#no i have not edited this we die like men

[mixtapedoh]

vernon as highschool crush pls for lonely boy 🧍‍♀️

vernon my bestie beloved bastard ♡ you really are requesting for the people, lindsay.

;༊ — lonely boy

pairing: hansol vernon chwe x gn!reader genre: fluff, high school au word count: ~3.3k warnings: language, mild threats among friends, a lack of originality (but perhaps ameliorated by an understanding of the conventions of trope?)

olive's notes: firstly, hahaha.......... pretend like this wasn't something you sent me actual months ago.... and pretend like i gave the prompt the justice it deserves....... shhhhhh, i answer things in a timely manner and can still be considered a tumblr writer. secondly, this is quite glaringly based off of and colored by my memories of high school, so expect United States education system nonsense <3.

☄. *. ⋆ hansol vernon chwe x high school crush.

— the hardest thing about crushing on this fucker is that he's everywhere

simultaneously the biggest cryptid in the whole student body (if you had a nickel for every time your journalism teacher asked: "has anyone seen hansol this week?" to absolute crickets you'd be able to pay for at least 2 years of college) and also the most social person to ever grace your high school halls, hansol was everywhere all at once, and contradictorily, nowhere when you sought him out.

you wanted to avoid seeing him because of something embarrassing you were sure he had noticed? bam. right there beside you, sitting on the same row of auditorium seats for the assembly.

you wanted to catch a glimpse of him while the both of you were assigned to photograph the basketball game? viola. gone, nowhere to be seen; and yet your friend will tell you later that he was there the whole time, snapping the best photos of boo seungkwan's legendary 3-pointers (which you certainly hadn't missed, so where had he been??).

— yes, having a crush on hansol vernon chwe was exhausting. there was no way to save face — trust hansol to be there at your worst hours (like that chemistry presentation where the color palette you used for your PowerPoint was too light for the old projector screen to show properly, and so you half of your graphics were unreadable, inspiring your professor to dock 10 points, despite that fact that when you pulled it up on a computer screen - or any other device that wasn't an old ass projector at least 15 years out of date - the graphics were just fine and the detail above required). it didn't matter the specifics of the occasion, it was simple fact you'd always somehow manage, in your darkest moment, to look out and see hansol — always a kind smile, with something encouraging in his eye, despite, but still horribly, embarrassingly, and irrevocably present.

— and then, as it if weren't bad enough, hansol vernon chwe had the absolute gall to be unbothered, unfazed, unable to be rattled or shaken in any way, by comparison.

oh sure, you'd seen him cringe before at him friend's (mostly kwon soonyoung's) antics; you were familiar with the way vernon expressed any and all emotion with the whole of him — his every muscle tensing and twisting in a way so visceral and real, you could feel embarrassed, too, by just looking at him — but the envy was this: it was never at his expense that such feelings would arise. vernon was never embarrassed because of something he did or caused or felt. his life was far too chill and unbothered for that. others could be embarrassing around him, but all of his actions flowed so smoothly — rolled over the shoulders of everyone else.

the closest he'd ever get was doing something explicitly stupid just for the enjoyment of others. but, the catch was this: they enjoyed it !!!! it was funny and not cringe worthy !!!!! the net effect was positive.

it was infuriating. sometimes you weren't sure if you wanted to kiss hansol or strangle him with your bare hands.

— but let's take things back to journalism.

— because of course he took journalism.

not exactly the most exalted of the journalism students or anything, hansol was mostly known for his opinion piece articles and, of course, availability and willingness to go to any school event to take pictures and help fill in the blanks of the article anyone was writing.

he had friends in any and all school functions and events. from sports to musicals, science fairs to choir recitals, you could say, "is anyone going to this very obscure and random FBLA presentation?" or "did you know that the coding club is going to be attending an event at another high school this saturday?" and hansol would immediately perk up, pull out one of his headphones and go, "yeah, i'm gonna check it out. did you need a ride?"

— and it was because of that — his being everywhere, inescapable and offhandedly thoughtful, open and so easily warm — that these pesky feelings even started, in the first place.

— just when it happened is perhaps inconsequential (in all actuality, it likely started before your journalism daily exposure, just slowly, more of an itch at the back of your mind than the brash insistence it was, now) but it was definitely the fault of journalism. maybe that band and orchestra festival in 11th grade where you went with hansol to do a write up on all the high schools attending (placing undue emphasis on your high school's multi-talented band leader, lee jihoon, who could play half the instruments in the room), or maybe that series of debate tournaments you both covered in 11th grade, or when the two of you took over the baseball column that same year and when the heatwave spiked early, vernon would attend each game in sleeveless tops, always with an extra ball cap in tow since you would (conveniently, perhaps?) forget one of your own and the sun made it impossible to see what was happening, beyond.

yes, just when it hit was neither here nor there, because at the end of the day, the problem remained: you were hopelessly down bad for one hansol vernon chwe. fuck.

— and you couldn't escape him if you tried.

and trust me, at one point, try, you had.

— after all, at the beginning of your senior year, you somehow ended up being in the same spanish class as him and his friend joshua, and after a whole year (and subsequent summer break, when your journalism teacher found an opportunity to have a section of the city newspaper be dedicated to "the youth of journalism," and weekly, your journalism club was able to publish in the city newspaper) of crushing on hansol with a vehemence perhaps concerning, you knew you couldn't handle having to have embarrassing debates, conversations, and role play scenarios with him.

in perhaps two weeks you were in the counselor's office, exploring alternate class blocks. in the end, you were stuck in a ceramics course instead of your preferred electives, but at least when the unit on "la familia, el amor y todo lo interpersonal" came up, you were role playing as a couple alongside jeon jungkook, who couldn't stop making you wheeze with laughter from his overextention of the r at every available chance, rather than your crush, hansol.

(all it would have taken was one "te extraño" from hansol through your fake hand phones to absolutely floor you. someone call the school nurse, you're fallen and perhaps can never get back up again.)

— so you avoided him there, and even before that, during your junior year, you had mostly eaten off campus on your second schedule days when you and hansol had the same lunch hour and the risk of running into him at a time potentially embarrassing was at an all time high, seeing as nowhere was safe — the social butterfly he was, hansol managed to have business in every hallway of the school. not a single area was risk free.

yeah, junior year really had just been a mess of emotions you hadn't wanted to name, and so instead, elected to pointedly ignore. you were glad to say that while spending your hard earned money to eat out 2-3 times a week was a bit of a low, you had solidly moved out of that phase of your life by spring that year, and could stomach the risk of Being Seen by someone who had captured your attention so strongly.

and yeah, even though you had a bit of a backslide when changing spanish classes senior year (which could be chalked up to self-preservation, truly), you had solidly moved past that whole Avoidance Stage of your Crippling Crush on One Hansol Vernon Chwe.

— so hansol couldn't be avoided. that much was abundantly clear. and you had to interact with him in journalism and (god willing) be normal while doing so, and luckily, while all that exposure didn't exactly desensitize you to his overwhelming charm, admirable confidence, infectious smile, endearing jokes, comfortable aura, and oh so beautiful eyes, it had forced you to just,,,,,,, accept some things.

— accept that you had a raging crush on hansol, but that it could be managed... so long as none of your mutual friends found out.

— you were pretty sure that wonwoo knew, but at least he was ✨subtle✨ and generally checked out of things like that. genuinely, he could not care less, and so he made it no one's problem. you could probably tell him your most rancid, vulgar thoughts, and he would just file it away in his mind as: "nasty shit i can never unhear" and go about his day. compare that to your other mutual acquaintance, seungkwan, and well...

— but for the most part, it seemed that senior year was inching away, another year with a crush on hansol, and another year where you didn't say a damn thing and refused to leave anything close to a hint for him to pick up on.

— but mercy didn't exactly exist for you, now did it.

— the horrible series of Epic Fumblings and Incriminating Moments began in october, when hansol and joshua decided to make a podcast to convince the school that an AV club could be a fun addition to the roster of School Sanctioned Clubs (an idea they really should have had back in august

— the horrible series of Epic Fumblings and Incriminating Moments began in october, when hansol and joshua decided to make a podcast to convince the school that an AV club could be a fun addition to the roster of School Sanctioned Clubs (an idea they really should have had back in august — you know, when clubs were first getting registered and students were accosted in the hallways with club information slapped on astrobrights with strong ~graphic design is my passion~ presentation)

they had needed someone tech savvy enough to get them the podcast equipment and teach them how to use it (and just,,, do all the technical aspects for them 🥺👉👈 pwetty pwease 🥺👉👈 we're just silly boys who want to talk about random shit but are trying to pass it off as being Constructive in Some Sense so that it looks good on college applications) and so obviously their search had sent them in the way of wonwoo, who only seemed to have free time on the exact day and time you two would joint study for your college level government and politics course.

so of course he asked if the two of you could move your study sessions to a different location (he swore he could multitask? okay overacheiver) so that he could both study with you and help the stupidly handsome hansol and joshua with their brilliant podcast idea.

and of course, you'd forget the first time and wonwoo would conveniently not answer his texts for 20 minutes, allowing for the most embarrassing stage of him finally picking up his phone (on speaker?) to you yelling "jeon wonwoo, i will personally castrate you and throw it in the ocean so you can be eaten alive by the creatures birthed from the subsequent sea foam if you don't come to the library to study right now. i have been waiting for 20. minutes. where are you?" and hansol and joshua would hear you. and have the gall to laugh.

and of course wonwoo wouldn't even give you the grace of not having to show up to his house (your new study location) to study for the day. in fact, hansol gave him the brilliant idea of threatening to train an eagle to peck at your liver daily - not eating it fully, just put in it's beak and twist the flesh. since you can't grow another liver overnight, of course. don't you just love mythological punishment.

(and that wouldn't be the end of the embarrassing podcast adventures, either. the time shua cajoled you into being a special guest????? truly, you dodged a bullet not being in spanish with that fool. he's impossible to refuse and the worst of it was that he knew it.)

— or what about the december gift exchange in journalism?? that was certainly not your finest moment, trying to get chaewon to change names with you so that you could gift something to hansol (something lady luck had never granted you despite all the blood, sweat, and tears you sunk into this journalism group of yours), and he heard you, mid-conversation.

seungkwan had told you hansol had been talking about it later, and you quite literally saw him connect the dots in slow-motion as he recounted the story. "y/n, do you have a crush on hansol????" it would have been bad enough that he practically yelled the accusation in the stands of the football field, but then he had the gall to triumphantly gasp and break into hysterical laughter upon your clear embarrassment at being caught. it was during lunch! you're shared lunch break with hansol! who knew where that fucker was! he probably saw the whole exchange!

(in the end, chaewon didn't change names with you (she traded with some other journalism traitor so she could gift to sakura) and even though hansol didn't have your name, he got you something regardless, saying it was thanks for putting up with he and shua stealing wonwoo during your (once peaceful) study sessions. you had decided against getting him a gift regardless, and so you had to awkwardly seek him out during winter break to shove a poorly wrapped box in his hands, with a mumbled apology for your tardiness in gifting, something he pushed away cooly, as expected (but were those red ears of his from just the cold, alone?).)

— and then, well, once everyone came back from winter break and seungkwan knew of your crush on hansol... school became less a Place of Learning and more a Viscous Time Loop of Shutting Seungkwan Up Before He Spilled The Beans.

kicking him under the table. threatening his livelihood. slapping a hand over his mouth on one occasion because seungkwan couldn't take a joke and his retaliation of choice was calling over hansol right there and then and forcing you both to awkwardly sit in the bitter soup of Revelation.

— and then there was february. oh, february. how easy it is to loathe february.

