his chin was new, but there was no mistaking those deep brown eyes nor that strong wide nose. "Boromir!" he cried.

"Théodred," Boromir said, and bowed slightly from his saddle. "It has been some time."

"Some time, indeed!" Théodred exclaimed. "And yet I know your face well, Boromir of Gondor, and you are a welcome sight here in these dark times! I will tell you that when your horse returned without you, we feared the worst. I am glad to see now that our fears were meritless." Théodred's gaze flickered towards the Sons of Elrond, who watched their reunion with impassive grey eyes. "You say you have found the answers for which you sought?"

Tagging: @babybat98 @roselightfairy @bifuriouswaterbender @katajainen @realtacuardach and I'm not sure who's been tagged already because I haven't actually checked my dash yet this evening beyond Chthonion's (enthralling) post, so if you see this and haven't been tagged yet: consider yourselves tagged by me! And if you've already been tagged ignore me shh.

[pardi-real]

Tarot of Destiny / Chapter 15 - The Tarot's Answer

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[Inn, Garden]

That night... I was alone, staring at the stars in the inn's garden. While gazing at the beautiful starry sky… I reflected on each of the butlers’ words from earlier today.

I haven't found it yet, 'the answer to save myself from an ominous fate.’ But, when I recall what the butlers said, I can sense their genuine concern for me… So even though an ominous fate might be approaching… I was feeling rather happy.

Trudge… trudge…

Elvira: “Lord of the Devil Butler..."

> "Ms. Elvira?"

Elvira: “Hmm... You look happy...  Perhaps... You've found the 'answer'?”

> "I haven't…”

Elvira: “Oh... Is that so? Despite being told about the ominous shadow in your future... You still can look like that... You really seem to be a broad-minded person.”

> "Th-that's not…”

Indeed, I was happy about the butlers' feelings... But that didn't mean all my anxiety had disappeared.

Because they care so much about me… the desire not to part ways with them grew stronger. The Death card in the upright position supposedly signifies ‘the end of things’ and ‘farewell’... But even so, I want to always stay with them. Once again, I strongly felt that sentiment.

Elvira: “Hmm... Lord of the Devil Butler. Would it be convenient for you to spare a moment now? If it works for you, please follow me.”

> "Huh?”

Saying that, Ms. Elvira started walking without waiting for an answer.

Elvira: “This way... It's a shortcut.”

She disappeared into the bushes after reaching the outer wall of the garden.

> "Ah, wait…!”

There was a gap in the outer wall, hidden in the bushes, allowing one person to pass through… I was able to get out through that. 

I followed her in a hurry, but the butlers might get worried if we sneak out on our own. Considering that, I tried asking Ms. Elvira several times for us to return together...

But she only replied with "It's okay" and continued forward.

[Maginaria, Sacred Water Spring]

Elvira: “Well... we've arrived. Lord of the Devil Butler.”

> "What is this place...?”

Elvira: “This is a spring where the sacred water of divine protection flows. It's a very sacred place...

Normally, entry is prohibited for anyone not granted permission, but it shouldn't matter to you. Because, you're the person in this world who needs protection the most.

First, I will drink... In the same way, you should drink too. Then, the protection of the sacred waters should be on your body. It might be a help to ward off the ominous fate. Now, please…”

> "U-understood”

Following her example, I scooped up water from the spring below and took a sip.

The mysterious scenery around, combined with the cold and beautiful water, made me feel purified from within.

Elvira: “Having visited the four temples and drinking from the sacred waters… You should have received the most powerful protection, as far as I can think of.

You are the devil butler's master, an essential existence for this world. Your power to undo demonization… is a crucial power for this world.

If possible, I don't want you to die. That's why I brought you here.”

> "I see…”

Telling about the four temples to the butlers… and suddenly leading me to this spring... It seems she's thinking about me and this world, in her own way. Although there are still things I don't understand, like what she's thinking... All in all, she doesn't seem to be a bad person.

Elvira: “And, one last thing I need to talk to you about. The upright 'Death' card I showed you... Its meaning is ‘the end of things’ and ’farewell’. Of course, it's definitely a card with ominous meaning, but… what I conveyed is just one interpretation.”

> "One interpretation...?”

Elvira: “Yes. The tarot cards are like a single ‘book,’ each card being a page... Even though they may appear as just a single card... The way they are interpreted varies greatly. Indeed… It's not an exaggeration to say that there are as many interpretations as there are people who look at them.”

> "Interpretations…”

Elvira: “Yes. It's certain that the Death card appeared for you... But how you interpret it is up to you. You… should search for the answer that satisfies you the most.”

> “The answer that satisfies me…”

Elvira: “It's okay. There's still time. For now, let's go back to the inn and take it slowly…”

*Buzz… buzz…* At that moment... Suddenly, a familiar alarm sound echoed. Similar to the angel alarm in the city of Espoir.

