#notebook unusual battle

[maybemaleksentmeasakindness]

I'm Right Here

Chapter One (of two) : Jealousy Rears Its Ugly Head

Part Two Here

Summary - Watching Violet and Liam tease each other only makes you more acutely aware of the deep feelings you hold for your best friend and one day you're just going to pop.

Notes/Warnings - Swearing, cursing, people flipping each other off, jealousy, talks of assassinations attempt(s). (Romance will be in chapter two.) This plot/these lines are heavily inspired by a scene from Chapter Twenty-One in Fourth Wing. 1.1k words.

🐉🗡️

You slowly make your way towards Battle Briefing with Liam, arm locked with his. The hall and stairwell seems to be unusually packed. You can hear Ridoc just steps ahead, bragging about how he owned the most recent physics test. 

“Definitely the highest score in the class,” Ridoc boasts with a grin. 

You don’t need to see Rhi to know she’s rolling her eyes. “Please!” She almost scoffs it out. “I scored five points higher than you.”

You hide a grin as best you can, burying your face in Liam’s shoulder. Why is he so damn tall? It’s fine with you. It’s always been a good tool for you to get through crowded spaces. 

“Your grades don’t count anymore,” Ridoc says with a sigh. 

You and Liam look at each other a moment, trying to not let them know you can hear this absolutely ridiculous conversation. Stupid blue eyes , you think to yourself. Why does he have to be so pretty? You don’t get a chance to think about it further as Ridoc’s neck whips around to face the two of you.

“Wait.” Ridoc scans Liam carefully. “What did you get, Mairi?”

Liam shakes his head. “No. Not getting in the middle of this.”

Ridoc cranes his neck further, as if to ask you the same question. 

You shake your head too. “What Mairi said,” you declare as Ridoc sighs again. You can hear Violet laugh as Liam looks at you again. You cling to him as you keep moving through the crowd as if you might be trampled if you aren’t glued to your best friend’s side. 

“I’ve been demoted to Mairi,” Liam questions with a raised eyebrow. 

“Oh please. Don’t get such a big head because I called you Liam that one time,” you mutter out as someone shoulders past you. 

He only chuckles before you descend the stairs together. “It’s too late, Princess.”

“You know you aren’t supposed to call me that,” you whine. You actually couldn’t care less. If anything, it makes your heart race just a little bit. You close your eyes for just a moment before someone else shoulders you. Bitch . How come everyone apologizes, but not to you?

You eventually make your way into the classroom behind everyone, Liam sitting to Feyre’s right. You take the seat on the other side of him pulling out your notebook and setting it down. Out of your peripheral vision you can see small wood shavings falling onto the table beside you. Liam carefully carves the wood before him with such ease you are convinced he could do it in his sleep. His eyes snap to Violet’s, murmuring, “Riorson just got here.”

Violet offers her middle finger up in Xaden’s general direction as you attempt to hold a grin back in response. 

“You’re making faces again,” Liam teases with a grin of his own.

You slap his shoulder. “Shut up, Mairi.”

Liam isn’t paying attention to you anymore, instead he’s glancing at Xaden. “He’s glaring at you now,” he says to Violet. “Tell me, Violet. What’s it like pissing off the most powerful rider in the quadrant?”

You sigh. Jealousy doesn’t feel good in your body. Of course Liam is allowed to talk to other people. You just missed the day most of his banter was kept to you. You suck in a sharp breath, pretending to be distracted by finding a writing utensil.

“You could try it yourself,” Violet says as she opens her own notebook.

“That’s going to be a no,” Liam says as he places his partially carved wooden drag down. Liam turns slightly in his chair and you follow his gaze.

Xaden is sitting with Garrick. You know that look. You’ve seen the Wingleader wear it plenty of times before. It’s his attempt to look disinterested. Xaden bows his head for a moment, Liam returns the gesture before returning to his dragon carving. 

You return to staring at your open notebook as wood shavings continue to fall onto the table spot next to you. You take a peek at the carving for just a moment. “Is it Deigh,” your murmur.

Liam doesn’t respond, still focused on the wood before him. You let out a mildly frustrated huff in response. From the other side of your friend you hear Violet. 

“You’d think there was someone trying to assassinate me in class the way he makes you follow me around.”

Liam’s eyes lift to look towards Violet and Rhiannon before returning to the craft in hand.

“People are fond of trying to kill you,” Rhi says with a slight shrug.

“One time, Rhi! It happened one time!” Violet says, adjusting slightly in her seat as if trying to negotiate the reality of those words despite acting as if it is not a big deal.

“What would you call that thing with Tynan, then?” Rhi asks as she sets out her supplies. 

Liam glances in your direction before you offer him something between a soft laugh and sympathetic facial expression. 

You decide to try and ask again. “Is it Deigh?” You indicate the carving in his hands. 

He shakes his head. “Your dragon.”

You suck in a momentary breath and then you see it. Every intricate detail of it. Every beautiful intricate detail of Paetra is there. She would love it. “Liam,” you murmur. “It’s beautiful.”

“You called me Liam,” your best friend says with a grin. “I thought you were trying to not give me a big head.”

You go to respond but Violet’s voice cuts through. 

“They’re just threats. The only time I’ve actually been targeted was at night, and it’s not like Liam here is sleeping in my bedroom.”

He pauses on his work. “I mean, I’m not opposed to–”

Violet’s head whips to face him. “Don’t even start, Liam. You’re a shameless flirt, you know that?” Violet responds, trying hard not to laugh.

Something inside of you clenches at that.

“Thank you,” Liam responds with a grin.

Well, someone mine as well stab you through at this rate. 

“It wasn’t a compliment, Mairi,” Violet bites back as best she can. 

Rhiannon pipes up. “Don’t mind her. She’s cranky. Sexually frustrated if you know what I mean.”

You think you might scream.

Violet lets out a low growl. “That has nothing to do with it.”

“I don’t hear you denying it,” Rhi sing-songs.

“I’m sorry I don’t make the cut,” your best friend responds teasingly. 

You don’t register his next words as your fingers curl harder around the corner of your notebook, the paper curling and crunching under the force. 

“You okay?” Liam asks beside you. 

You don’t respond. 

“Did I do something?”

You still don’t respond. 

“We’re still on for dinner as usual, right?”

You just nod, you need him to be quiet for just one second. It seems to settle your best friend…for now.

[delulu-julia]

Tmnt 2012 x Primarina!Reader (female)

Years ago, turtles met you as a playful and energetic Popplio, always full of life and mischief. As time passed, they noticed your gradual transformation—white spots forming on your tail, nose, and hands, and bubble-like shapes appearing on your ears. Then, one day, you disappeared without a trace. They eventually moved on, believing you were gone forever. However, during a mission in Shredder’s (or the Kraang’s) lair, they stumble upon something shocking—you, now a fully evolved Primarina, trapped unconscious in a small tube, connected to strange wires and machines.

Omg anon thank you for requesting!! Sorry for the long wait, i just had to look up what popplio is and what it does/looks like. But this was just INCREDIBLY fun to write! i really like these unusual requests, thanks again🫶🩶🩶

Your First Meeting or Meeting You as a Popplio

The first time turtles met you, they were just kids sneaking out of the lair for a little adventure. That’s when they stumbled upon you—an energetic, giggling Popplio, balancing water balloons on your nose and laughing whenever they popped.

Mikey was immediately obsessed! He immediately tried to repeat your tricks, but of course, he failed. This didn’t stop him - he chased you, begged for more "lessons" and even tried to teach you his signature "Kawabanga!"

Raph acted like he didn’t care at first, but whenever you playfully splashed him, he’d end up chasing you around, enjoying the playful fights. At the same time, if someone else tried to offend or tease you, Raph would react sharply, as if he were defending his younger sibling. (Awww)

Donnie was more fascinated than anything. He wasn't so much into the games as he was interested in how you created water. He wrote down every observation in his little notebook, theorized, and tried to create a device that would imitate your abilities. Sometimes he forgot himself and got too close, looking at your paws and ears, which was quite funny

Leo took a little longer to warm up to you, but he appreciated how playful yet incredibly agile you were. You were chaotic, you didn't follow any rules, and sometimes it irritated him. But the more he watched you, the more he realized that your agility and ability to predict movements were not just childish playfulness, but a real talent. Sometimes he even used your movements in his training.