— it was already hard enough getting through the embarrassment of valentine's day themed fundraising — every year, your literature teacher (who oversaw the student body officers — that first exposure to the cruel reality of rigged elections, a popularity win if there ever was one) offered extra credit for students who volunteered time to help the sbo's with their silly little business venture of "roses for $3, sugar cookies with shocking pink frosting for $2, heart suckers for $1, sonnets written by the creative writing and theatre kids for $7.

every year you volunteered for some reason or another - maybe your grade needed it, maybe you were doing sbo president seungcheol a favor because no one signed up, maybe you were following the stupid advice of seokmin and were doing it for the plot (code for: please don't leave me alone at the stand, i will buy you all the sugar cookies you'd like, just don't consign me to spending my lunch break in this particular layer of hell in solitude). this year was no different in you signing up to do time, but seungkwan sure was different, asking you every day if you managed to see if vernon sent anyone something (he had — soonyoung had convinced him to pitch in to send jihoon 16 sonnets, to be read aloud in the middle of class). if he had sent you something (he hadn't).

but when you got an anonymous rose sent to your 2nd class of the day, with a cryptic note attached, your friends wouldn't let you live it down all week. (who had sent it, though? they would have had to be very strategic as to when they placed the order — you had certainly never seen one for yourself in your daily exchange of goods, and seokmin was suspiciously tight lipped about the whole thing (very uncharacteristic of him — who had the ability to buy dk's silence, and better yet, how had they done it???)).

— yes, valentine's day was bad enough. but to add to the mix was always hansol's birthday. last year you'd gotten him a gift since you had worked quite a lot together during that month, and it just felt... normal. comfortable. something kind to do that wasn't weird in anyway. but these days, facing hansol was almost as embarrassing as it had been during junior year when you avoided the mere sight of him like seeing him smile would end in you contracting the plague.

as the day inched ever closer, you were seriously considering missing the day entirely. taking the day off. pretending to be sick. but that wouldn't get you out of seeing him the day after. and the day after that.

perhaps fleeing the country would be a totally normal reaction and solid plan.

— and then joshua invited you to hansol's surprise birthday party.

well. at least that cleared up whether you should get him a gift or not.

— to say that, at that moment and for the subsequent days afterward, were overthinking the whole thing would be to extremely understate reality.

you were about to pop a blood vessel over this shit.

wonwoo was invited, too (how charitable of them. making sure there'd be someone there to scrape you off the floor when you inevitably discovered the power of self combustion) and it was rather comical to see the two of you: cool and calm wonwoo, and you with the internal dialogue of WHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCKWHA

all holding a cute little gift between you.

— and the surprise birthday party really was a Legitimate, 5-Star, Genuine Quality, Surprise Bona Fide™ - a success by all measures. a shock in more ways than one: a surprise for hansol who had no idea the party was happening in the first place, getting called over for what he expected was a casual videogame night; a surprise for lee chan, somehow, when he saw that shua got you to come 15 minutes before show time to help blow up balloons - a shock so big he started to say something with a wild grin and was immediately dogpiled by mingyu, junhui, and hoshi; a surprise for all the friends amassed when you proved to be quite adept at party games like their incredibly convoluted version of mafia; and a surprise for you, later that night, when hansol offered to take you home

— the two you decided to stop at an empty playground before parting ways and see who could jump farther off of the swings. he won by a wide margin, but you had the skinned knees to prove your effort and the memory of hansol laughing so hard he could barely breathe — his smile so wide it could've filled you completely, banish any longing from your chest for a moment of unique closeness and bliss — and perhaps that was a consolation prize, enough.

but then you and hansol were on the swings again, seeing who could tighten the swing chain the most and spin the longest, and between the motion blur, you heard hansol admit defeat and when the swing stopped, his face was all too close to yours to shrug off as friendly, and his hands were holding the swing chain on either side, and when he spoke soft and low to crown you the victor, you kissed him.

and the biggest surprise of the night was when he kissed you back.

☄. *. ⋆

blog home

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Ghost in the Machine

Living Weapon Whump for the 2025yearofwhumptropes

content: medical setting, noncon drugging, living weapon whump, memory loss, restraints, dehumanization, bound

Day 1. #20159

Next

He woke with a searing flash behind his eyes, the kind that split his skull in two and left the edges of the world smeared and formless. It blurred his vision to the point he could hardly make out the edges of the hospital bed or the faces around him. What he could recognize was the sterile tange of antiseptic singing his nostrils.

Directly above him, a vent blew cold air into his face.

He opened his mouth but all that came out was a cotten-throated "gah", the words stuck somewhere between his tongue and teeth.

He blinked rapidly, everything hitting him all at once and leaving him with a pit in his stomach.

"Wh-where am I?" each word was a battle.

Someone hushed him and turning to someone behind them, snapped. "Increase the dosage, will you?"

"What?" He tried to sit up, only to be yanked back down to the stiff sheets by the velcro restraints around his wrists and ankles.

His breathing faltered. Trapped. He was trapped.

But he didn't really panic until he saw the IV linked to his forearm, pinching his skin under the small bandage. Some yellow, shimmering liquid was being pumped into his body.

And he could see it.

Vicious, golden threads under his skin. Pulsing. Stitching their way up, up, up--

The scream ripped itself out of him, raw and guttural.

"Someone calm it down!"

Desperation became a whole new reality, lodged entirely in the small medical room with four pale walls and that cheap landscape painting in the corner.

Someone was shoving him down.

"Get it out! Get it the fuck out of me!" he thrashed wildly against the arms that pinned him to the bed. They grunted and pulled another strap over his forehead.

Their clothes smelled of cigarette smoke and salt water, green and nauseating. Their face was lined, almost etched. There was a heaviness in their expression that almost hid the vicious smile. Almost.

They jabbed something sharp into his upper thigh and its effects were immediate.

It hit him like a physical blow, his limbs relaxing at his side before he could fight it.

His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one harder to draw than the last.

No- no- no!

Shadows crept into the edges of his vision.

He could do nothing besides snarl internally when the stranger sat beside him. "You're going to regret that, kiddo." They straightened and pulled a notebook out of their jacket.

"Subject two-oh-one-five-nine," they spelled out, "has been properly sedated after a brief resistance. Remains unmanageable." They shot him a look, arching an eyebrow, like they were daring him to try anything further.

"But not for long," they added.

Just wait, the boy thought, until I tell...

Tell...

He had someone to tell. He did.

The word with the face attached to it was just out of reach.

His vision narrowed to a tunnel of smudged colors.

The memory slipped completely. Shit.

The last thing he felt was the stranger brushing a hand through his hair, slow and deliberate.

"We're going to make something out of you yet."

His heart lurched with a new, horrifying realization.

He couldn't remember his own name.

[unordinary-diary]

Arlo and Responsibility

‼️Minor spoiler warning for… I think just S1‼️

I’ve been thinking about Arlo a lot lately, and I think I finally figured him out. All of the characters in UnOrdinary have major, underlying themes to their characters: for John, power and lack thereof, for Blyke, protection, and for Seraphina, its freedom. But Arlo is unique in that his most prominent theme, responsibility, is so central that every aspect of him leads back to it. Allow me to elaborate.

According to Arlo, high tiers have a responsibility to lead, and set an example, to work hard and keep order. This is the fundamental philosophy that everything is built upon. When John confronted Arlo, shouting about how all John wanted was to live a peaceful life away from the rankings, Arlo says “Who doesn’t want to live a peaceful life?”. Arlo doesn’t believe he has a choice in anything— that he, along with all high tiers, have been conscripted into a particular role that none of them really want, but they all have the duty to fulfill.

Arlo is an extremely hard worker and he takes his responsibilities very seriously. This is why he resents Seraphina and John— they don’t. To him, Sera and John both ran away from their duties, leaving all of the burden on him. The reason he goes after John in the first place is because he “corrupted” Seraphina. Remember, when Rei graduated, the school was a whole dumpster fire and Arlo cleaned it up all by himself, with no support from the other royals. Then later when Arlo is working in tandem with Sera to lead, the school is “the most peaceful it’s ever been”. Then Sera leaves it all behind. He feels like he’s been left out to dry, and unfairly forced to do everything by himself.

This is reflected also in how he treats Isen at the beginning of season 2: he puts Isen as the press leader, and Isen pretty quickly gets crushed under that weight and tells Arlo he can’t do it. Arlo has none of it, and tells Isen to basically suck it up and fix the problem. He admits that he does set high expectations for others, but “never without a reason”. He smacks the relevant paper down on the table and says “This is for the press leader to handle.” Arlo is delegating firmly because he believes Isen is capable and needs that push, but also because he is sick of working overtime while others sit back.

Even in his relationship with Remi, it ties back to this theme. He protects and looks after Remi because he cares about her, obviously, but a major facet of their relationship is that he feels responsible for her. Rei told him to look after her when she was about to enter Wellston. She’s also younger, smaller, and weaker than Arlo is. Not to mention that she’s reckless and naïve, especially by Arlo’s standards. This ties into my earlier point about Arlo’s kingly duties— he does have other royals helping him run things, so why does he continually lament that he’s doing this on his own? I think it’s because he sees Remi more as someone to look after than as someone he can rely on. Sera however, he did see as a reliable partner and an equal.

[meadow-roses]

Grace finally gets to have a conversation with Dauntless, face to face :D

Written/full version of the scene under the cut

***

Grace opened the door and immediately froze. 

Felix was standing across the room from her in front of an open window. He was dressed in dark clothes with boots that reached up just below the knee. In his hands he was holding a helmet with a dark visor. 

He turned when he heard the door, and for a second their eyes met. It was only for a second.

“Wait! Dauntless!” Grace shouted, taking a step forwards before stopping herself. She didn't want to chase him.

Felix froze halfway out the window.

“Please…” she said gently. “Just stay. Talk to me?”

He made no response, but she watched his shoulders droop before taking his foot down from the sill and turning to face her.

Even with all she'd put into schooling herself to read faces, she couldn't quite tell what he was thinking. His face was mostly blank, was it resigned, maybe sad?

He just looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

“I'm not going to tell anyone, I… haven't told anyone. I've known for a while now actually.”

Felix tensed and confusion crossed his face.

“What-” he started. “How did you know?”

“Well, I didn't know,” Grace took another step into the room and reached to close the door behind her back. “But I had a pretty good guess.”

He spoke his next question by furrowing his brow and tilting his head.

Grace gave a short laugh. “You're a terrible liar, Felix.”

He bit his lip and looked down at the floor.

“I just wanted to know, why… why didn't you tell us?” 

She gave him a moment to stare at his feet before adding on, “and tell me the truth- please?”

He turned and leaned his back against the wall with a defeated sigh.

“The truth? I… I'm not sure I even know the true answer myself. I guess… I was afraid.”

He looked down at his gloved hands and awkwardly slipped his fingers together in front of him.

“I don't know exactly what I was afraid *of*, just that I was. I wasn't afraid of you guys-” he rushed to add, unlacing his hands and lifting one up to gesture. “-but I was afraid of what would happen to you guys if we were friends.”

“And that's why you're planning on leaving?”

“How did you know I was-?”

Grace shrugged.

“You really think you can save the world by yourself?” she added, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, I can't save the world. I’m just a mechanic wearing a bicycle helmet!”

“Who also has superhuman abilities and a lot of inside knowledge,” Grace pointed out.

Felix didn't respond. He hugged his arms around his chest and looked to the floor again.

Grace sighed and put her back against the door, mirroring Felix’s pose across the room. 

“It’s not like I can stop you,” she said at last. “You could pick up your helmet and jump out that window and I would never see you again no matter how hard I looked. We both know how well that worked for me the last several months. But I guess- you can keep running away from everything you're scared of and everyone who’s gonna call you out and just stay afraid, or you can stop trying to run, and face those fears. The biggest lie you've ever told is the one you're telling yourself right now that you have to be alone.”

Felix’s face remained blank as his mouth drew into a tight line.

“You aren't alone, Felix,” she continued gently. 

“And if I stay, and they find this place, and they kill everyone here- either the government or the [gang]. I don't-” his voice cracked along with the mask on his face and he reached up to scrub his hand over his face before resuming with wavering composure, “I can't let that happen. I'll still be around, like Dauntless has been, but Felix can't stay here anymore.”

“That’s the stupidest thing you've ever said!” Grace stood up from the door and took a step towards him. “What are you going to eat? Where are you going to sleep? You're basically dooming yourself to get caught by all those people looking to kill you. You should stay, and help us fight! You don't have to pull away to protect us from a distance. Let's work together to make this place safe.”