> "This…!”

Elvira: “Could it be… angel…? No way… this morning's fortune-telling didn't predict anything like this…”

Angel: “............”

An angel appeared before us while we were still bewildered. Then, Ms. Elvira took my hand... and without waiting for my response, she started running to the opposite side.

Elvira: “Hurry…! This way...!”

> “O-okay...!”

Tap, tap, tap…

~ Some minutes later ~

Following her, we dove into the forest, hiding from the approaching angels. But more angels appeared, two or three... We could only hide in the shadow of the trees, unable to escape.

> "I didn't expect angels to show up…”

Elvira: “Yes. And multiple of them at the same time. If they were the ones from before, only one would have appeared at a time… Angels have truly changed, recently...”

Trying to see if there was any opportunity to escape, we observed the angels from the shadows of the trees. But right at that moment... One angel suddenly turned its gaze towards us.

Angel: “.........”

> (!? Y-yikes…!)

Seeing the angel flying towards us at high speed, I prepared for death... But then, at the same time as the sharp sound of wind cutting through... Something pierced the flying angel's wing.

Thwack

Angel: “.........!!”

Together with the impact of being pierced through the wing, the angel crashed to the ground right in front of me. What was stuck at the base of the stricken down angel's wing was… an arrow.

> “This is…”

Flure: “My lord! Are you safe!?”

> “Flure…!"

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[farmerlesbian]

hi farmer lesbian!

so ive identified as bisexual for a long time but ive discovered recently i feel very comfortable within the lesbian ideas of gender and specifically the butchfemme community. i’ve been dating someone recently who also identified as bisexual but has related to transmasc lesbians understanding of gender as well as posts about butches. we both kind of see ourselves within the butchfemme dynamic but i’ve been very tough on myself with calling myself a lesbian because i’ve dated a man before (…in middle school..)

it’s gotten to the point where i’m really worried to label myself because of what it’d imply for my partner? but also what people would say? and while i know i dont HAVE to label myself it just sucks to know theres an identity im drawn to and feel like i fit into that i cant immediately slip into

hmm i'm not really sure how to guide you here. i guess i want to challenge you on some of the things you're saying here, it feels like you're coming at this from maybe the "wrong" angle (wrong feels too harsh a word, maybe just not the most helpful angle)

you're worried you can't call yourself a lesbian because you dated a boy in middle school? i think.. a LOT of lesbians dated boys in jr. high and high school and there are lots of late in life lesbians who were married to men for years before figuring out who they are and coming out. this is all completely normal and common. like, dating one boy in middle school doesn't really mean much tbh. i wouldn't base your identity or label you use around something like that. i dated a bunch of boys in high school and early college when i was still figuring out who i was. your labels or identity or gender or sexuality don't need to account for all you life experiences and past. it's not so much about your sexual history but describing who you are *now*, what you're interested in, in the present.

you say both you and your partner really like Lesbian Genders and butch/femme stuff. that's nice, but liking and relating to lesbian culture and gender stuff doesn't make you a lesbian haha! it's who you're attracted to and who you're not, that determines your orientation. gender and orientation are different things, as i'm sure you know. obviously very connected and stuff. like, for example, just because someone identifies as a man it doesn't make him straight, even though heterosexuality is an integral part of manhood, in the dominant culture. gay trans men are certainly not rare! the same goes for you guys.

also, remember that transmasculinity is a broad umbrella and encompasses a wide variety of people and their identities and experiences. plenty of butches aren't transmasc, and probably most transmascs aren't butch.

i will tell you that in the course of running this blog and being on the internet, i've probably seen and shared thousands of photos and drawing of people. not once have i ever seen something that represents me and my wife. if you are seeking out representation or examples of the options to be, in order to figure out who/what you are, i would advise against that. seek what feels true to you, what feels honest and right. you do not need to be similar to other people in order to find belonging, acceptance, and community. (though of course this is absolutely nothing wrong or bad if you do find others just like you, if you do fit in to existing roles and dynamics! that is of course perfectly normal!)

now, i don't know you or your partner. you know yourselves best. i can't tell you what you really are or really aren't. and i certainly am not going to tell you what you can or can't be! everything i'm saying here is to prompt you to think about and questions to ponder for yourself.

so, i think you have some points to think about, why have you been identifying as bisexual? what is drawing you to the lesbian label? have you tried using 0 labels and not thinking about your identity or labels for at least a month or two (if not a several months) and then coming back and evaluating it afresh? what about the butch-femme dynamic are you drawn to? what is holding you back? you are allowed to discover that you are a lesbian! or you are allowed to continue to be bisexual! i can't tell you who you are - but you're allowed to be and do whatever you want, whatever feels true to you! even if it doesn't make sense to other people or you don't see anyone else like you out there. you gotta be a little bit brave!

hang in there, and sending much love to you and yours! 🧡