Over time, they started noticing changes—white spots appearing on your nose and hands, bubble-like shapes forming on your ears, and your tail growing longer. You were growing, just like them

And then, one day, you were gone. No warning, no goodbye. They waited, searched, but never saw you again. Eventually, they stopped looking, assuming you had simply left.

———————————————————————

Seeing You Again as a Primarina

Years later, when turtles are deep in battle against Shredder, Krang, or whoever’s running the latest evil scheme, they infiltrate a hidden lair. The place is filled with eerie machines, bubbling vats of strange liquid, and dim, flickering lights.

That's when they see you.

Trapped inside a tube filled with water, wires connected to your body, your long hair flowing around you. Your once playful form had fully evolved into a Primarina, graceful and ethereal. The bubbles on your ears glowed in the dim light of the lab. You looked absolutely stunning, but more importantly—you looked familiar.

Their reaction

Leonardo

When Leo sees you trapped in that containment tube, his heart stops for a second. It had been years since he last saw you, and now you were here—silent, unconscious, wires hooked up to your body.

He steps forward first, brows furrowed, a deep, unshakable feeling of guilt settling in. Why hadn’t he kept looking for you? How could he have let this happen?

But there’s no time for regret. The moment you stir, the moment you look at him with those familiar yet different eyes, something inside him reignites.

“We’re getting you out of here. I swear it.” His voice is steady, but there’s emotion behind it—he’s not losing you again.

He takes the lead, giving orders to the others to disable the security, to find a way to free you without harming you. But the second you weakly press your hand against the glass, he forgets all strategy for a second.

He just wants to get to you.

Raphael

“What the hell did they do to her!?” The second Raph sees you in that tube, it’s over—logic flies out the window. He doesn’t care about the machines, the alarms, or whatever sick experiment you were forced into. He just wants you out.

Slams his fist against the glass so hard that it actually cracks slightly. The others tell him to stop, but he’s already looking for something to break it open.

His chest feels tight. He remembers all the times you’d mess with him, all the playful challenges, all the times he’d roll his eyes but still join in on your ridiculous games.

Now, you’re not laughing. You’re barely even conscious.

The moment your eyes flutter open and land on him, he lets out a shaky breath. You recognize him. That’s all that matters.

“Hang tight” he mutters, voice softer now. “We’re gettin’ ya outta there.”

Donatello

Donnie is horrified. Not just by the fact that you’re trapped, but by the technology hooked up to you. He sees the readings, the data flashing across the monitors—this wasn’t just a prison, they were studying you.

His fingers fly across the keyboard, trying to disable the system while his brain races through every possible risk. What if the water is keeping you alive? What if removing you too quickly hurts you?

But then he hears it—the softest sound from inside the tube. His gaze snaps up, and you’re looking at him. Tired, but aware.

And in that moment, he forgets the data.

“I got you.” His voice is softer than usual, a quiet promise. “Just hold on.”

He works faster now, heart pounding. He’s not letting you slip away—not again.

Michelangelo

Mikey can’t believe his eyes. He stares at you in the tube, completely frozen, mouth slightly open in shock.

He remembers you as the goofy, energetic Popplio that would jump into his arms without hesitation. The one who’d playfully splash him with water, the one who’d always be up for an adventure.

Now, you look so different. So graceful, so quiet.

“No way…” His voice is barely above a whisper. He presses his hands against the glass, as if trying to make sure you’re real.

And then you move. Your hair twitch, your eyes flutter open, and when they land on him, your lips curve just slightly.

“Mikey…” Your voice is soft, but it’s undeniably you

Tmnt 2012 x Primarina!Reader (Romantic Headcanons)

Leonardo

At first, Leo is unsure how to approach you. You’ve changed so much since the energetic, playful days of your youth. Now, you move with a quiet grace, your voice gentle yet mesmerizing.

But as time goes on, he realizes that your core is still the same. You still look at him with the same warmth, still tease him softly when he gets too serious.

The moment he truly starts falling for you? The first time he hears you sing. Your voice is unlike anything he’s ever heard—calming, serene, almost hypnotic. It makes all of his stress melt away.

Whenever he’s meditating, you’ll quietly sit beside him and hum a soft melody. It becomes one of his favorite things.

The first time you summon a bubble just for him, it floats into his palm and glows faintly before popping. You smile, saying it’s a “good luck charm.”

That’s when he realizes—he doesn’t just admire you. He’s in love

Raphael

Raph doesn’t know how to handle his feelings. He remembers you being a hyperactive little thing, always tugging at him to play. Now? You’re so elegant and composed, and it throws him off.

But when he watches you move, when he sees the way you gently tilt your head when he talks, listening with full attention, it does something to his heart.

The first time you sing for him, he doesn’t know what to say. He just stares. And when he catches himself staring, he gets all flustered and looks away, grumbling, “Tch, that was… nice, I guess.”

One night, he finds himself unable to sleep, mind restless. You notice and summon a soft, glowing bubble just for him, watching it float before it pops. “Sweet dreams,” you whisper.

That’s the moment he’s done for.

Donatello

Donnie is fascinated by you—not just because of your transformation, but because everything about you is soothing.

He starts watching you when you aren’t looking, mesmerized by how you move, how you hum softly while working with him, how you summon small bubbles absentmindedly. (Creep)

The first time he realizes his feelings? When he’s exhausted from a long night of working, and you sing for him. His brain, always running at full speed, finally quiets down.

“You should do that more often…” he murmurs sleepily, before realizing what he said and immediately turning red. (Oh my boooy I love him😭)

You love helping him with projects, and one day, you create a bubble in the perfect shape of an atom. He stares at it, eyes wide, and you just giggle.

That’s when it clicks—he’s completely in love with you.

Michelangelo

Mikey is in awe of you. He’s always thought you were cool, but now? Now you’re like something out of a dream.

He immediately asks you to sing for him every chance he gets. Sometimes you do it playfully, sometimes softly, and each time, he falls harder.

The moment he realizes he’s in love? When you summon bubbles for him, just to make him laugh. You create tiny ones that pop on his nose, a giant one that he tries to sit in, and little glowing ones that light up the room.

“You’re like… magical, dude.” His voice is quiet when he says it, and you just smile at him.

One day, he asks if you can trap him in a bubble, just to see what happens. You do, and he floats gently before you let him down, laughing.

His heart skips a beat. That laugh, that smile—he wants to keep seeing it forever.

The original request from anon👇

Hi hello! I was wondering if I could request the turtles with a reader who's like the pokemon primarina? Like at first when they were younger they met reader when she was still a energetic and silly popplio and as they grew up into kids they noticed readers tail,nose and hands having white spots and her ears now looking they have bubbles on them but then suddenly y/n stopped showing up and they eventually stopped thinking about her until one day when they where in shredders/ krangs lair or whatever it's call they see reader trapped in a small tube unconscious with the tube being connected to wires and machines with her looking more beautiful and elegant

[spitefulsatanfics]

╭────��─ 𖤐˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ──────╮

“The Quiet Between Heartbeats”

╰────── 𖤐˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ──────╯

> "He looked at her like she wasn’t just part of the case—like she was the reason he stayed a little longer."

Pairing: Sam Winchester x she/her!Reader

Word Count: 5,204

Rating: T (for mild violence, canon-typical horror, and emotional tension)

Tones: Young!Sam, Awkward!Sam, Sweet Romance, Fluff, Emotional Healing

Based On: Supernatural, Season 1, Episode 7 – “Hook Man”

POV: Third Person

Style: Novel-style, highly detailed, aesthetically immersive

---

❖ SYNOPSIS ❖

When Sam and Dean arrive in Rockford, Iowa, to investigate the mysterious deaths surrounding the college campus, they encounter someone unexpected—Y/N. A sharp, self-aware student with a family history of the supernatural, she quickly becomes entangled in their investigation. But as Sam grows closer to her, navigating late-night research sessions and quiet, vulnerable conversations, he finds himself battling more than just a malevolent spirit. He’s facing emotions he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in years. When Y/N becomes the next target, Sam is forced to confront his own heart as much as the vengeful entity threatening to tear her away.

---

❖ NOVELLA ❖

CAMPUS GREEN, DAY

The campus was unusually quiet as Sam and Dean walked across the manicured lawn of Rockford University. The warm afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the stone pathways. Students strolled in small groups, their hushed conversations a stark contrast to the grim news that had already begun to circulate about the recent deaths in the town.

Sam adjusted his jacket, scanning the crowd. Dean nudged him, jerking his chin toward a girl standing alone by a statue, her eyes fixed on the pages of a notebook.