“I don't want my life to come at the cost of anyone else's!” Felix shouted, arms still crossed over his chest, but she could see he immediately regretted it.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled.

Grace groaned and rubbed her hand down her face. “It doesn't have to be your life or all of ours. Do you really think we're so bad at protecting this place that you're the reason we're still here?”

“That's not what I-”

“Yeah, the government's going crazy right now. Yeah, the [gang]s are pressing closer. I'm not saying you haven't been helping a lot, but we could be so much more effective if we worked together. We could save more people, Felix. You don't have to go out there and die like some sacrificial dumb-dumb.”

She shook her head and walked across the room to stand in front of him. A breeze came in through the open window, catching her loose curls and sending them waving across her face.

“I know you know I'm right.” She said gently. “And I know you're scared. I'm just asking you to trust me.”

She held out her hand to Dauntless, and hesitantly, Felix took it.

“On one condition. You guys aren't allowed to die.”

Grace grinned and gave him a firm shake. “You've got yourself a deal.”

After an awkward stretch of silence, Felix spoke again.

“So… when was the point- how did you figure it out? That I was Dauntless?”

Grace tucked her arms behind her back with a chuckle. She felt embarrassed all of a sudden, and she wasn't sure why.

“Well, uh, I was talking to Dauntless, and he laughed. It sounded like how you laugh- like how Felix laughs- and it started me thinking. All of the little inconsistencies between the two identities made sense if they had the same common denominator.”

[walkingstackofbooks]

(part 1 here)

The truth was, that Julian had collapsed in the infirmary due to his own damned stupidity. He hadn't been neglecting himself on purpose, but he'd known that he'd been struggling with eating and sleeping recently, and he really should have been keeping better track of when he'd had meals, of when he'd managed to catch a few hours of rest. But no, that had apparently been too difficult a task for him, and as a result he was now sat here, in Sisko's office, unable to provide a good explanation to his captain.

Sisko had given him his time -- hell, Julian had been given an entire day's reprieve to come up with a suitable lie -- and his captain was now sitting opposite him patiently, but expectantly. And there were half a dozen plausible lies that Julian could tell Sisko, if he wanted to.

Julian didn't really want to, though. Ignoring the one, big exception that had been concealing his enhancements, he wasn't all that great at deception, and lying had always left a gnawing, nauseous pit in his stomach -- that one, big exception included.

And some part of him -- a treacherous, reckless part -- genuinely wanted Sisko to know the truth. Yearned for it, in fact. It would be such a relief to finally confess that he wasn't doing well at all, he was really struggling, actually, and everything was just far too much and even eating was hard, and while he wasn't having nightmares he would wake up with such a sense of dread and loneliness and fear that he'd really rather not sleep at all sometimes and that yes, he was probably suffering from depression and needed help, or at least a hug and an affirmation that it was okay, he was doing a good job...

Quickly, he swatted that thought away before he could be tempted to act on it. Admitting to anything like that would only cause trouble, and besides, that insidious voice was far too eager to exaggerate his problems. He was fine, he continued to insist to himself sternly, there's a war on, everyone's depressed right now, and it was just a minor, stupid lapse in judgement... But it would be a major, terrible lapse in judgement if he didn't come up with something to say to Sisko soon.

Because if he told Sisko the truth -- he'd forgotten a few meals, he hadn't slept much for a few nights, but really, Captain, it's not a big deal -- the captain would almost certainly make as big a deal out of it as he secretly hoped for. But it wouldn't end up the way his fantasies always did, being inundated with invitations from his friends to spend time with them, to stay for dinner, to stay the night... No. He'd be sent away from DS9, off to some recovery centre that actually had a counsellor who wasn't just the young-CMO-with-shaky-mental-health-himself.

And in an ideal world, that would allow him the chance to start healing.... but he simply couldn't imagine any happy outcome resulting from leaving DS9. Besides the matter of how selfish it would be to leave everyone now, in the middle of the war, just because he was feeling a bit off, he was also all-too-aware that Starfleet's eyes had been on him ever since his genetic status had been revealed. Any indication of mental instability could well be pounced upon as an excuse to cashier him from the service, to finally get rid of that augment, allowing the enhanced-Starfleet-Officer-experiment to be written off as a failure once and for all.

With such a lot riding on this one lie -- why hadn't he taken better care of himself, why had he insisted in doing that surgery when he should have known better?! -- Julian would count himself lucky if he managed to leave the office without breaking down into a panic attack. Which would be about the worst thing possible for him to do right now.

"Julian, what is it?" Sisko asked. Julian's time was up. He shook his head to clear it -- why couldn't he just lie, dammit, he'd always managed to before when the stakes were this high!

"You're starting to worry me," Sisko said, leaning forward across the desk. "Come on, whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I can't," whispered Julian. "I'm sorry, sir, I know that's not what you want to hear... but I can't. I can't tell you why and I-- I need to go. I'm sorry."

Anxiety bubbled within him as he pushed his chair away and made a hasty retreat for the door, knowing full well that his answer had hardly been any better than telling the truth would have been. At this point, he could only hope that something urgent came up to distract the captain, or else he could certainly expect another visit to his quarters later that day.

"I'm fine, I promise," he added as he reached the door, feeling the need to stick to the line as much for himself as for Sisko. Something stirred in his stomach, a horrible, sick feeling. "Thank you for your concern, sir, but I'm okay."

[moongothic]

Idiot's first crochet cardigan made in less than two weeks, let's go

I was going to a Spoopy Convention where I wanted to wear something Spoopy. And I had wanted to make a granny square cardigan for a long ass time, AND I wanted to have a black-and-orange Halloween-y piece of clothing. All these things combined lead me to making this cardigan in less than two weeks (just barely in time for the convention)

Because I was bullshitting this together I figured the best way for me to go would be to just start making granny squares and sew them together as I go so I'd be able to see and measure how big it was getting while working on it. And honestly, this worked just fine for me. I know a lot of people tend to make the granny square sweaters and cardigans in panels (front, back, sleeves etc), but like... I make my blankets by sewing them together corner to corner, and I didn't see any reason why I couldn't do that with the torso piece. So for my fit I figured out 7 squares would be plenty tall enough, left an empty spot for the arm and continued on towards the back.

It honestly went really smoothly and soon enough I had the whole piece done! And then I realized I had made a grave error. I did not make the back wide enough. If I went and sewed the front of the cardigan to the back, I wouldn't have any room for my neck.

Fortunately this was actually really easy to fix. I also noticed the arm holes were MUCH bigger than they actually needed to be, so I just added six more granny squares to make the back wider. Crisis averted.

Aaand with that, I sewed the front to the back on the top and did some basic ribbing on the bottom and around the front. Now it did take me a little while to figure out how I wanted to do the sleeves... I don't like super pillowy sleeves, so I wanted to make sure they were more fitted. But I wasn't sure how to do that. I did some weird experimentation but ended up realizing that if I added stitches and decreased stitches on some of the granny squares, and made some rectangles, I could make the sleeves slim down!

(To be exact: the granny squares I made for this cardigan were 3 rounds, so 11x11 stitches. On the sleeves, from left to right, the stitch counts are 15 on the outer row (where it gets sewn to the body), 11 stitches between the first and second row, 9 stitches on second and third and 7 stitches on third and fourth. The fourth and fifth rows were 7x11 stitch granny rectangles (two rounds instead of three)) (And yes, doing this does mean that the granny squares on the sleeves that connect to the torso don't actually match in size, so the checker pattern doesn't transition smootly. Personally, I just believed it'd be easier for me to do this instead of trying to figure out how to make the decreases if the sleeves were 5x5 rows instead of 4x5)

Forgot to take a separate photo but I did also make two extra rectangles that I put under the arm holes, just to make them smaller (by just half a granny square)

Now I will admit, I did make one big fuck up. You see, I thought I was being smart by making the checker pattern different on the two sleeves, thinking to myself I was making sure on the front of the cardigan the checker board pattern would continue uninterrupted (unlike on the back, where the orange and black squares go right side by side by other orange and black squares) But I forgot to take into account how the squares on the front aren't mirrored. So I was going to end up with a black square next to a black square and an orange next to an orange. On the front. That could not possibly do, so I ended up having to detach one of the four rows on the sleeves and moving it to the other end of the sleeve, just to fix that. All because I wanted to make sure I was sewing things on symmetrically on both sides. But once that was done, I sewed the sleeves on and did the ribbing on them.

Anyway, couldn't get a good photo of the cardigan pre-blocking because Honey had hogged my whole bed when I went to take photos (I could not possibly interrupt her nap time), and I was in a hurry to block the fucker because there wasn't much drying time left (I finished the sweater on like the 23rd? And convention was on the 26th. Mind you, I was worried if I'd have to frog and redo something after blocking, and this fucker IS wool)

So you get a photo of the cardigan post-blocking, but also these try-ons pre- and post-blocking respectively. Yeah it stretched out a bit, but it's also so drapey now (where as before it was super stiff)

Also, yes, I did go and add some basic black buttons on there (I did make button holes in the ribbing though they're not noticable), but honestly the buttons aren't functional and I couldn't be bothered to take any more photos just for some buttons

So, there it is. Idiot's first crochet cardigan. It actually turned out pretty good! I'm happy with it!

Honestly, my only complaint about it is that... so I was looking for the cheapest wool yarn I could order fast to do this project very last minute, and what I landed on was Drops Nepal. Cheap as hell, wool/alpaca mix, not superwash, and had a good range of colors. When I ordered this yarn, the product photo for the orange was a lot more... middle-ground orange instead of this very red-orange. And I'm slightly annoyed as hell about that. Like, I don't hate the color at all, it does still read as Halloween-y, (and I take comfort in it NOT being some ochre/muted yellow-orange instead) but... it's so much more red than I wanted.... That just annoys me...

But, yeah, Drops Nepal. 65% wool, 35% alpaca, 75m(/82 yards) in 50 grams, reccomended hook size 5 mm. I sewed everything together with black yarn while the ribbing was all done in orange, and I was able to get about 8 granny squares per ball. The cardigan required 120 granny squares but 18 of those were indeed rectangles and 24 had some other fuckery with stitch increases/decreases. I used 10 balls of orange (color 2920 (dyelot 357320)) and 8 balls of black (color 8903 (483356)) with leftover from both colors. Did not check how much I had leftover because I went and made a shitty little knitted beanie with it lmao

That's about it. I now have a granny cardigan, it's really nice and I really like it (despite the color). I am pleased.

[re-whump]

Glass Eden - Enclosure

prev congrats on not being eaten, but you're still trapped with the snake contains: non-human whumpee (borrower and lamia/naga, both tiny), captivity, pet trope, neglect, dehumanization, communication barrier, conditioned whumpee, concussion, (mild) emeto

Poe

It had to be a game of some sort, yes?

She had few ways to truly lose and I even fewer to win, but it must be a game.

The master of the house had thrown me in here for entertainment, after all. I had assumed it would be his entertainment, but apparently I wasn’t even worth that.  

I couldn’t know if I’d been spared out of mercy or boredom or merely saved for later. I wasn’t even sure she was intelligent enough to have had a reason, that my survival wasn’t mere whim. The master of the house kept her like a pet, so it was possible her relatable visage was mere coincidence. Then again, it had seemed like she had been trying to speak with me, and the master of the house was hardly a compassionate figure. He threw me in here for sport, he may as well be keeping a person in a cage.

I think he knew that she wouldn’t finish me off. He left before she had released me. But I also recognized the silver box on the other side of the glass and its ominous black eye. He was still watching, or at least recording to watch later. He would be able to entertain himself with my inevitable death, over and over again. He would watch her feed on me and be able to share it with however many of his awful kin as he liked, just as soon as she changed her mind and attacked me again. Nightmare after never ending nightmare. 

For now she seemed content to remain in the stone-looking cave on the far side of the terrarium. One bend of her pale, looping tail squeezed out the entrance, so I could even look over and be sure she stayed put. But my tail continued to quiver at her perfect silence. She could come for me at any moment and if I wasn’t looking at her, I wouldn’t know.

I needed to hide. I could feel the instinct pushing up beneath the rest of my thoughts to demand attention. Anger, self-pity, despair…none of them quite held up to the desperate urging to escape back into the shadows. I had been raised to believe—to know—that being seen by the monsters that owned the house was one of the worst things that could happen to me, and I couldn’t just push the feeling aside now that I’d been caught. The glass walls and open air were torturous.I would worry about survival later. I would worry about water and food and self-defense and how to get out of here later. First, I was going to carve a hiding space into the bark lining the cage, tucking in between the glass and some large stone. My crushed ribs burned as I pushed myself beneath the surface. 

When that was done, I curled up to cry.

When that was done, I was still trapped. 

~

Hecate

I had pleasant dreams about a patch of sun and another body lying curled up alongside my own. 

I played them over in my head for awhile, lazily enjoying the empty schedule ahead of me. Hugh only ever expected me to perform when he had guests, not like the last hands. And he liked me to look like me, not dolled up and polished. 

I scratched an itch along the thin scales on my hips and decided I could do with a wash anyway. That wasn’t polish, that was hygiene. I had a rash or something on my side there that never seemed to heal. I couldn’t do as good a job as the hands, but a long soak in even the tepid water on the cool side of the tank would feel refreshing enough.

I slid towards the sound of gently running water. There was a short waterfall on one end of the shallow pool that provided an endless supply of clean water. I’m not sure where exactly it came from, but there were a lot of things I didn’t understand. I only ever got to take short excursions beyond my glass walls and hardly anyone had ever thought I might like an explanation. It wasn’t like I could ask for clarifications. Mostly, I was thankful that this enclosure was at least full of interesting plants and clean bedding and even some clay I could sculpt with.

The water stole away that wonderful heat reserve I’d built up sleeping over the hot floor, but it was worth it. The sharp pinches that dotted the line between scale and skin fell away too, although the burning lower down on my belly lingered. I twisted around to check on what that might be, then tensed as I remembered how I’d hurt myself. Or, not myself, how I’d gotten…bit? Scratched? Hurt, somehow, by the…thing. The little prey-person-thing. The maybe-child. 

Were they still here? Or had Hugh come back to collect them?

I whistled as I drew myself out of the water. Their scent was faint, but in a space that usually only housed myself, it was more than enough to trace them. They were wedged between a stone hide and the wall, lying still. As I got closer, they made a muffled squeak, not unlike a rat’s.

I slowed, continuing to sing. It was an old song, a gentle one, one I’ve known since I was just a hatchling. I used to know words to it, something about the sun, but it had been so long and become so meaningless that now all I knew was the tune. The words were in the language I had used with my clutchmates anyway, one without all those tricky human noises. I doubt the prey-person-thing would have understood it. 

The substrate lurched as they clawed their way to the surface. I leaned back to keep the spray of bark out of my face. The glass pinged as they backed themself into the wall. 

“Hey, hey, shhh,” I whispered. 

“No, no, stop! Please! I’ve done nothing to deserve this!” they cried.

“Shh,” I repeated.

There wasn’t much else I could say. I couldn’t speak, not like they did. I had the wrong mouth for it. My tongue was meant for sneaking tastes of the air, not dancing between t and k and th and r and all the rest. 

“You-you aren’t attacking me?” 

I shook my head. I hoped they could see, even if I couldn’t. It seemed like it. They took a sharp breath like they were reacting to something. 

“You understand me? You are intelligent, then? Can you talk?”

“I…mm.”

I pushed off the ground, head cocked. I could hardly answer three questions at once. I motioned with my hands for them to go slower, but it must have looked like something else from where they were standing. They were still sweating fear. 

“J-just stay away from me! Please!” they whimpered.

I wanted to hold the poor thing to reassure them, but I wasn't dumb enough to think it would work. I just did my best to show him I meant no harm. 

--

Poe

The python-woman stared for several excruciating seconds.

She sighed and looked as if she might cry, then lowered herself back down against the ground again. I wanted to believe it was some kind of submissive gesture, but I was loathe to get too optimistic with my life on the line.

I wished she would blink. 

I didn’t move. I was too afraid it was some sort of trap about to spring. I watched a cat catch a mouse like that once, on a trip out into the garden. It had hunkered down and just stared for nearly a full minute. And that minute must have felt like an eternity for the mouse as it waited for that inevitable pounce. The cat had let it go again and again and again until the poor girl was too bloody and tired to try and run.

Eternity dragged on. 

I waited and waited and waited until the creature finally grew bored of waiting. She backed away and silently drifted back to the other side of the cage. 

I had to get out of here.

I crept around the perimeter looking for some way out. The only breaks in the glass were along the front, where the human had first thrown me in. The glass fit together so tightly, I couldn’t even wedge my fingers between the two panes, never mind try to pry them further apart. The mechanisms to lock the door in place were too far overhead for me to even examine. I turned to glare at the camera still gawking at me from the other side of the glass. 

I could weave something out of the foliage, perhaps, or turn my little dagger into something more useful. Assuming I had the time.

I kept my distance from her as I explored and only partially for that most obvious reason of avoiding her. The far end of the tank where she seemed to prefer to rest was significantly hotter than the other, and the whole place was uncomfortably humid. I assume it all suited her but it was making me sweat on top of everything else.

I thought about taking off the wool I had wrapped around my shoulders, but it was also the closest thing to armor that I had. I was dressed to survive the cold floor of the underused study, not monster attacks. I retreated back towards where I had heard water on the cooler half of the enclosure. My aching ribs demanded a rest anyways.

The water was…not clean, to say the least. A small waterfall churned the pool, likely intended to keep the water from growing too stagnant, but it was clearly not up to the task. I knelt down and grimaced at the pool. It was clear enough, but a layer of dirt and dead bugs littered the bottom. I drank anyway; it wasn’t as if it was the most questionable thing I’d ever ingested. It was refreshing enough.

After a short break I thought about what to do for shelter while I was trapped in here. I probably couldn’t make anything truly safe, but I could at least gather up a decent bed to rest in. Something more comfortable for my sore ribs. As for food…I would have to hope some of these plants might be edible. I didn’t know them. I chose a spot to set up distance from the water, assuming she’d come back here to drink again before long.

A distant creaking caught my attention, and it was not the snake. The housemaster was back. I ducked as deep into the shadows as I could, as much habit as anything.

He moved slowly, spending a few minutes walking around and admiring various displays around the room. It was too far for me to make out the details, but I assume he was looking at other pets. I didn’t want to know anything more. 

He turned to this prison before too long. The snake emerged from her cave to whistle and wave at him. He greeted her with a smile and oh-so-easily opened up the doors, nearly removing the entire front wall.

And his attention was fixed on the snake, not me. 

I warily crept towards the open doors. I waited until he had his hands full with the snake-woman and I launched towards my freedom. 

It was a hopeless endeavor. The movement caught his eye and he released the snake to take a clumsy swipe at me. Of course, a man twenty times my size didn’t need to be too precise to ruin me and these were hardly ideal conditions for me. His massive forearm slammed into me like a wall, knocking my breath away. I went skidding off the edge of the shelf before I could catch my balance. 

“Shit!” the master hissed. “Didn’t realize you were still in there.”

I landed in a heap at his feet. At some point, either during the fall or the landing, my head cracked against something hard. My eyes watered as I tried to pull myself back together, back into a coherent train of thought, so I could get up and—

“No, no, you’re not getting out of here. I’m not letting some thieving vermin run wild in my home,” the master said. 

A flat weight collapsed on top of me as I tried to crawl away. Shoe, I registered dimly. Very bad place to be. Very messy death. I wondered how much of it I would feel. He pressed down, just hard enough that I might burst if I tried to move, and dragged me towards the rest of him. He leaned down. My head swelled full of pain and panic. 

I heard someone scream. I wondered if it might be me, even if screaming wasn’t a behavior borrowers were naturally inclined to perform. I closed my mouth with a groan and the sound kept coming. I pressed my ears back. It hurt. My head hurt so bad and the noise made it worse. 

“Hey! Hey, my! My!” the scream shrieked. 

Something struck the glass overhead and the weight crushing my chest pulled away. I threw myself forward to escape at the same moment the master bent down over me and all that motion all at once set my head spinning and stomach heaving.

“Mm? You do want it, then, girl? You were just saving it for later?”

I may have taken an entire two steps before collapsing back onto my knees to vomit up the meager contents of my stomach. I was still retching, unable to move, as the housemaster’s hand fell over me and pinched the back of my shirt. Vomit ran down my chin as I was lifted so quickly into the air that the world turned into a blur. 

“No, don’t,” I croaked, several seconds after he tossed me back in the bark. 

The snake woman reached for me. I kicked at her. She sputtered, but only because the housemaster pulled her away. 

“Ah-ah, Hecate. I’ll let you have the little pest, but for now you’re coming out with me. Come along. It won’t go anywhere,” Hugh said.

The glass slid closed. The lock clicked. The towering shadow disappeared down the hallway. I stopped fighting to keep my eyes open.

I might as well finish dying before she came back to finish her game.

[linawritesocs]

I REMBERED THAT I HAVE A TWST OC BLOG 🎉🎉🎉🎉

[daincrediblegg]

JFJ + to shut them up (please ily)

James loathed nothing more than a pause in conversation. It was an absurd anxiety, he knew, but he'd always tried to fill it. It became easier when he had a wealth of valorous stories to fill that silence with, ones that in good company would find amicable laughter, spark anecdotes from his peers (men and women, who in truth he never felt an equal to), but it never gave him long enough to think about what they must think of him. In his youth, a silence was the sound only of an elephant in the room, and more often than not, that elephant was his, carried it around like a dutiful pet, feeding it the more he told his stories, the more he held up his glorious existence on display. It never sated the silly thing, in the end. The quiet would always come after one way or another. But at least he alone would sit with it, and not another.

He felt lucky, when he realized he didn't have to hide that from you, from Francis, two of the precious few people he could call true friends to him. The silence was comfortable around you. Perhaps for the first time in his life there was a safety in the lull that found him in your company, in your knowing what hung over his shoulders. You didn't need to hear his acts of valor to love him, nor would the truth of him dissuade you from it. Either of you.

And years he never felt the need to don his mask, but on his return to England, it found him again all the same. It found him tonight, stuffed into his naval blue coat and pauldrons, medals and gold hanging off him and trapping him in it. And the need made itself known again. Helpless to recount "that damned sniper story" again, as Francis so liked to remind him. But somehow, the words didn't come as easy as they used to. He found himself pausing more often than not, the flare in his voice gone. But he pressed through, despite so desperately wanting to tell what came of the wound. What scurvy had done to it. But that wouldn't be very pleasant conversation, would it?

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his train of thought. His head snapped to find a kind smile, and something of a knowing look in your eyes, peering up at him.

"James, may I borrow you for a moment? I'm afraid it's urgent."

Your eyebrows raised as you nodded towards the door. He nods his excuse to the party of invisible faces he found himself surrounded by, muttering a quiet "of course" before following you into another room, unoccupied, and dark, secluded.

"What is it? Are you all right? Is Francis-" is all he had the time to say before he was forcibly silenced by your quiet caring lips, slotting over them. He felt his heartbeat pick up a moment as your lips lingered, then as he settled into your soft embrace, felt it slow. Parting he found he could not produce another word for a moment.

"Shhh... it's all right James," you crooned, a gentle hand on his cheek, tracing his dimple with your thumb.

"You were doing it again. Looked like you needed saving."

He chuckled a little at that, half out of nerves, half from relief. How many times had you and Francis teased him for that damned sniper story? Too many to count by now.

"I suppose... I was," he sighs, leaning into your touch, close enough to touch his nose with yours. He breathed again, soaking in the blessed quiet, the faint chatter from the party outside feeling far away now.

"Thank you."

You nod, hand reaching to the back of his neck to pet the curls that draped below. He let your quiet reassurance embrace him, wrap him up and calm him, enough his eyes softly shut in contentment for a moment, and then a few more.