"Let’s try her," Dean suggested, his voice low, not wanting to attract too much attention.

As they approached, Sam noticed something different about her. The intensity in the way she stared down at her notes. The quiet confidence in her posture. It reminded him of someone who had seen things—things that couldn’t be explained by logic or science. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was more than just a regular student.

“Excuse me,” Sam said, voice warm but awkward. “We’re doing a campus article about the recent… incidents. Mind if we ask you a few questions?”

She looked up slowly, her eyes sharp, calculating. She glanced at them both, eyes lingering on Sam a second longer than necessary.

“You’re not students,” she said flatly.

Dean grinned. “That obvious?”

"You're too old," she said, nodding toward Dean before looking back at Sam. "And you're too uncomfortable pretending to be something you're not."

Sam flushed. “We’re, uh—” He hesitated, glancing at Dean, but her unflinching gaze made him feel exposed, like she could see right through them.

“We’re investigating something that might not be… normal,” Sam said, giving in.

She didn’t blink. “Thought so,” she said calmly. “My grandmother always said Rockford was crawling with spirits.”

Sam’s surprise mirrored Dean’s, but he recovered quickly.

“You’re hunters, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice almost knowing.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, right. You watch too many horror movies.”

But Sam didn’t laugh. There was something about her demeanor that suggested she wasn’t making a joke. Something serious in the way she looked at him.

“I’m coming with you,” she said, stepping forward before either of them could respond.

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam cut him off, suddenly aware that they weren’t just dealing with any random college student.

“You believe us?”

She met his gaze, her eyes steady. “I’ve seen enough weird stuff around here to know when someone’s telling the truth. If this thing’s real, I want to help stop it.”

Sam felt his heart skip. He should’ve said no. He should’ve told her to stay safe, to stay out of it. But something in her eyes made it impossible to say anything other than, “Alright. But we do this carefully.”

---

ROCKFORD UNIVERSITY LIBRARY, EVENING

The old library was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt timeless. Sam sat across from Y/N at a large wooden table, watching her flip through a thick book. The scent of aged paper and dust filled the air, mixing with the faint hum of the lights above. There was a sense of calm here, in the way the evening sun filtered through the windows, that felt miles away from the chaos they were about to face.

Sam absentmindedly chewed on the cap of his pen, his mind not entirely on the research. He found himself staring at Y/N more than he expected, wondering how she had come to be in this place with them. She was smart. Intuitive. Brave, in a way that felt like it ran deeper than her words.

“What?” she asked, catching his gaze.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, blushing. “Just—you’re good at this.”

She raised an eyebrow. “At reading?”

“At connecting the dots,” he said, fiddling with his laptop. “We’ve been here for hours, and you found the pattern in twenty minutes.”

She smiled softly, flipping another page. “I like solving things. Especially when it helps people.”

There was a brief silence. The kind that didn’t feel forced, but natural. Like something was quietly brewing beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she asked after a beat.

Sam blinked, startled. “What?”

“You get quiet when you’re thinking,” she said. “It’s kinda cute.”

He cleared his throat, unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “I, uh… thanks.”

She leaned in a little closer. “Didn’t expect a hunter to blush.”

“I didn’t expect to meet someone like you,” Sam said before he could stop himself. The words were out, raw, and for a moment, his heart raced in a way he didn’t fully understand.

She paused, and for a fleeting moment, the air between them seemed to thrum with something unspoken, something gentle and new.

---

Y/N’S STREET, NIGHT

The shrill ring of Sam’s phone shattered the stillness of the motel room. He answered on the first ring, already feeling his pulse spike.

“Sam?” Her voice came through the line, frantic, breathless. "I saw him. The Hook Man, I saw him outside. Sam—he’s—”

A loud crash followed by a scream.

The phone line went dead.

Sam didn’t wait for Dean to ask. He was already grabbing his jacket, moving faster than his brain could process.

“Y/N,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as he rushed out the door.

Dean was right behind him, already on the move. “You think she’s okay?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, voice tight. “But we’re going to make sure she is.”

---

ABANDONED CEMETERY, LATE NIGHT

They found her at the old parsonage ruins, looking as shaken as Sam had feared but still alive. Her jacket was torn, her cheeks scraped with fresh cuts, but her eyes met his without hesitation. She didn’t flinch when they reached her.

“You came,” she whispered, voice shaky but full of relief.

“Of course I did,” Sam replied, his breath still catching in his chest. He quickly scanned her for injuries but was relieved to see she was more or less unharmed.

They moved quickly back to the motel, piecing together the final clues. Y/N was already studying the old newspaper clippings pinned to the wall when she slammed her hand down in frustration.

“It’s the silver,” she said, her voice firm. “The silver from the hook—it’s not just in the original arm. It’s in the church artifacts too. We have to destroy all of it.”

Sam looked at her, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t expected. There was something fierce about her, something that made him feel both proud and protective at once. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “Try and stop me.”

Dean groaned, rubbing his face in exasperation. “You two are impossible.”

---

ST. LUKE’S CHURCH BASEMENT, NIGHT

They broke into the church basement, the air damp and cold with the smell of mildew. Sam, Y/N, and Dean quickly located the silver-plated objects from the church’s historical collection. They were ready to destroy everything and finish what they started.

But as soon as they began to work, the Hook Man appeared—his form flickering in and out of the shadows, his hook gleaming with malevolent intent.

Sam pushed Y/N back, but she darted around him, grabbing the silver cross and hurling it into the furnace where Dean had rigged the fire.

The ghost screamed, his angry wails shaking the walls. Sam was thrown against a pew, his head spinning as he tried to regain his footing.

Y/N hit the ground hard, groaning in pain.

“Y/N!” Sam yelled, struggling to get up.

“I’m okay,” she called, voice hoarse but alive. “You?”

“Fine.” He crawled toward her, his heart pounding in his chest. “You’re insane. Brave. But insane.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “You’re kind of worth it.”

Before he even thought about it, Sam leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then her lips. It was gentle, unsure, but more real than anything he’d felt in a long time.

“I’m glad we met,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Me too,” she whispered back, her fingers brushing against his hand.

---

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“Maybe the quiet ones love the loudest.” ╰────── 𖤐˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ──────╯

The next morning, Sam drove Y/N home, the Impala’s engine humming softly under them. When they pulled up in front of her house, she stood on the porch, her gaze meeting Sam’s one last time before he drove off.

Dean glanced at Sam as they pulled away. “You gonna be alright?”

Sam stared out the window, his heart still unsettled by everything that had happened. But there was something lighter inside him now.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “But I think she helped me remember something.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Sam smiled, a mixture of sadness and hope tugging at his lips. “That there’s still good people out there. Still reasons to stay.”

---

End.

Word Count: 5,204

Enjoy :)

[sammyay]

I fear I have gotten in too deep.

invisible man brainrot consumed my mind, so I’ve decided on writing a small something to amuse myself and potential other people.

kemp will get bullied and Griffin will be a sopping wet man with a fever btw. here’s chapter one so far. (reading time: 7 minutes, 1.820 words.)

1:

 The rain was thundering on that day. But no, not in the evening, as one would assume, tied to associations with sinister lightning in pure darkness, but this storm came in the morning, and many have slept through it, blissfully unaware of the agony it was causing another. In the early morning hour, two figures chased through the forests and land roads, one seen, one not. And while despite his obvious arguing about being “an honest tramp, even if a bit of a fool sometimes,” Marvel would say he had not gone around being anything but a dutiful citizen every day of his life, he most certainly had the genes and endurance for all sorts of offences to the law. The elderly man ran with the ability of a long-versed criminal, what caused endless frustration to the grunting and huffing voice behind him. The lack of screaming was the most unsettling part so far. When Marvel first dared the dash, the notebooks stuffed under the soiled coat, but the money traitorously jingling as he ran, there came a seemingly never-ending stream of all kinds of colourful curses chasing behind him. But that had its end soon enough, and now only heavy breathing and growling were all that indicated this presence.

Doctor Kemp however, had risen from bed just in time to witness this strange scene, one man heaving and panting running over the hill as if the devil himself had personal business with him. The cynic raised a critical brow, unknowingly watching this life and death battle with mild bemusement.

“How most peculiar. Why, people really are delusional nowadays, aren’t they?”

He spoke to himself, as he quite liked hearing his own voice, leaning out a tad more, watching how the old man nearly stumbled and fell, but caught to his feet in a surprising notion of unexpected grace.