"We can leave, you know," you said once the time had passed enough, and James' eyes fluttered open to yours, doe-eyed and concerned and content. Now that was a thought. He'd been so wrapped up in his words, in his nerves, in truth, that he hadn't fully considered that as an option. He considered it seriously now, as you looked at him encouragingly.

"Shall we go?" you ask. James smiled. A sincere one. One that he'd only ever shown to two individuals in his whole life. He smiled and nodded.

"Yes. Please, I... I don't think I have the stomach for much more of this."

You returned his smile, and kissed his cheek again, soundly.

"I'll go get Francis. Get our coats and we'll meet you by the door."

He enjoyed how you gave orders. They always sounded so pleasant he couldn't help but widen his smile to know such care as this. He kissed his confirmation to the corner of your mouth gently, before withdrawing again.

"Don't be long."

"We won't."

Your hand grazed his cheek softly as you went, making its absence even fonder. He stood a moment, plucking up his courage from the floor where you had draped it, and made his exit a short moment after, heading towards the hall where a footman retrieved your coats for him to carry as he waited, already having put on his own.

He was only stood there a few short minutes before hearing the familiar sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and James turned to find you and Francis, walking arm in arm towards him. A great sigh left the older man's lips as he trekked down the hall to him, relief washing over his shoulders as he dropped the straightness in his back and square in his shoulders.

"Thank bloody Christ that's over," Francis groaned, eliciting a faint chuckle from his walking partner that made him smile.

"You can say that again," you replied, taking your coat from James' hands, wrapping it around your shoulders with grace and gloved hands. Francis reached next for his own, fingers gripping James' arm gently as he plucked his own coat, lingering a moment.

"All right, James?" he asks, his eyes warm, searching, concerned, glinting a warm pale blue in the candlelight. James nodded, soundlessly save the the small whimper that escaped him in the effort. Francis nods his understanding, a warmth renewing his grip before letting go to don his own coat.

"Home then?" Francis asks. James smiles with thoughts of fireplaces, and a shared warmth, and quiet.

"Yes. Home."

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

“What we share, [he] and I, may be a lot like a traffic accident, but we do share it. We are survivors, of each other. We have been shark to one another, but also lifeboat. That counts for something.”

— MARGARET ATWOOD, from Cat’s Eye.

From the moment they meet they had to trust one another, and even when at each other’s throats still there was the knowledge that each knew the best ways to protect one another in battle. Now almost 4 (Source) years since that fateful day you could never find a more capable pair that even with some new moves thrown in, are able to dance to perfection.

[r2y9s]

My Dear Bunny: Chapter 1

rewrote the first chapter, so here it is again.

Fandom: Raffles - E.W. Hornung

Rating: M

Relationships: A.J. Raffles/Bunny Manders

Additional Tags: Sugar Baby AU, POV Bunny, POV First Person, I always have this urge to write Sugar Baby AUs and Bunny is my newest victim, WIP

Summary:

"My dear Bunny! Is that really you?" Hearing my old school nickname in that familiar voice stirred something long locked away in the pit of my stomach. I ignored it. Swallowing hard and pulling myself together, I shifted slightly on my client's lap and forced a smile. "Why, Mr. Raffles!" I said, with as coy an air as I could muster. "What a strange surprise."

[ Chapter 2 ]

[msommers]

george is my new daughter but she's still in development mode so here's a bunch of unorganized, still to-be-confirmed rambles about her

georgina "george" "georgie" "gina" quinn; she/her; personality types tossed onto the graphic set here. obligatory pinterest.

part-time baker, tutor, and superhero. inherited aerokenisis (air manipulation abilities) from her parents, both well-established and famous heroes of freedom city.

has an older brother named zachary, he wields hydrokenisis openly while working as one of the city's firefighters and supers. also has a younger sister named charity, she doesn't appear to have inherited any powers and certainly doesn't have a dozen complexes about that fact.

parents: madeline & nathaniel quinn. undecided powers, though likely of elemental variety due to zach and george's ones lmao. potentially part of a group of supers, not determined yet. typical Good Guys type of heroes, decades worth of time spent cutting off crime and dispatching supervillains. heavily influenced the moral compasses and worldviews of their two oldest kids (honor and kindness above all, violence is the last resort, peacekeeping and protection are the goal), lessons they taught are remembered and acted upon even after their deaths reasonably lead to questioning if their ways worked. charity is somewhere around ten years younger than george so she had less time with the parents = conflict with her older siblings on their noble ways which got their parents killed. had quite a few awkward sibling meals end because of those "debates".

hero identity: zephyr. outfits are shades of sky blue and white, always with a hood and matching mask to obscure (some of, comic logic lets it work) her features. isn't spotted as often as other supers, but her vibes are known nonetheless: never fatally wounds, focuses on crowd control and flight, leaves criminals to the police instead of taking justice into her own hands. she'd only do it against chunky baddies who can tank damage but the image of her chucking various objects and items with the use of her powers is pretty fun. other power uses: speed bursts, electricity immunity, manipulating weather (incredibly exhausting on a bigger scale, not done often). has minimal hand-to-hand combat training that she learned from zach, taken up only if she's forced to ground herself during a fight and even then she tries her best to find ways to avoid it.

purely for fun, she's eternally a little chilly because i decided it'd be silly for her wind powers to affect her that way. her wardrobe reflects that and results in annual comments on how she's wearing ridiculous clothing during the warmer months.

the only quinn sibling to pursue education beyond high school, though it never saw much use due to hero life. i'm stupid do not ask me to specify her studies beyond physical science please and thank you <3

in her early teen years she started working at the family bakery (quinntessential confections) on-off, then eventually as an actual job during high school and college. had the privilege of flexible scheduling bc of the whole family-owned thing, which came in handy when she started to join in the supers activity alongside schoolwork.

was 23 when her parents were killed by doc holiday—a malefic entity from another dimension that takes human hosts to inflict its will, defeated in the 60s but recently returned possessing a college student to once again spread terror and violence. the quinns couldn't bring themselves to kill the being as he was controlling a poor kid that wasn't in control and actively hated everything the entity used him to do, which resulted in their deaths as holiday was motivated only to cause as much destruction and suffering as possible.

(might?? have a fun little thing of george having known the guy who holiday decided to turn into his puppet. add even more conflicting feelings to things.)

george ended up inheriting the bakery, while also needing to help cover the family home, which led to her doubling down on citizen work rather than super. she took up tutoring on the side, putting her studies to use there instead of searching for anything in those fields as she couldn't dream of letting the bakery go.

pastels are her beloveds and it's clear from the Everything about her. the bakery decorations, her bedroom, her wardrobe and accessories, etc etc. those things can also display her obsessive and perfectionist nature, everything must be neat and clean or it nags at her.

smth smth running battle with the umbral huntress who keeps trying to sway george towards altering her moral code because the city has so much corruption and her way of doing things is too "soft" to make a real impact. i'll bang out details later, important part is shoving my hero and my vigilante/villain together is fun and sexy. george never wavered until the deaths of her parents, unfortunately some of the huntress's points started to hit after that (probably won't last or truly change her mind?? but a fun journey to go on).

lowkey sims obsession and i don't think her gaming experience would go far beyond that franchise tbh. sometimes self-care is spending hours meticulously building a new school in sims 4 because you don't like the set-up of the default one included in the expansion pack, y'know.

listens to audiobooks as she works and her book collection is probably mostly of that variety, any printed ones are from childhood/teenage years or random ones bought to match an aesthetic she wanted for decorating a shelf or two.

[whump-in-the-closet]

I thoroughly enjoyed your medic story! Always a fan when the whole team gets a piece 😂 Do you think you might continue it someday?

Also, if you have the motivation, I beg of you to please write the western one! I feel like there's never quite enough outlaw whump

Have a great day today!

Hey thanks! I'd probably continue it if someone specifically requested it...I just have issues with pacing in a story if I'm being honest lmao

Anyway, western whump! I was very excited about this ask >:)

cw: branding, gun wound, pistol whipping, western whump, death mention, captivity, manhandling

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

With the malignant, rose-colored sun setting behind the shredded trees.

With the blood pooling out around him, staining the red clay.

With the butt of his gun glinting just out of his aching fingers' reach.

With the sheriff's men picking their way towards him.

He was supposed to get away.

They circled him, spurs cutting through the tall grass. They towered over the outlaw, smiling with satisfied confidence. The outlaw had seen vultures with that same expression in their beady eyes.

The sheriff crouched down, pushing his hat back to look at the outlaw. He smelled strongly of cigarettes and leather.

"Well, well," his toothpick shifted between his coffee-stained teeth, "Evenin' sunshine."

The outlaw grunted, keeping pressure on his injured arm. His fingers were slick with blood. His head buzzed, and he could suddenly see two of the sheriff.

It wasn't a pretty thing to see two of.

"You ain't talkin' so proud now," he said, hooking a calloused hand under the outlaw's arm and hauling him to his feet. He tied the outlaw's hands in front of him with quick movements, giving the outlaw no time to protest. "Should have put a bullet in your arm a long time back."

The rope was thick and the sheriff cinched it mercilessly.

The outlaw cursed through gritted teeth, his wrists turning an irritated red beneath the rawhide. "My-- my arm--"

The sheriff slapped him lightly. "None of that bitchin'." He gave the rope to one of his men and picked up the outlaw's gun.

The sheriff spun the outlaw's gun, letting him get a good look at the weapon.

A murderous glint flashed in the outlaw's eyes as the rope was tied to a horse's saddle. "That's mine," he spat.

I'll kill you.

The sheriff laughed. The toothpick jumped inside his mouth. "No, it ain't. Not anymore. The only thing that's yours is a date with the gallows." He stepped in close, too close, and pressed the still-warm muzzle of the gun to the outlaw's forehead. "You got that?"

The outlaw held his gaze, then dropped it. He said nothing, setting his mouth in a thin line.

The pressure increased. "Say, 'yes sir'."

The outlaw's mouth twitched.

"Say it."

Those two words brought the outlaw more pain than the bullets lodged in his shoulder. "Yes...sir."

Somehow, he made it sound like fuck you. He worked his jaw in a tight circle, swirling the tobacco and blood out from between his teeth. Wasting no time, he spat in the sheriff's face.

The sheriff didn't waste any time either. He swung the butt of the gun across the outlaw's forehead.

The outlaw crumpled-- hot pain spiking behind his eyes.

A thin line of blood traced away down his shirt collar.

His hat was knocked off his dusty hair and when they rode away, it was the only thing to mark that they were ever there at all.

A cowboy hat, discarded in a muddy pool of blood and trampled grass.

They dragged him for miles.

Stumbling, coughing, arm ripped at jarring angles. Until his legs turned to lead, and every breath made his ribs ache. His jeans were shredded where he'd fallen, knees bruised and raw.

When they arrived at the camp, they tied him to a low-lying tree. They left him alone as they built up a fire, but his cramped muscles hardly let him stretch and every movement felt like his last.

The young moon shone with a tired glimmer, highlighting the sandy patch of earth with a watery glow.

The fire snapped, sending up sparks into the grey night.

Somewhere, a coyote yipped, and another joined in, then another. The chorus became a long, drawn-out howl.

The outlaw watched as they ate.

His stomach growled. He had been on the run for weeks, and the smell of venison made the starved realization crash down harshly.

The sheriff stood up with a long stretch. He bent over the fire, adjusting a metal prong. He turned towards the outlaw with a slow smile.

The outlaw snarled. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

The sheriff approached him, nodding to two of his men.

A straw-haired man put out a cigarette on the heel of his boot and walked towards the outlaw. Another man, with a greasy mustache and striped shirt, followed.

The outlaw glared at both of them, straining against the ropes. "Fuck--" Too much pressure on his arm. Hurt. He inhaled deeply. "Fuck off."

The sheriff looked down. He spat at the outlaw.

Tobacco-stained spit dribbled down the outlaw's face, and he couldn't wipe it away. He squinted up at the sheriff.

"Do y'know how long I've waited for this?" drawled the sheriff. "A long time. A long, long time."

The straw-haired man grinned. He was missing his front teeth. "We always knew you were gonna git him, sir."

"Shut up, Barney," said the man with the greasy mustache. "Kissass."

The sheriff ignored both of them. "I reckon," he said to the outlaw. "You know how many men you killed when you stole those cattle?"

Three.

"I dunno."

"Three," the sheriff confirmed. "Three good, hard-workin' ranch hands, you cattle-lovin' bastard." The sheriff spoke in a low, harsh voice. "Now the ways I see it, you're about to get what you deserve."

A cold dread filled the outlaw. "The gallows?"

The sheriff smiled. "That. And this." He waved his two men forward and turned back to the fire. "Death is too kind for the likes of you."

The straw-haired man flicked open a knife, and the other pinned the outlaw against the tree. They cut off his shirt, leaving the fire to cast shadows on his bare skin.

The outlaw cursed them, cursed the sheriff, and cursed their mothers.

The greasy-mustached man grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back until he shut up.

The sheriff's spurs clicked to a stop beside him.

Out of the corner of his eye, the outlaw could make out the red-iron of a cattle brand.

His breaths quickened, rising and falling at a sharp, frantic pace. "No--"

"Yes. A cattle brand for a cattle thief. Only fair."

A new terror blossomed, wrapping around the outlaw's ribcage and rising up his throat as the brand loomed over him.

He could feel the heat before it even touched. He shrank back, incomprehensible swearing cutting through the night. Like his words were the only thing protecting him from the burning touch.

The sheriff pressed the brand down on the outlaw's chest.

The pain was instantaneous and brilliant, a fiery throbbing that made him scream until his voice was raw. He ripped away, back arching in a futile attempt to escape. Raw tears burned their way down his face, blurring his vision until the world narrowed to two things: the smell of burning flesh and the sheriff's veiny hand.

He collapsed as soon as the sheriff's men let go of him, spine curved in the moonlight as he doubled over.

The agony was new and fresh and throbbing, throbbing, throbbing.

The coyotes paused their chorus, then started up again. This time, the outlaw's crying joined them.

[petri808]

Twiyor AU

“Please?!” The women begs. “I heard you were some kind of Cupid; can’t you help me find a match?”

It’s another day and another coffee shop I’ve found myself in. I’d grown used to these requests, even though I’ve given up on love. Ever since the rumors spread during my college years of how my relationship recommendations equaled 100% success, it’s a never-ending routine of requests. I don’t know if it’s so perfect, and frankly don’t care anymore. Because you see, I have a gift… Take this woman sitting across the table. I can see that her hearts aura is a yellowish color which means if she falls for someone with a similar color, they’ll be a good match. Getting the gist of what I can do? 

I sit back in my chair and take a sip from my coffee cup. “I don’t actually find you a match. You show me someone you’re interested in, and I’ll tell you if I think you’re a good match.”

“Oh…” the woman deflates in her chair. “I see… There isn’t anyone I’m interested in right now.”

“Then you can always contact me when you’re ready.” I throw on a professionally fake smile and stand up from the table. “Have a nice day ma’am.”

That was a waste of my time, but at least I got free coffee out of it. On my way back home, my friend texts me to see how the meeting had gone. Franky, the pest. This is all his fault, the A.K.A. rumor starter and only person who knows my secret. He even set up a website for people to find me… how thoughtful, so now my free time is taken up by this pseudo part-time job. 

‘She didn’t read the description on the website,’ I text Franky back, ‘so it was a bust.’

I’m not a warm-hearted guy who’s doing this out of the kindness of my heart or care about other people’s happiness. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to see all the successful pairings when I’ve never had one in my twenty-eight years? All the thank you cards, photos, and wedding invitations from the successful pairings filled with syrupy sweetness. It’s enough to make my teeth hurt. 

My phone pings, it’s Franky again. ‘Oh well she’ll be back.’

No doubt, I sigh and toss my apartment keys onto the counter before dropping onto the sofa. I’ve still got a couple more hours to kill so I close my eyes as the memories of failures run their course. Not to brag, but I know I’m a good-looking guy who’s been popular all through high school, college, even now as a salary man. Perfect blonde hair, striking blue eyes, fit build— you’d think finding a partner of my own would be easy, right? Not so. Not only can I see the hearts aura, which is akin to a person’s essence, but also their emotions in the moment like a halo glowing above their heads. Women always look at me with a superficial lust, judging me based on appearance and those ones disinterest me the most. The few times I’ve dated, it was those halos again revealing what they really thought about me. Some cheated or maybe didn’t really love me anymore, but the worst were lies. People can so easily lie, but their emotions never do with their background dark greens and browns giving it all away. Eventually, it gets tiring to even try and besides, it’s not like I know my own color to guide me. Maybe then I’d find a better match without having to play the guessing game…

It’s Friday night, and it’s Valentine’s Day, so why am I at the bar with Franky? Ugh, I’m such an idiot for letting him talk me into this. ‘We’re both bachelors,’ he’d pitched, ‘maybe we’ll get lucky.’ Well, lucks never been much of a friend and I’m more likely to end up with a stomachache. 

For a Valentine’s Day the bar is comfortably full, a mixture of couples and hopefuls looking to change their status. As one could imagine, there are a lot of reds and pinks hovering over heads, then a scattered variety over the rest. I’d seen quite a few potential matches while walking in, but too bad for them that several of the couples aren’t among them. 

“Loid, I just don’t get it man.” Franky squeezes and shakes my shoulder. “So, what if it might end? Sometimes gotta go through a few snags before landing the right fish. You shouldn’t rely on that gift of yours so much and just take a chance.”

Sitting at the counter with my back to it all is the best option. All the fish in this bar that Franky’s yapping about is not for me, and I’d rather not be reminded of it. Just shut up and let me drink! 

I set my drink onto the bar top. “I’ve taken enough chances and I’m over it for now.”

“Tch,” Franky let’s go with a harumph. “Fine, then back to me.” He turns his body to scan the room. “Oh, hello! Beauty just walked in!”

“Maybe beauty will like a beast like you.” I snicker without looking.

“Pfft! Well, she’s looking this way… staring actually!” Franky slaps my chest in rapid succession with the back of his hand. “Take a look, is she a fit for me??”

I doubt it, I think to myself as I turn to look. It’s not that I don’t doubt she’s pretty cause Franky’s tastes only run to models but—

“Rainbow…” the words wisp from my lips before my brain can catch up to the scene. A raven-haired beauty staring in our direction so strongly it sends chills shooting down my spine. Who is this woman? It’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone with a rainbow color! Most are just one, maybe two tops but not her, she’s literally sparkling like a character in a comic. 

“Rainbow?” I hear Franky parrot but I’m too mesmerized to care or remember he is next to me. He’s asking more questions… jabbing my side, but all I can is do is watch— frozen to my seat as she moves towards us from the front door. My breathing slows as she gets within a meter’s length. 

Her eyes flash as a beaming smile takes over, sending my heart into a tizzy and breathing to a halt. 

“Wow!” She grabs my hand forcefully without hesitation, as if willed by an invisible force. “I’ve never seen a rainbow aura before on anyone else. You’re just like me!”

Huh? What? Come again?! My head tips slightly in confusion. “I’m sorry? Did you say I have the rainbow aura? Ma’am, you have the rainbow aura.”

“No, you do.” She smiles brighter. “We both do.”

“Y-You can see… my color?”

“Yeah,” her eyes sparkle again.

Sparkling like ruby gemstones glinting off the bars backlit liquor display. Her gaze is a sirens lullaby slowing time itself— I can’t look away… just taking in the vision of long dark hair against creamy light skin on slim yet toned features. The yellowish orange excitement surrounding her head is slowing melting into a reddish orange. I feel the heat rising on my cheeks the longer I stare, my own color no doubt changing to red as well if the surprised look on her face is any indication. Shit! This is the first time this ability has made me feel so self-conscience! 

“Tch,” I hear Franky’s annoyed tone, “I’ll catch ya later Loid.”

“Yeah…” I respond back without breaking eye contact with the woman. I’d forgotten he was even there. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting sir.” The woman directs her words towards Franky who merely nods and walks away before turning back to me. “Um… mister Loid?” 

Her voice snaps me out of the void. “Oh, yes. Sorry how rude of me,” I quickly gesture to Franky’s now vacant bar stool. “Please, if you’ll join me.” 

Considering the enthusiastic lack of hesitation earlier, now it’s so cute how this beauty’s turned shy. I do my best to focus on her and not look at the colors dancing around her because Franky did have a point about not relying on auras. Though from the rosy hue of her cheeks, coyly down-casted eyes and upturned lips, to the fidgeting fingers in her lap it’s obvious which emotions are plaguing her. 

I take her trembling hand and kiss it’s back. “I’m Loid Forger,” I flash a smile, “and you are?”

She pulls her hand back only to tuck some loose tendrils behind her ear in a nervous gesture. “M-My name is Yor Briar. I’m sorry for the sudden intrusion, I was just so happy to see someone else like me I couldn’t stop myself.”

“It’s okay,” I smile sweetly. “I’m happy too, but I don’t want to ruin your plans either, are you meeting someone here?”

“Ah!” She suddenly straightens out as if remembering suddenly, turns and scans the room as she continues talking. “Yes, my co-worker… but I don’t… see her yet.” Yor let’s out an exhale of relief. “She’ll be surprised to see me sitting with a man.”

“Oh?”

Yor blushes again with her shoulders slumping in embarrassment. “I—I’ve always been too shy to deal with men.”

I chuckle lightly, “but I bet with your looks there’s been many suitors.”

So adorable! I laugh internally at how cute she is, because if Yor blushes anymore fiercely her hair might catch fire. She turns her gaze fully to the floor unable to meet my eyes.

“I could say the same for you.” Yor responds in a soft voice. “Besides, I’d never met my hearts match before.”

Now it’s my turn to blush. So, she knows how the colors work, I shouldn’t be surprised considering it didn’t take me long to figure it out either. In middle school when classmates started dating, I began noticing a pattern between the couples that lasted and the couples that didn’t. I don’t think those relationships were as stable though because even those with the same color would sometimes break up, so it wasn’t until college that I fully understood. Anyway, there is one difference between us. 

I sigh light-heartedly, “neither had I,” before perking up again, “but at least you can see your own aura, because I can’t that made it more difficult to know who would be a match.”

“Oh, really?” Yor perks up as well and meets my gaze. “I suppose that’s true.” 

After ordering new drinks, our conversation continues for several more minutes before Yor’s friend finally shows up. Based on the interweaved green and red pulsing around her, the female coworker whose name is Millie is jealous that Yor caught my attention. So, they’ve come tonight as part of the hopeful crowd. Sorry Millie, but my hearts already taken. 

“So, exactly what is it you do Mr. Forger?” Millie questions with a grilling tone to her voice. 

Is she asking for her friend’s sake or for her own. Not that it matters to me. I throw on my fake professional smile for the woman. “I’ve always been great at understanding people, so I became a psychiatrist. It’s my own practice but I do work for the hospital as well as provide pro bono services for the local orphanage.” 

“Wow,” Millie keeps her outward expressions emotionless trying to hide her annoyance. “You’re such a great guy to help those orphans. Yor’s lucky to have met you.”

Oh, the flickering jealousy is so amusing. Millie’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets in surprise. A philanthropist doctor?! She’s practically seething over it, so why not go in for a kill shot? Shut this woman up and impress Yor at the same time, it’s two birds with one stone. “I do it because I enjoy it. Those kids have gone through a traumatic experience, so I couldn’t help but be moved— enough so, that I ended up adopting a bright little girl named Anya who really captured my heart.”

My chest puffs out unconsciously when I see Yor’s face brighten like a blooming rose and Millie’s faux smile falters. I already know we’re a good match, but I want Yor to want me for more than just some supernatural power. Plus, the story isn’t a complete lie. Originally, I adopted Anya for a tax write off— yes, I know that’s despicable, but it didn’t take long for the precocious child to win over my heart. 