“And look at him go. I do wonder what he’s thinking. Perhaps one of these “invisible man” believers, certain there is something hunting him, when it’s nothing but a gust of wind.”

What Kemp couldn’t see of course, the distance hid that well, was that there indeed came dust and gravel, flying under the fast steps of apparently quite a tall man chasing behind the tramp. They ran through the forest and headed off into the village, and the doctor lost all interest there was in them then, returning to the duties of appearing intelligent and thinking about all sorts of smart things a man who had finished University would do. It was only later in the day when the unusual has returned. There came a knock at his door, and he even had personally descended to see to his visitor, yet the maid who came to open the door was greeted with nothing but thin air.

“Nelly, who was that?”

“Ah, ‘em village lads again. Playing oh so entertaining pranks once more.”

The servant replied, with an indignant shake of head turning away to run to the kitchen. Kemp however stayed, for there was a certain strangeness in all of this. Surely, children were more than known for such distasteful behaviour, and yet-

He went a few steps further down, stairs creaking under his feet, the sound so familiar at this point, the university man was certain he would recognise it in his sleep. That was when he heard a small groan of the wood to his left and he rapidly turned around. Undoubtedly, someone was trying to sneak past him, but instead of an intruder, there was nothing. Kemp blindly reached out his hand, and to his own astonishment, gripped a warm, breathing limb.

He at once jerked back, but what appeared to be blood was smeared on his palm. For a few moments, Kemp pondered about calling out for help, the sanest thing one could imagine doing in such an odd situation, but just when he had turned on his heel and opened his mouth, strong hands grasped his throat, restricting his airflow and making his eyes nearly pop out from sheer force. They struggled, some unrecognisable voice hissing curses in his ear that he couldn’t quite make out until the well-dressed man gave up, hands hanging limply by his sides, resigned to his mystical fate.

The Grip loosened, and along came a voice, that this time Kemp bothered to listen to.

“Damn you, is it that your head is filled with cotton or why else won’t you listen to me? It’s me, you flailing imbecile, use your ever so well-educated mind for once!”

“It is you; yet who are you, I cannot understand it- won’t you elaborate?”

The squeeze on his neck hardened again, and he held back a pained moan, not wanting to cause even further stress to his unseen captor, something he yet had to grasp fully.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“I am not! I cannot possibly know who you are, sir!”

The last part was a wild guess, as Kemp highly doubted a woman could have such iron-clad hands and such a dark, gruff voice that nearly bordered on hysterical. Still, that had the wished effect. The hands let go of his throat entirely.

“Griffin. Jack Griffin from University, can’t you remember, you fool?”

At last, something he could grasp at. Griffin, Griffin...he most certainly heard the name before, and his mind raced, scrambling together the smallest bit of information he could recall. Just who was this Griffin…he wasn’t in his classes, he wasn’t a professor, he was-

“The tall, pale man well over six feet, almost an albino if you care for such in-necessities, with red eyes and a brilliant mind.”

Silence for a few minutes and Kemp’s eyes stayed just as clueless.

“The one who won a medal at chemistry?”

The words didn’t yet ring a bell, and the voice let out a frustrated groan.

“The freak.”

That helped further than the vague description that was given before. Kemp was certain the voice wasn’t the happiest once his face lit up with recognition, and yet, in the end the ultimate goal of making his identity known was reached, wasn’t it?

“I see now. That Griffin.”

“Yes, yes, be quiet now. You are alone in this house, aren’t you?”

“Indeed I am.”

“That is well. I need food and drink, and warm- “

There came a loud sneeze, and Kemp felt the hand on his shoulder shiver with what he recognized as fever.

“-clothes. Warm clothes.”

“You appear to have a cold.”

“Me? A cold?! Don’t be ridiculous, I am as strong as a stallion, I cannot succumb to a mere fever.”

And yet, when Kemp led the voice to his cabinet, the hand on his shoulder meant as a silent threat and warning was scorching with an ill heat.

He did as was asked of him, providing food, a plateful with cold ham and bread, drink, in form of several glasses of his best whiskey he kept for special occasions and the invisible man ordered he should open, and clothes, by lending him his warm woollen bathrobe, a small luxury he got himself for colder days. Yes, these were all things very dear to him, and now an unseen guest was selfishly taking all of these while still complaining about how miserable and hurt he was. Even if he in fact was, Kemp could not possibly forgive him dripping blood onto his fine garments. When he at last was demanded to hand over his cigarettes so that he could have a smoke, he damn near let something very ungentlemanly and hysterical slip out, but with gritted teeth he watched his guest puff out small smokes of cloud out into air.

Only in moments like these, when he remembered that the infuriating heap of his clothes was in fact all he could see, and the surreality of the situation came crashing at him like giant waves, but then Griffin would make some remark that made his blood boil, and he forgot it once more. It was odd, how a single man could cause this flood of emotion within him, anger, concern, frustration and fear all at once.

And not to mention how his attempts at being a kind man were outright refused.

“Griffin, do be kind, drink something warm and not alcoholic.”

“Be quiet, I do not need anything else.”

“Griffin, I beg you, allow me to inspect you if you have a fever, or a wound of some sort- “

“I am healthy! I am fine! Stop trying to nurse me like I am some incapable, helpless infant.”

That was as far as he got with polite asking. Only once the whiskey made the invisible man all pliant and less irritable, Kemp took his turn at inspection. There was no serious wound to worry about, and even though the string figure wrapped in his clothes did stir and try to get away from him when he, praying and hoping he was correct, bandaged the sore spot, in the end, a small, muttered “thank you” was coaxed out of him. Maybe the illness made him easier to handle, but a few hours had passed since he first was confronted with this odd situation, and the initial annoyance and fear had ebbed away. Now, all that remained of the so threatening figure was a practically melting heap of clothes, quiet and probably drowsy with sleep and sickness. They sat quietly for a few minutes, Kemp too unnerved to break the silence, his guest not especially keen on small talk and perhaps stayed that way for many more. He was not aware how much time had passed by the time Kemp slowly sighed, and cautiously, as in this short span of time he already became well-acquainted with Griffin’s horrendous manners, stood up, gently tugging on the empty-appearing sleeve to follow him.

“Do rise. The hour is late, and I suppose you must rest.”

No response followed, and the graduate took the liberty to repeat himself. When no answer came a second time, a careful hand on what he assumed the other’s head was, and surely enough, the invisible man was fast asleep with an elevated temperature.

“What a nuisance,” Kemp thought. And yet, when he dimmed the lights, put a blanket over the heaving with fast and irregular breaths body, he was behaving oddly tender. The same behavior remained when he let the door open just a creak and settled in resting in the room nearby, in case the other would need him. It was his need for answers, he told himself. He needed to understand just how a man out of flesh and bone could turn into thin air.

But that felt suspiciously like lying to himself when he closed his eyes and hoped the next day would bring more answers than questions with it.

[truths33k3r4]

Oh and I was wondering - how do the turtles go to school? Is it an online program or taught solely through Splinter? I actually just started an online class and it definitely seams reasonable that this is what they would use, but I also don’t know what year the story takes place in. Anyways thanks!

Hello, Anon!!!

Since I was homeschooled my whole life, (and have NO CLUE what it's like having online classes or going to public school), I decided the best thing for my lil turts would be the same as what I grew up with. :) For the first ten years of their lives, they are solely taught by Splinter. (Whom has gathered as many used schoolbooks as he could from lost and found, discarded backpacks, the library, and garage sales.)

Sometimes the level of the subjects was a bit high for the brothers, but they had to make due with what they had. By eleven years old, the oldest brothers would help teach the younger. (Whether they wanted to or not.) They would share the same books, always using pencils so Splinter could erase their answers and pass it off to the next sibling.

How Each Turtle Sibling Handled/Handles School

Leonardo- He's well versed in Japanese and loves to write and (sometimes) play music. He’s done many personal studies on soundtracks in his spare time. He only became an A+ student when he became a teen and was given the responsibility of his brothers and family. For years prior to becoming leader, he was known to cheat the most out of all his brothers- always looking for the easy way out of work.

Raphael- He hates school. A lot of it anyways.. But history class has all kinds of battles and wars, so he’s cool with that. Just don’t expect him to remember any dates. He was taught how to speak Japanese, but it might as well have been labeled as a ‘cruel and unusual punishment’. He is a sketcher when it comes to his work notebooks. Every page has little doodles of him and his bros fighting enemies or dressed like famous tv characters.