Millie recovers quickly and redirects toward her friend. “Are you willing to be a stepmom Yor?” She asks no doubt hoping her friend will be taken aback at a sudden change like motherhood. 

“Yes!” Yor replies quicker than I’d expected and with much enthusiasm. She’s practically on the edge of her seat, eyes sparkling at such an idea. “I don’t mind at all. After my parents died, I had to take care of my younger brother, so I have a lot of experience already though…” Yor shrinks back a little. “I’m not a very good cook.”

Oh, this is perfect! My smile brightens. “I’m sure you’d make an amazing mother Yor.” But, perhaps it’s time to let things marinate a little as well. “Well lady’s,” I stand up from my seat. “It’s been fun, but I must get up early to pick my daughter up from her sleepover tomorrow, so it’s time for me to leave. You both have fun.” I then take Yor’s hand again and place a chaste kiss to the back of the knuckles. “Though you, not too muchfun,” I tease, “may I contact you tomorrow?”

Yor’s rainbow aura shimmers along with the flash of an embarrassed and beaming smile. “Y-Yes! Of course, I look forward to it.”

Me too, Ms. Briar… me too… 

Did my aura just shimmer too as if calling out to its match? I can’t see my own aura but somehow it sure feels that way. I squeeze her hand with a final kiss to her cheek. “Then till tomorrow.”

The moment I’ve turned my back to them, I can’t help but smile to myself. Such a totally unexpected event! I’ll thank Franky later. Tis a Happy Valentine’s Day after all…

[gillianthecat]

well, i'm not really shocked about it, but my executive function basically collapses on saturdays. it would be nice if it didn't, but i'm also cutting myself some slack about it. i think my brain just needs at least one day a week to let go of all self discipline. it's inconvenient, but i'm hoping it will work as a pressure valve so i can stay on top of things the rest of the week.

i did not sleep at all last night and instead compulsively went through someone's tumblr blog looking for all the personal details of her life even though our interests don't really overlap because she's the same age as me, she posted actual photos of herself and family (which felt slightly shocking on this website, though i know she's not the only one by far) and there were hints that she lived in the same area as me (it turns out she does). that happens sometimes, I get fascinated by some random person's online presence and want to dig up all the details that i can about them. not because i necessarily find the person themselves that interesting, it's more about the hunt for snippets of information. And, like with this woman, it's often someone who is like me in a few ways, but otherwise very different, so it feels like a glimpse at the mundanities of an alternate life i might have lived, although don't actually want. I used to get my fix of the details of ordinary other people's lives from the blogs of adult ballet students and ballroom dancers, and the occasional organizing/interior design blog, but sadly long form blogging like that seems to have basically disappeared. I never regularly followed youtubers but occasionally fell down a rabbit hole and obsessively watched people's entire oeuvres in a ridiculous binge.

and then a random link on that first tumblr-er's blog led me to an article in a magazine that then suggested a second article that was so awful, written by someone who someone who styled themselves a "public intellectual" but was either so implausibly naive about reality that it boggled the mind, or cynically pretending to be naive for... stirring up controversy? pandering to white racists? who the fuck knows - that i felt compelled to find all the bad reviews talking shit about him, partly to reassure myself that i had not lost my grip on my reality, that it was this writer who was talking absolute nonsense, and partly just to enjoy other people tearing him to shreds. i even when to twitter, for gods sake (this is how we know my executive function is in shambles). i did find many people there destroying him, managed to avoid reading his own tweets or that of his supporters, and got off in under an hour, so as twitter forays go, it wasn't too dangerous.

last saturday's executive dysfunction all-nighter was mostly dedicated to aimless scrolling of tumblr corners that i don't usually visit, but there i also found someone who made no sense, and felt compelled to dig through there blog to see if learning more about them helped me understand what they were trying to say any better. it did not. their blog was mostly reblogs of random things, then them reblogging political/philosophical posts with incoherent but aggressive sounding arguments. i dug into the notes, because of course i did, and anyone who bothered to respond was like "i have no idea what you're trying to say so i'm not going to argue with you." i finally blocked them, just to stop myself from digging further.

mostly i'm writing this out in order to get back to my self; i feel like my sense of who i am and what i want gets lost as i go on this little explorations of other people's worlds. which i think is what i'm craving when i do it; to not have to be a coherent person for a little while. but if it goes on too long than i find it hard to become myself again, and all the tasks that have remained undone while i went away pile up and make me want to go back into hiding. but i am hopeful i've caught it in time that i can get back to being functional, and finish my homework and laundry and not start the week feeling so terribly behind.

the other reason for executive dysfunction is that i have a writing assignment (gasp!). it is a very small one—to write the introduction to our physiology lab report for my lab group—but i'm feeling very stuck about it. i think because i feel caught between wanting to make it sound like an introduction to an actual scientific paper and the reality that this is an intro level physiology lab that is not doing original research and that we came up with our hypotheses on the spot with little to back them up besides a gut feeling. so i think i just have to get over wanting to write a "good" introduction, and just bullshit something. (this is why i'm taking science classes. i get so stuck on doing academic writing. it took me an extra two years to turn in my undergrad thesis even after i finished all my coursework.)

here's a picture being the "subject" for my physio lab and looking like i'm about to get a jump start.

well. i could ramble on forever. but i will try to take this momentum i've rebuilt and go get things done.

(it would have been nice if my complete collapse of will power had led me to catch up on QL shows instead, but alas, that is now too close to things i "should" do, even though i love them. my brain seems to only accept complete and absolute time wasting.)

[saintrosalyn]

JAILBIRD

Ghost becomes pen pals with an inmate before deciding that he wants to adopt his little jailbird.

Word count: 4.1k

Tw: inmate reader, reader is kept as vauge as possible but is implied to be younger than Ghost, violence, stalking, ghost is a perv, p in v, oral (f! Receiving), creampie, spanking (once), orgasm denial if you squint, unprotected sex, NOT edited we die like men.

Edited to Add: Part Two is posted :)

Notes: Baby’s first fanfic, please be gentle. Let me know if I missed any trigger warnings or if you want to see more! I have an idea for a second part but I don’t know if anyone wants it, right now it’s tucked away safely in my drafts. Enjoy! :)

P.S. I’m thinking about making an ao3 account and publishing an edited version of this on there. I’ll link it if I do! I’ve already spent too much time procrastinating finals but christmas break is around the corner so who knows.

The letter came with the top serrated, already opened, as all your letters came. You mostly ignored them. There were a couple of programs that allowed people to become pen pals with prisoners but you’d been there long enough to know what they often contained. 

Many of the women milked poor losers on the outside. Money given and sent. Promises of butterfly kisses and blowjobs whispered over the phone. Exchanges. Some were even able to sweet talk their honeys into giving bribes. Money passed into hands of guards, currency that was then exchanged for cigarettes, which were much more valuable on the inside than the bills used on the outside.

You don’t know why you read this letter. It certainly wasn’t the penmanship, a scrawled handwriting that lay between cursive and print. Maybe it was the blue pen, you’d recognize a Bic anywhere, or maybe it was the fact that it smelled a bit like top-shelf liquor. 

It was rather blunt. But not in an obscene way. Simple and straight to the point as if constrained by an unknown word count. It wasn’t memorable, but what else was there to do? Pace your cell back and forth and wait for zoochosis to settle further in your bones. Close your eyes and remember what freedom tasted like before it dissolved in your mouth.

The pen they gave you was cheap, the paper even cheaper, but you were used to making things work. Your reply was shorter than his, than Simon’s, but it got the job done. If he wanted to write back he would. If he didn’t, well, the new prison guard was starting to get rather handsy with you. The time will pass no matter what.

___

His replies came in strange patterns. Some weeks you’d get eight in a week, other times you wouldn’t hear from him for a few months. It took a year for the first phone call of which lasted less than a minute and consisted mostly of him grunting on the other end and a schlick sound you pretended not to notice. It was his fourth phone call that he finally said a few words in a voice so low it made the phone buzz against your ear, tickling like a lover's breath. Eventually, you had some semblance of conversations, even if they were interrupted by a recorded voice warning you of the time you had left. 

He told you he was a soldier and at first, you planned on cutting the whole penpal idea off. Even before you got arrested you hated bootlickers more than anything. But Simon grew on you, and your friends all suggested you get in his good graces to see if he could pull some strings. You would’ve felt guilty if he was anything other than glorified government property. Both of you were.

The first thing he gave you was a book, The Yellow Wallpaper, which was thicker than you remembered from the time you read it in school. It was only when you cracked open the spine did you find a pack of cigarettes inside, the pages carved out so your real present could be placed inside. You couldn’t help the smile that split your lips as you pressed one between your lips, not noticing the tiny S carved into it.

You thank him for the gift by whispering his name into the phone. A mantra, a prayer, it didn’t matter as long as you kept your voice breathy. He promises to get you more and you learn not to refuse him. At one point, you notice that little robotic voice doesn’t time you anymore. The guard who couldn’t keep his hands to himself was replaced with a woman, hair pulled back into a military-style bun. And you got an extra cookie with your meals.

It took a year for him to visit. You knew it was coming eventually, men are only fine with their imagination for so long before they crave something tangible. Hell, even you were curious about the man who wanted to sink his teeth into you. It almost felt like getting ready for a date. Butterflies dropped like lead in your stomach as you tried to tidy your appearance as much as you could. You smelled, but there wasn’t much you could do about that. The whole damn prison smelled like a county fair bathroom. The lack of air conditioning in the heat of summer just added a sweet BO tinge. 

The first thing you noticed about Simon was his size. You had never met a man as big as he was. The next was the thick scar tissue that marred his face. Though, even without the scars you would be hesitant to ever call him handsome.

Intimidating.

That was what came to mind staring at the thick cords of muscle that covered his arms and the broadness of his shoulders wasn’t just genetics. And he just stared at you. You glanced at the phone that connected to his on the other side of the glass and back at him but decided against it.

You offered him a small smile and an awkward wave. It unnerved you. The focus and attention pinned you in place. Normally you kinned yourself to a tiger you saw at a zoo when you were a child. One that paced back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A habit you understood all too well. But sitting in front of your pen pal you realized you were rather off. 

Simon was the tiger and you were the bird that caught his attention.

It took far too long for the guard to come and collect you. For once you were grateful to retreat back to your cell, so much so that in your retreat you failed to notice the nod your warden gave Simon.

___

After that Simon met with you in person as often as was allowed. He never said anything and neither did you. Eventually, the novelty of him wore off. Humans were rather adaptable creatures, and you could only be scared of the man for so long before your body adjusted to him. Despite your silence, Simon didn’t appear displeased with you. In fact, it was almost the opposite of it. More gifts arrived.

A pillow, high-end shampoo, a toothbrush (that you had a strange suspicion was used before being given to you), nail polish, and more cigarettes. Some of the women were jealous of the attention given to you, others tried to get with you to share your bounty. Somehow you dodged most of the conflict. But you can only run so long while trapped with so many women.

When you showed up to your meeting sporting a bruised cheek and split lip the air quickly changed. Before you thought Simon looked like a predator. 

You were wrong.

Fear coursed through your veins and you recognized the look in his eyes. Every woman in the damn place knows what a hunger for violence looked like. Slowly he reached out an arm, the sleeve of his hoodie riding up slightly showing off tattoos, before grabbing the phone and pressing it to his ear. With a shaking hand, you did the same.

“Bird.” His voice was somehow deeper in real life than over the phone.

“You should see the other guy.”

His lips twitched.

There was something uncanny about his eyes. They weren’t brown, they were black. Obsidian. You realized that before, the first time you met him, he wasn’t trying to scare you. Though, you were pretty sure it wasn’t directed at you.

“Just a little spat is all Simon. Everything sorted itself out.”

All over a bottle of nail polish. Tempers run short in prison. You spend most of your days in a cell, and what little free time you get surrounded by the same insufferable bitches, it’s a mystery there isn’t more violence. For the most part, things were settled with words. The more physical an inmate gets the more time spent in your cell. There were some weeks where you spent twenty-three hours a day in that little room. 