Donatello- He has already graduated high school, going as fast as he could to finish so he could start working. Even with rushing his studies, he was still an A+ student alongside Leo. (Once the leader took his studies seriously.) He is the most versed in Japanese, mostly because he really enjoys learning how different languages work, as well as how diverse different languages handle grammar, spelling, etc. He loved most of school, except for writing class. He’s not the most creative brother, so he found it boring and useless to learn how to write tales or poems. 

Lotus- She was only taught a few things in her earlier years by the kind doctor from her past. __ would smuggle children’s books into Lotus' cell, and would teach her how to speak and sign. She can’t write- yet. But Splinter and Mikey help her to learn how as time progresses. She has a great memory and learns very quickly.

Michelangelo- School is.. fine. Not his favorite, but it gives him extra time to hang out with his brothers. He’s the least versed in Japanese, mostly because he was very little and didn’t understand a thing when Sensei taught his brothers. He can remember some words and phrases, but that’s about it. He wishes ‘Art’ was a class, but Splinter never really found any books on the subject, so he had to go in blind. He didn’t mind though. His best subjects were reading and animal science. He loves to use his imagination, and has a really clear voice, so reading came very naturally to him. He refuses to open a book though, unless there’s pictures inside.

As for what year this story takes place in- I haven't actually decided yet. XD For now, in the current story, I'll go with it's the mid 2000's. (Might change that later- but I'll use it for now.)

Great question! :)

~ Melissa

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Forty Seven: Usopp University (Where Chaos Is the Curriculum)

You were lost.

Not physically—you knew every corner of the Sunny like the back of your paw.

No, this was a mental crisis.

Everyone was too hot, too cool, too emotionally devastating, and your poor little goblin heart was cracking under the pressure of Too Many Crushes.

So naturally, you turned to the worst possible source of emotional advice.

Usopp.

You found him in his workshop, tinkering with something that looked halfway between a slingshot and a war crime.

You flopped dramatically onto the floor beside him, tail curling and uncurling in stress.

“Usopp,” you said with the most serious voice you could muster. “I have a problem.”

He paused. “Is it stealing-related? Because I already told you, if you take another screw out of my door hinge, I will cry.”

“No, no, this is worse.” You leaned in, eyes wide. “It’s a heart problem.”

He gasped. “Are you dying?!”

“No! I’m in love!”

He gasped again. “With me?!”

You stared. “No.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” He coughed. “Naturally. So. What kind of love?”

You flopped harder, paws over your face. “Too much. I love everyone a little. A lot. In different ways. Sometimes my tail twitches when Zoro lifts something heavy. Sometimes I get flustered when Sanji holds my face to check for crumbs. Sometimes I see Nami do the money eyes and I want to kneel. Help me.”

Usopp stood. Stretched. Tapped his chest.

“You’ve come to the right man.”

Bad idea.

Usopp's Love Advice, Step One: “Obviously, you need to rank them. That’s how all great heroes do it.”

You: “Rank them how?”

“Battle strength. Face. Abs. Smolder power. Potential in an emotional crisis. Kissing skills—”

“I HAVE NOT KISSED ANY OF THEM.”

“Then just guess!”

Step Two: “Write down your pros and cons. Like—Zoro has amazing arms, but he also stares like he’s plotting your death.”

“He is plotting my death.”

“Romantic!”

Step Three: “Figure out who you'd save first in a sea king attack.”

“…I’d probably leap into the sea myself.”

“...Okay, you might be in too deep.”

Step Four: “Test the waters. Flirt wildly and see who gets flustered.”

“I already do that.”

“Then flirt worse.”

By the time you left his room, your head was spinning with wild suggestions:

Fake a love triangle.

Stage a dramatic faint into someone’s arms.

Ask who’s most emotionally available and see who cries.

“Test cuddle density per square inch” (???)

You wandered back onto the deck in a daze, tail twitching, notebook full of absolute nonsense.

Robin looked up from her book. “You spoke to Usopp, didn’t you?”

“…I have no idea what I’m doing.”

She smiled knowingly. “That means you’re doing it right.”

-

Dinner aboard the Thousand Sunny was always lively.

Tonight was no exception—Luffy was inhaling meat at alarming speeds, Zoro was pretending not to enjoy Sanji’s cooking while inhaling it anyway, Nami was sipping wine with calculated elegance, and Robin was reading over her cup like she knew something no one else did (she did).

And you?

You were on a mission.

Armed with your Not Suspicious At All Notebook (handmade, covered in stickers, titled “For Science”), you perched at the table with an unusually focused gleam in your eyes.

Sanji set a plate in front of you with a smile. “For my fluffiest guest—tonight’s special.”

You beamed. “Thanks, Leggy Love.”

He chuckled, flustered. Zoro made a gagging noise. Everything was as expected.

Then you opened your notebook. And clicked your pen. Loudly.

“I have questions.”

Several forks paused mid-air.

“Zoro,” you said, eyes locked on him. “Would you say your brooding level is natural, or the result of emotional repression?”

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “What.”

You scribbled something. “Good. Good. Keeping it vague. Mysterious.”

“Sanji,” you turned, tail flicking. “If a girl were to hypothetically faint in your arms, would you panic or monologue about her beauty first?”

Sanji blinked. “I—I mean, depends on how hard she fainted—?”

“Writing that down.”

Zoro muttered, “What kind of idiot faints on purpose?”

“Shut up, Strong Waist.”

Zoro choked on his drink.

“Luffy,” you called sweetly.

He looked up, cheeks full of food. “Yefh?”

“If someone kissed you right now, would you die, explode, or marry them?”

“Marry!” he said cheerfully, crumbs everywhere.

“Dangerous. Noted.”

“Chopper!”

“Me?!”

“How many cuddles per day do you consider optimal before you combust emotionally?”

Chopper turned beet red and squeaked, “THREE—no—FIVE—WAIT—”

“Perfect,” you purred, writing furiously. “Robin?”

Robin smiled behind her wine. “Yes?”

“If you had to pick a life partner… what trait would you value most?”

She didn’t even pause. “Emotional intelligence.”

“Gasp,” you whispered. “That’s so valid.”

“Nami.”

She narrowed her eyes. “This is some kind of scheme, isn’t it?”

“Nooo,” you said, drawing a little money sign next to her name. “Totally innocent. Totally hypothetical. For science.”

Usopp, halfway down the table, finally asked, “Wait—are you doing the rankings?!”

You slammed your notebook shut.

“NO.”

Chopper gasped. “You are!”

Sanji leaned over. “Did I win??”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “You’re asking if she’s ranking you—look at her. She’s sweating.”

“I’M JUST CURIOUS ABOUT YOUR ATTRIBUTES.”

“YOU CALLED ME STRONG WAIST EARLIER.”

“AND I STAND BY IT.”

Robin chuckled. “You know this only makes them try harder now, right?”

You grinned, notebook held tight to your chest. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

---

It was supposed to be a normal morning.

The kind of morning where the sun peeked over the horizon, the ship rocked gently beneath the crew, and maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t be the center of absolute chaos.

But unfortunately for everyone else...

You were a cat.

And Luffy? Well, he let you do whatever you wanted.

Zoro walked out onto the deck, rubbing sleep from his eyes, ready to start his morning training—

And froze.

Hard.

“…What the hell is happening.”

Sanji came out of the galley next with a cup of coffee, blinked once—

And promptly spit it all over the railing.

Because there you were.

Kneeling behind Luffy, legs tucked under you, tail flicking in concentration, grooming the top of his head with slow, methodical licks.

Your tongue was stuck in his hair.

Your ears were pinned back.

You looked absolutely focused.

Luffy? Grinning like a dummy.

“This is nice,” he sighed, melting into your lap like a golden retriever who’d found heaven.

You paused to gag slightly, a tuft of black hair still caught on your tongue.

“Ugh. Captain fur. Tastes like meat and ocean.”

“THANK YOU,” Luffy chirped.

Zoro’s mouth opened. Closed.

Sanji pointed. “You’re LICKING him.”

“GROOMING,” you corrected proudly, fur puffed. “It’s bonding.”

“It’s weird!” Sanji hissed.

“It’s endearing!” Luffy said with a huge smile.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Zoro muttered.

By the time Nami arrived and saw the scene—Luffy looking freshly-licked, your tongue hanging out in defeat, and two fully broken men on either side—

She made a sound that could only be described as “mother-at-the-end-of-her-rope.”

Cut to: the entire crew assembled on deck like it’s an emergency meeting.