Simon let out a sigh as if dealing with you was the most insufferable part of his day.

“Did ye’ get medical attention a’ least?”

You nodded your head.

He gave a grunt.

That seemed to be his preferred method of communication with you. Caveman grunts and growls, the occasional moan over the phone he couldn’t hold back. You figured it had something to do with his job. He was quite tight-lipped about it, but you gathered he has co-workers (his squad? Platoon? What was the proper lingo?). Despite this, you were under the impression he spent the majority of his time alone. He always seemed more primal after those month-long stints of silence.

You always wondered how you would feel if he never contacted you again. Went out and didn’t come back. Would you assume he was dead? That he moved on to prettier things that aren’t locked away? Would it make a difference to you? 

No. It wouldn’t.

Even now you got letters upon letters from other men. Though none were as giving as Simon was.

It was back to silence and staring contests that you were used to. The both of you slipping into a familiarity. He never put the phone back. Even when your warden came and escorted you back. You didn’t glance back at him. 

Tucked away in your cell you didn’t get to watch Simon slowly rise out of his seat, chair creaking from the shifting of his weight. You didn’t see Simon lurk in the back as the inmates met with their loved ones on the out. Didn’t see him take notice of a particular girls with nails painted the same shade as his gift to you. The same shade as the tip of his cock.

___

The girl was transferred. For a singular moment, you thought Simon had something to do with it. Then laughed at the idea. Simon may be in the military, but you highly doubted he had anything to do with the bitch who got transferred. At least you got your nail polish back. It was a strange shade, and the idea of a man as big as Simon standing in an isle trying to pick out a shade made you chuckle, it was the thought that counted.

Time marched on. Penpals came and went but Simon stayed the consistent part in your life. 

Eventually, the possibility of parole was on the horizon. 

Freedom. 

So close you could practically taste it.

Unfortunately, that meant a laundry list of to-do items. Court hearings, lawyers bankrolled by Simon, arranging for transportation and housing. Simon handled most of it. By now, the lingering guilt of using your soldier fiance had long left you. He seemed like the kind of man who needed to learn lessons the hard way, and entering a relationship with a felon was a lesson most didn’t need to learn. Still, he had been putting in quite a hard amount of work. He deserved a treat.

And after years of forced celibacy, you needed it bad.

The two of you would enjoy each other for a week or two. Simon would realize he made a mistake moving you in. He would kick you out. You’d pawn the ring he’d give you and use the money as a cushion as you landed, getting back on your feet. The two of you would go your separate ways and never see each other again.

Being in prison taught you a lot of things. Despite everything, patience wasn’t one of those lessons. The day you were gaining your freedom passed was the slowest part of your life. The checking, double checking, retrieving your stuff, checking again, until finally,

Finally,

You were outside. You were outside in something other than a uniform that stunk of sweat, there were no handcuffs. Anxiety crept everywhere. You wanted to get as far away from the prison as you could, if you breathed wrong a warden would drag you back. A pair of arms snatched you.

You looked up and couldn’t help but laugh, pressing your lips against his scarred ones.

“Fucking Christ your tall.”

He chuckled against your lips before taking them again, hands digging near painfully into your ass. The two of you somehow managed to walk back to his car peeling off one another before Simon peeled away, hand clutching the fat of your thighs as he drove.

“Never pictured you as a reckless driver.” You giggled.

The adrenaline and giddiness of being free hadn’t worn off yet. If anything it seemed to slowly be morphing into a different beast entirely. You pressed your lips against his bicep causing him to groan. You glanced up at him, watching as his jaw clenched weaving in and out of traffic in a way that was certainly not legal. You would’ve been worried about being pulled over if he wasn’t driving a military vehicle. They answered to a different police, or so he told you.

Eventually, he pulled into the yard of a house with an honest-to-God white picket fence. You smiled as you got out, curiosity creeping in about what his house was like. Simon opened the door for you, which would probably should’ve made you swoon at his gentleman-like behavior, but truthfully it was how he hauled you out of the card and dragged you inside that got your heart racing. 

Impatient.

The door barely closed before his body was pressed against yours and his lips were pressed against your jugular. One of his rough hands slipped up your shirt, grunting when he found a clear path to your tits instead of meeting the edge of a bra. The other dipped into the waistband of your pants, running over your clothed cunt, no doubt feeling the wet spot against your underwear. Your hands slid over his arms, squeezing at the muscle, before slowly sliding them up and up, going to the back of his neck, a hand threading through his short hair the other cupping his face to kiss yours. 

A large thumb found your clit, only the thin cotton stopped him from rubbing directly against it. He pressed down hard on it, causing your breath to catch in your throat, his thumb moving down your slit. The seam of your mouth parted in a moan and he used that to stick his tongue down your throat. 

The kiss was obscenely wet, beastly as his spit passed from his mouth into yours. Before prison, you would’ve pulled away with a grimace. Too much tongue, too much teeth, too much. But your whole body was on fire, years of pent-up orgasms made you desperate for it all. For someone to press against you, to be inside you.

Simon was oh-so-convenient. 

You tried to pull away, lungs burning enough to convince you that air was in fact a need, but the door stopped you. Pressed between it and Simon you had no escape. You whimpered against his mouth, again and again until he finally got the hint and pulled away, a string of spit connecting your mouths as if it too was reluctant to pull away from you.

“Bedroom?” You panted, though if he took you here against the door you would die happy.

Simon threw you over his shoulder and took his stairs two at a time before tossing you on his bed making you laugh. The caveman and his prize. Simon took the moment of being away from you to pull at the collar of his shirt. You watched in appreciation as it lifted higher and higher until it was discarded on his carpet. 

His body was marred in scar tissue, muscle, and a layer of fat that made for a solid fine specimen of the male species. His pants were discarded next, and either he pulled his underwear down with them or he just wasn’t wearing any to begin with. You didn’t have much time to ponder that thought distracted by his hard cock.

Jesus Christ.

Big was an understatement, monster was the word that popped into your mind. It crossed the territory between delicious into scary. Large and thicker than you thought possible. You swallowed and for a second hoped he would forget about the blowjob you promised him after he gave you a pillow. 

“Yer’ wearin’ too many clothes Birdie.” 

Quickly, though not as quickly as Simon was, you wiggled out of your pants, shrugged off your shirt throwing it in the same pile as his clothes. He stepped closer to you, one large hand grabbing your ankle before retching you towards him.

He leaned down, mouthing at your bare tits, slobbering over them. The soft press of his tongue flicked over your nipple before he moved to the other and grazed his teeth over it. His hands were everywhere. He was everywhere. Impossibly big and pressed against you everywhere. Until all your senses were filled with him. As if Simon was the only thing that mattered in the world.

The artificial sun in your glass cage.

His mouth moved lower, nipping at your skin before he moved between your legs. He settled his body in between them, the calloused palm of his hands pressing your legs further and further apart until the stretch burned in the muscles where your legs met your pelvis. Quickly the pain faded into the background as he pressed a kiss against your bare clit, before taking it in his mouth and sucking. You felt the rough pad of his fingertips press against your hole rubbing against it but never quite dipping inside. Again and again, he moved it against you but never in you. 

It was maddening.

You tilted your pelvis against his mouth, trying to coax his fingers into your welcoming body. He growled against your clit, removing his mouth causing you to whine. A sharp sting met your ass cheek and you yelped.

He spanked you.

“Behave.”

You never took the man to be hungry for anything other than missionary, but it seemed he had learned a few tricks over the years. He did have a few on you, you were sure of it. Your thoughts leaked out of your ears as he moved back up, slotting his hips in between your legs. Liquid lust ran through your veins at the sight of him rubbing his dick against your mound, a mess of your slick and his pre dragging along your pussy and up to your belly button. Your poor hole clenching around nothing at the image of how deep he was about to be in you.

You took a deep breath, mesmerized as he pressed the tip against your entrance, catching it before pressing himself inside. He went slowly, and you couldn’t help the moan that left you as he finally began to sink home. Throwing your head back you closed your eyes as he stretched your body out.

You weren’t a virgin before you were locked away, but years of celibacy made you feel born again. Hell, with the size Simon was even if you had fucked him before he would’ve made you feel virginal with the way he was splitting you open.

When you opened them again you caught his gaze, he stared at you watching your expression pinch as he gave small thrusts, working the last of him inside you. When his balls pressed against your ass you let out a shaky breath. You had passed your limit two inches ago but somehow Simon had managed to coax your sweet pussy to take the last of him inside. The pain of him had taken you away from the edge of an orgasm he was working you towards, but when his hand found your clit again you knew you weren’t going to last long.

If his shaky breaths were anything to go by Simon wasn’t going to last long either. 

He kissed you again, this time it was softer. Sweeter. Made your stomach turn in a moment of guilt. It was replaced when he drew out of you, slowly letting you feel inch after inch leave your body, before slamming back in.

He moved again against you. And again. Building up a punishing rhythm. You couldn’t help the small ah ah ah’s that left your lips as he rutted in you. Your hips pushed against his, working with him as you both chased your highs. 

His hand never left your clit, as if glued to it working in tight fast circles. His other hand traveled along your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Squeezing at your tits so hard you thought it might bruise, running up your bare skin, constantly moving and feeling. As if he couldn’t believe that you were real. That you were out of your cage and underneath him panting his name in his ear instead of against the end of a phone. 

Your own hands wandered. Moving over his arms, God’s gift to you, his chest. But mostly they moved down his back, feeling his muscles move and contract under your hands. Before you left you would convince him to put a mirror over his bed, so you could watch his shoulders shift and move as he thrust inside you.

It was too much. The feel of Simon, the stimulation on your clit, the thick cock pistoning like a machine inside you, pressure built and built inside you. Your nails dug into his back, dragging down as he pushed you off that ledge.

Simon’s thrusts stuttered as he felt your walls fluttering around him, suckling at his cock, coaxing him. He came with a groan soon after you, painting your walls with thick globs of his cum.

You panted as he rested against you, letting his cock soften inside you as you ran your nails over the nape of his neck and caressed his short hair. It was oddly soft, comforting to run your hands over.

Simon began to untangle himself from you, slowly as if reluctant to part from your embrace. He moved to what you now realize was the on-suite connected to his bedroom. You could feel his cum start to drip out of your cunt and down your asshole, shifting at the uncomfortable feeling. You couldn’t find the energy yet to move, not even sure if your legs could support you right now. Simon came back to you, wash-cloth in hand, and began wiping up the mess he made.

“We’ll have to get a Plan B tomorrow.” You murmured as he crawled back into bed next to you.

Simon didn’t say anything, but he had always been a quiet man. He maneuvered the both of you until you rested under the covers, your hand running along his bare chest. Tracing his happy trail before moving back up, not ready to go again.

The adrenaline from before had worn off, leaving you suddenly exhausted. Sated and free you dozed off against him.

When you woke up again it was darker outside. Not yet the full black of night but rather the soft blue that came after the sun had only just dipped out of sight. Simon wasn’t in bed next to you. You rolled over with a sigh, sitting up and smoothing your hair. Thirsty you threw the covers off your body and padded across out of his room entering into a small hallway. There was a door directly across his room and with a shrug, you went into it. 

It wasn’t snooping if you lived here now too. Even if you were only going to stay for a little bit.

The handle turned easily but the room was darker than you expected, no windows to let in any natural light. Your hands patted at the wall until you found the edge of a light switch, with a click the room was bathed in a soft glow.

Your breath hitched.

The room was bare except for a small desk and chair, the walls were covered in photos. Photos of you. Old photos, from before your prison stint. Mugshots. But what made your skin crawl were photos of you in your cell. You sprawled out on your uncomfortable cot. You sitting cross-legged across from your cellmate. Images of you in the cafeteria. Images of you in the yard. 

You took a step back, then another, and another.

You flicked the light back off and slowly closed the door. You took a shuddering breath and yelped when you felt a chest pressed against yours. 

Simon’s hands dug into your hips, pulling you tight against him.

“You look like you’ve seen a Ghost, Birdie.”

Poor little bird, trading one cage for another.

___

Part Two