You sat cross-legged in front of them, hair still slightly frizzed, tongue out, looking deeply unbothered.

Luffy sat beside you with dreamy eyes and noticeably damp hair.

Nami stood at the helm of this intervention, arms crossed, sigh loaded.

“Okay. We need to talk. About boundaries.”

“Boundaries are fake,” you muttered.

Nami raised a brow. “Would you like me to start grooming you?”

You hissed.

“Exactly.”

Robin sipped her tea. “To be fair, this is very feline behavior.”

Usopp whispered to Chopper, “Do you think she’d try to groom you?”

“I’M A DOCTOR,” Chopper said, flustered. “AND NOT THAT KIND OF MAMMAL.”

Brook raised a hand. “May I volunteer to be groomed—”

“NO.” everyone said at once.

Nami sighed and knelt in front of you, calm but firm.

“Sweetheart. You’re soft. We love you. But you cannot go around licking people.”

“...Even if they let me?” you pouted.

She glanced at Luffy.

Luffy gave her two enthusiastic thumbs up. “Ten out of ten! Would be licked again!”

Nami rubbed her temples. “Okay. Consent is important. But also so is not giving someone a hairball.”

You blinked. “So... supervised licking?”

“NO LICKING.”

You groaned and flopped onto your side.

Luffy patted your head. “You’re still my number one fluffy.”

You sighed dramatically, tongue still slightly out.

You were forbidden from grooming for now.

But everyone knew…

It was only a matter of time.

--

You had found a loophole.

Nami’s scolding from earlier rang in your fuzzy little head on loop:

“No. More. Grooming.”

But— she hadn’t said a thing about being groomed.

And Luffy, being your most loyal emotional support himbo, was thrilled at the idea.

“You mean I get to lick YOU now?!” he gasped, eyes sparkling with chaotic joy.

You nodded solemnly.

“For science.”

Cut to: twenty minutes later.

You emerged onto the deck like a broken cryptid.

Your fur was matted in weird angles. Your ears were slicked back. There was a giant wet patch down your spine. And your tail looked like it had lost a battle with gravity.

Luffy trailed behind you proudly, chest puffed out.

“LOOK! I DID THE GROOMING!”

The crew turned to see your sorry, slobber-slicked form walk into the galley for dinner.

Sanji dropped his ladle.

Zoro choked on air.

Robin actually looked… mildly alarmed.

Usopp screamed.

“You let him—YOU LET HIM—GROOM YOU?”

“He asked nicely,” you mumbled, sitting down at the table with all the dignity of a deflated bath mat.

Nami, pinching her nose: “You found a loophole, didn’t you.”

Luffy beamed. “She’s so clean!”

“You used your mouth.” Sanji grimaced.

“I HAVE A TONGUE TOO.”

“YEAH,” you groaned, wiping your face. “But it’s not designed for this.”

That’s when the crew really looked at you.

Specifically… your tongue.

Zoro squinted. “Wait. What is your tongue made of?”

You stuck it out. Slightly curled. Rough.

Very rough.

Like sandpaper on steroids.

Brook leaned in. “Yohoho—how did we never notice that?!”

“It’s made for grooming!” Chopper gasped, fascinated. “That’s a real feline tongue! Those little hooks are like keratin barbs—like a cat’s papillae!”

“…Is that why you can lick your own elbow?” Usopp asked, eyes wide.

You nodded solemnly. “And yours, too. Wanna try?”

“NO.”

Robin raised a brow. “So Luffy attempted to groom a genetically spiked creature with a literal self-cleaning tool… using a tongue made for chewing meat.”

“Basically,” you sighed, slumped in your chair, fur sticking up in unfortunate places.

Zoro stared. “You’re dripping.”

You flicked a bit of Luffy drool from your tail. “I know.”

Sanji appeared behind you with a towel and a bowl of warm water. “Get up. You’re not eating until I fix you.”

“I have been violated by affection.”

“You let it happen,” Nami muttered, sipping her wine.

Luffy flopped beside you, grinning. “Ten out of ten. I’d do it again.”

“You will not,” Sanji growled.

You looked around the table at all of them—horrified, fascinated, disturbed—and stuck your tongue out again with a smirk.

“Next time, I’m doing everyone.”

Usopp shrieked.

Zoro fled.

Chopper took notes.

Luffy gave you a double thumbs-up.

---

You were back in the galley after dinner, damp, disheveled, and grumpy.

Sanji had dragged you in by the scruff with the exasperation of a man who had too many feelings and not enough patience for fur-related disasters.

Now you sat on a stool with your legs crossed and your arms up as if being prepped for surgery, while Sanji fussed around you with a towel and an annoyed mutter.

“Stupid captain,” he grumbled, drying behind your ears. “What kind of idiot thinks slobber counts as grooming—hold still.”

You hissed softly—not at him, but at the injustice of it all.

“Don’t tug the tail fluff,” you grumbled. “It’s sensitive.”

Sanji ignored you. “You’re soaked. Again. And now you smell like Luffy. I’m not letting him touch you ever again.”

You blinked up at him.

Tilted your head.

Then, very casually—you leaned forward and licked his cheek.

Immediate silence.

Sanji froze. Towel dangling from one hand. Eyes wide.

You leaned in again and gave his jaw a slow, deliberate lick. Then followed it with a little nip on his collarbone.

“...Soft spot,” you murmured. “You taste like spice.”

“WHAT THE HELL—”

The galley doors burst open.

Zoro: “WHAT DID I JUST WALK INTO.”

Usopp: “SHE’S GROOMING AGAIN, SOUND THE ALARMS—”

Chopper: “WHY IS SHE NIPPING—WHY IS SHE NIPPING?!”

Nami: “SANJI, SAY SOMETHING BEFORE SHE LICKS YOUR NECK—”

Sanji: “I—SHE—SHE STARTED—I’M THE VICTIM HERE—”

You calmly flicked your tail, leaned back on your stool, and licked your paw like you hadn’t just committed affection-based war crimes.

“What? I’m returning the favor.”

Robin, watching from the doorway with her teacup, chuckled. “Seems fair to me.”

Sanji was red. Practically steaming.

Zoro looked like he wanted to leap across the room and punt someone.

“She licked him,” Zoro growled.

“She bit me,” Sanji snapped back.

“IT WAS A LOVE NIP,” you shouted, ears pinned.

Luffy, suddenly popping his head through the window: “DO I GET LOVE NIPS TOO?!”

“NO.” said at least five voices at once.

Eventually, Sanji tossed the towel over your head to shut you up, muttering, “I swear you’re going to be the death of me.”

You purred.

“I better be.”

[adashoflavendermelancholy]

Music and Flames

The Whitebeard pirates were well known for their parties. Even other emperors knew the large group liked to party. It wasn’t like Shanks’ crew that drank until they drying a whole island up. No it was different. They would dance, sing, and laugh the whole night away. All in all a very fun happy night when they partied.

The end of the year party was coming up. Another year that they lived and were happy to be part of. Everyone was ready to have a blast. Even the newer recruits were getting in on the party.

The ex Spade pirates were helping where they could. Getting more food, and alcohol. Ace had towed a few ships to the next island just to make sure they had enough to last them. Deuce helping the commanders with planning. They put up lights so no one would be left in the dark. Tents to sleep in or anything else that would be needed. Multiple places to go to the bathroom. It was all for the best party of the year.

Ace smiled and laughed. Trying his best not to get too caught up with the fact that it was that time of year again. It wasn’t like the Whiteboard's knew about it. The Spades too busy to mention it. He could relax and enjoy the time he got with them.

When the party started they found out that it started strangely. Everyone got a chance to show off what they learned or completed this year. Everything form a drawing they did to full battle plans. Just about everything they were proud of was on display. Pops watching with a smile on his face, as each child presented.

Before long it was the new comers turn. Not minding that they weren’t ready for this. It was part of the hazing. It also helped not make the new people freak out about having something completed that would match the others.

Deuce stood on stage being the first to be thrown up there. He looked around then at Pops. Everyone waited, smiling and holding no judgment for the boy. “I uh wrote a full three notebooks about our adventures.” He said, hoping it was enough. Just what was he supposed to say?

“AWESOME!” “YOU HAVE TO READ SOME OF THEM TO US!” The crowd yelled. Making Deuce read out some of the things he wrote. All of them were true of course. Cheering more when Deuce actually read out one of the things they did that year. Did if focus on Ace, yeah. Ace was doing something stupid and got them caught up in it. Making the Whiteboard's laugh and snicker while looking at Ace. Not that he minded much. But, they were alive at the end of the day. Just another story to tell when he saw Luffy again.

Banshee made a new dish this year. One that Thatch taught her. It took six attempts to get it right. Every time it went wrong, Ace got to eat more than the others. Not that anyone wanted the off colored creation he was eating. She was so happy to get it right. Knowing that she was close because Ace said it tasted good. Everyone cheered and told her to keep on cooking.

Skull told them about how he was just a pirate fanboy until he met Ace. MEtting Ace was both the best and worst thing for his fan life. Ace showed up beat up the crew he was hanging out with. Then didn’t know how to sail the ship at all. He had to teach Ace and Deuce everything, until they made it to the next island. But he ended up having to keep the idiot alive. Ace yelled ‘That’s not being true, I knew some things.’ not that anyone believed him. It did end up making everyone laugh. Soon everyone had gone up. Learning more about the new siblings then they might have in the next month.

It was Ace’s turn. He didn’t really know what to say. It wasn’t like he really did anything note worthy. He fought a bunch of people but that wasn’t unusual for him. Plus everyone else had something else to be proud of. Thinking about what he did, the crowd waited.

They couldn’t wait to hear what he was going to come up with. Was it about fighting Pops? OR beating Jimbe a war lord of the sea. Maybe it was some other story they hadn’t learned yet. Whatever it was they couldn’t wait to hear it.

The answer was nothing they could ever expect.“I…uh…learned a song?” Ace said not confident. Otama taught it to him when he visited. It honestly wasn’t that big of a thing.

The silence as they wondered why that of all things was what he said. “Well, Sing it then!” Thatch called out. Laughing that singing is what Ace chose.

“kaeru no uta ga

kikoete kuru yo

gwa gwa gwa gwa

gero gero gero gero

gwa gwa gwa” Ace sang. He had never sang in front of a crowd before and didn’t really know what to sing. It was a short song, and was over soon enough. The others stared at him then cheered. Telling him he did a good job. That he should sing more often. Ace, was so embarrassed that his shoulders were on fire. But, it wasn’t a bad feeling. This time at least.

Izou knew that song. Though they didn’t say anything right away. It was nice to hear their language again. From someone other than themselves. After all who else was from Wano on their crew. Maybe with time they could teach Ace how to speak with them. That would be the most fun.

Not right now though at the musicians had gotten their hands on Ace and were unlikely to let him go. They were going to make the boy sing until he couldn’t. Izou saw many of the new spades being taken away into the groups that shared their hobbies and interests. Reminding Izou why they asked Pops to start this whole thing.

Twords the end of the year everyone waited. Counting down the seconds. Another year as a family. A year of seeing the world and fighting. Pranks, laughter, and tears. There was so much to every year. It only made the best parts of life to be here. Tomorrow the party would continue, one a little sadder to honor the ones that didn’t make it to the new year. If they died or left to peruse there dreams, it didn’t matter. They would always be family to them. There was never a need to say goodbye when they would see each other again.

[theink-stainedfolk]

OC Unusual Association Tag

Thank you for the tag @willtheweaver i found this tag very interesting so i will take my ocs from two different stories lol.

How-To: Pick a character(s) and tell us what comes to mind for them in each category.

From The General's Bride:

Yin Jiàn

Seasoning: Star anise (aromatic but slightly bitter) Weather: A quiet snowfall at dawn Color: Crimson tinged with gold Sky: The last hues of sunset before twilight takes over Magic Power: Illusions—hiding, deceiving, and revealing only what he wants Plant: Wisteria (beautiful but draping, always hanging) Weapon: A finely crafted dagger, hidden beneath silk robes Social Media: A carefully curated Instagram account—perfection on the surface, but cryptic in captions Makeup: Delicate but striking—sharp eyeliner, soft lips, like a painting come to life Candy: Dark chocolate with a lingering, bittersweet aftertaste Fear: Being truly seen and understood, with nowhere left to hide Method of Long-Distance Travel: A palanquin, luxurious but enclosed Art Style: Traditional Chinese ink painting—fluid, elegant, yet bound by strokes Stationery: A gold-inlaid calligraphy brush, well-worn from use Celestial Body: A waning crescent moon—beautiful, distant, hiding its full self D&D Class: Bard (idk dnd so i had to search lol)

Luo Xingchen

Seasoning: Black pepper—strong, straightforward, with a bite Weather: A harsh winter wind that cuts through everything Color: Steel gray, unyielding Sky: A storm brewing on the horizon—calm, but not for long Magic Power: Telekinesis—efficient, powerful, without wasted movement Plant: Pine tree—unmoving, ever-resilient, standing through the storm Weapon: A long, battle-worn guandao (polearm) Social Media: No personal accounts, but if he had one, it’d be all blunt truths and zero embellishment Makeup: None, except for the occasional bloodstains that never seem to fully fade Candy: Bitter coffee-flavored hard candy—strong, acquired taste, keeps you awake Fear: Attachment—because losing it would be unbearable Method of Long-Distance Travel: Horseback, fast and efficient, no need for luxury Art Style: Realism, painted in stark contrasts—nothing romanticized, only truth Stationery: A plain yet practical inkstone, well-used but cared for Celestial Body: A solitary star burning in the void—distant but steadfast D&D Class: Fighter

From Ghosted Together:

Vihaan Singh

Seasoning: Garam masala Weather: Humid summer night with fireflies Colour: Deep amber Sky: A golden sunset after a storm Magic Power: Spirit summoning Plant: Marigold Weapon: Brass knuckles Social Media: Chaotic meme-filled Instagram stories Makeup: Smudged eyeliner he swears he didn’t put on Candy: Spicy tamarind candy Fear: Losing control over his powers Method of Long-Distance Travel: Motorcycle Art Style: Messy, expressive sketches Stationery: Ink-stained journal pages with doodles in the margins Celestial Body: Eclipse D&D Class: Warlock

Lǐ Zé Yǔ

Seasoning: Sichuan peppercorn Weather: Crisp autumn morning with a slight chill Colour: Midnight blue Sky: Clear, full-moon night Magic Power: Precognition Plant: White lotus (lolololol) Weapon: Hidden dagger Social Media: A perfectly curated, aesthetically pleasing Weibo account Makeup: Subtle, flawless foundation he “doesn’t wear” Candy: Dark chocolate with sea salt Fear: Being powerless in a life-or-death situation Method of Long-Distance Travel: Bullet train Art Style: Hyper-realistic ink drawings Stationery: High-quality fountain pen and pristine notebooks Celestial Body: The North Star D&D Class: Rogue

---

Tagging @finickyfelix @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally @the-golden-comet @thecomfywriter @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @keeping-writing-frosty @oliolioxenfreewrites @vesanal @orphanheirs @dauntlessdraupadi

[faulty-writes]

hello!!!! may i request fantasy au prince!iida x knight!reader headcanons? thank you!! take care!!

[ Oh, this is a bit new. I'm so used to doing Knight!Iida. But Prince Iida? Hell yeah, sign me up for that! ]

Prince Tenya was the second heir to the throne of the Yuuei Kingdom. He was admired for his compassion and sense of responsibility to his citizens. You, on the other hand, were one of the royal knights assigned to guard and always protect the prince.

"Pardon if this is rather forward of me but I observed this rare white love dragon rose while we were walking through the garden and I…" He cleared his throat, something unusual for a prince of his stature to do. "I believe it was rather fitting to gift to you because you are my shining knight and the one, I always wish to remain by my side."

Tenya and your combat skills appeared equally matched, part of the reason for that was because you had trained him. Regardless, many spoke of how your conjoined skills in battle complimented each other. Yet it was Tenya who acted so fascinated whenever the two of you finished training. "Your skills are rather intriguing! Inspiring even! I am honored to have a knight with such promise working by my side!"

"Please address me by my name when we are alone," he requested this several times from you, but you thought it improper to address a member of the royal family by their first name. That is until Tenya kneeled before you and said, "I am quite aware that such is unheard of. However, I believe we have quite an indestructible relationship, and I trust you with my life."

It was no surprise you had other dreams apart from serving under the royal family, all of which you shared with Tenya, and in return, he shared his dreams and worries with you. This included his fear that he would not be able to handle the weight of his future responsibilities, regardless of whether he became King or remained a Prince ruling by his brother's side.

"I believe that's a rare blood mushroom," he said, quickly documenting it in his notebook. On occasion, you'd join Tenya to explore the forests near the kingdom and he'd always write down his sightings for research later. While you enjoyed moments like this, you were always prepared to defend him if lurkers were around.

He confided in you when his brother received a grave injury, and he was then labeled as the only remaining heir to the throne. Your heart broke when he kneeled in front of you and cried in your lap. The Prince…now future King looked so broken and although you tried offering him comforting words, you knew there was very little to be done with a broken heart.

As promised, after he had received the crown. You remained by his side, as his most trusted knight, and while he granted you the responsibility of training the lesser knights which took up most of your time. You enjoyed serving under him, and you especially loved the words the two of you shared when he couldn't fall asleep considering you were also assigned to guard him at night.

[nogacheloveka-blog]

The Bad Sanses somehow ended up in the Backrooms. №7

<-Switch to Russian ver.

next 8

prev 6

This is the translation of the another post from Russian to English. I understand English, but it is very difficult for me to write in English, so I asked chat GPT to help me. I have corrected some parts, but there still may be mistakes.

I'm experimenting with shadows) I like that Nightmer now looks like a happy octopus. Contrary to tradition, he was the first one in the photo, not Killer(I like how his fur turned out). But with Cross, I can't seem to draw his mech sharper and harder. Maybe in the future, I'll be able to do something that satisfies me. I feel like I messed up the perspective a bit in the drawing, and maybe some characters seem a bit lower/higher than I tried to draw them before, but I tried to maintain proportions =)

The new level was a network of mazes with walls made of ancient brick, through the gaps of which light passed. They were so narrow that Nightmer clearly felt a wave of irritation from the Destroyer, apparently afraid of accidental touches with someone. He himself didn't like the excess of disturbing light in this place.

Their smiling pets, on the other hand, enthusiastically entered the bright tunnels, gathering in groups around lanterns and torches, gradually depleting them until they went out with a characteristic sound. Since the author of the notes did not specify the exact path of penetration to level 3 through this place, most likely they had to wander back and forth for quite a long time until they finally came somewhere, or Error did not feel the transition between levels.

They slowly walked in the dark through the corridors following the Smilers absorbing the light. The material of the walls changed more often than on level 0: they passed through caves with glowing moss, hospital corridors with long incandescent lamps, round tunnel-pipes with blinding light from grilles. The latter gave them hope that they could finally get out at least to the Antivoid, but when Killer tried to stick his head out of the window, he received a very painful burn, which made his bones blacken. Insensitive to pain, he looked more surprised than angry. Fortunately, his HP was not affected. Nevertheless, the group stopped so that Horror could treat his injury.

It seems that the light on this level was not particularly friendly. And this helped them to pay attention to the fact that there were fewer former dog monsters around them now. Continuing to watch them, it turned out that their number decreased when they attacked flashing sources of light. Apparently, the decision to follow them protected the guys from unnecessary injuries. When their pack's number approached critical, Error was hit by a flashing light. Fortunately, the flash only hit his scarf, completely destroying it, which made the enraged Destroyer unleash his fury on hostile photons, at the same time completely destroying their accompaniment.

Fortunately, not far from the battle site, they still stumbled upon a hole in the wall leading to a richly decorated but empty bathroom. This was level 3.

The author of the notebook has no records about this level. He wrote a lot about how to get there, but did not describe it. Since all the levels before this one were quite empty and not heavily populated with hostile creatures, the group did not worry about the future.

Nightmer reacted quite optimistically to this place. He felt that sweet negativity was flowing in the pipes around them, which was unusual for him and deafened any presence of other creatures. It was clear that he would not be able to use his aura effectively here, for example, to search for lost ones or communicate with entities. Although the power that now overwhelmed him was good. (he is worried about the condition of others, maybe they should leave this place as soon as possible)

Error is still too vulnerable from the damage to his scarf and doesn't want to talk to anyone.

Cross saw through an open window a neighboring room where hundreds of garlands wrapped around prison bars. A mesmerizing sight. He heard a distant sound like a working generator and a faint smell of gasoline.

The rest decided to take a break from running away from the light show.

Nightmare belongs to Jokublog Killer belongs to RahafWabas Dust belongs to Ask-DustTale Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios Error belongs to CrayonQueen Cross belongs to JakeiArtwork

[the-clawtake]

Visiting Officers Quarters,

Camp Månsdottir, Alshain

FEBRUARY 16, 3061

It was fortunate, Jehan thought as he straightened up, that whoever was knocking on his door had not done so any early. He had just finished his physiotherapy exercises, and had the knock come before he had, he would have ignored it.

Instead, reaching for the water bottle he had set on the side table, he called “Enter” and took a deep draught. When there was no response, he walked over to the door and pressed the panel to open it, stepping back as it slid open. He recognized one of the two men standing in the hall.

Star Colonel Stephan Huntsig commanded the 50th Striker Cluster, who were part of the garrison of Alshain, and specifically that part of the garrison that was based out of Camp Mansdottir, and as such he had command of the base. He was clad in his dress uniform, which was unusual. The warriors assigned to Camp Mansdottir typically spent their time in fatigues or battle dress.

The man standing behind him was best described as “Average”. Average height, average build. Facial features that would once have been described as “caucasian”, but aggressively average for that. Brown hair cropped short. The sort of man no one would give a second glance. Even his clothing was, for a civilian, average. A suit, but one that appeared off the rack, rather than tailored.

“Star Captain Jehan. A moment of your time, please.” Jehan nodded, stepping back and gesturing them into the small sitting room.

“I beg surkai. You have arrived at the end of my therapy exercises. I have not had time to clean, or dress.” Jehan glanced down at his bare torso, the swollen red lines of healing scars along his ribs. Star Colonel Huntsig took it in stride, and the other man with him seemed to be trying to follow the Star Colonel’s example. He was less successful; Jehan could see how the man’s gaze kept drifting to the healing scars. He ignored it, and took another drink from his bottle.

“Please, sit. How may I be of assistance?” He gestured at the small couch against one wall, preferring to remain standing. Huntsig took a seat, the other man following suit a moment later. That worthy stole a glance at Huntsig, who intercepted it, and nodded.

“Allow me to make known to you Mister Kriesel, Star Captain Jehan. Mister Kriesel comes to us from the Lyran Commonwealth, with some rather disturbing news.”

Jehan turned his gaze to the Lyran, silently absorbing the information.

“Ah... Yes. Uh... It’s actually... Leutnant Kriesel.” Kriesel straightened slightly. Some of the diffidence went out of his posture. “Leutnant Gregor Kriesel, Lyran Intelligence Corps.” Jehan nodded, his lips tight. He had not had a lot of experience with the Lyrans, their territory falling into the Wolf and Jade Falcon invasion corridors, but several of the Warriors under his command had grown up in Rasalhague before Operation REVIVAL and none of them had had anything good to say about the Commonwealth.

“Welcome to Alshain, Leutnant. I am Star Captain Jehan MacKenzie.” He gave the narrowest of bows, then took another swig from his bottle. “The Star Colonel says you have concerning news?”

“Ah, yes... It is... embarassing. For my government. But it seems that one of our nobles, a...” Here, Gregor pauses, and pulls a small black notebook from his breast pocket. He flips through it for a moment, then closes and replaces it. “One Anton DeSimon. Has taken it into his head to create a... Menagerie. Of sorts.”

Jehan frowned. So far this seemed a waste of time, but Huntsig seemed to think it worth his time, so he waited for the intelligence man to continue.

“A, ah. Menagerie. Of Totem Animals? For the Clans.” Well. Thought Jehan. That was certainly something. And it would do relations between the Commonwealth and the Clans little good, if it became public knowledge, but he did not see how that was his concern. Or indeed, why the Lyran Intelligence Corps would be giving the information to the Dominion. He gave Gregor an encouraging wave.

“Yes. Well. For the most part, he has been making motions to acquire the animals through legitimate avenues. He has apparently found a Jade Falcon merchant willing to part with a pair of their namesakes, and his factor has been in negotiations through the Star League Enclave on Huntress. But we have some evidence that he has decided to take a... shortcut. When it comes to the acquisition of Ghost Bears.”

Jehan took a deep breath as everything clicked. There was, at this point, a small but growing population of Ghost Bears on several planets within the Dominion, including, as it happened, Alshain. He had personal knowledge of that, in fact, his injuries having been caused by one during his recent participation in a Clawing ritual, one of the first to occur on the planet. But the populations were very small, and as such extremely well protected, legally. The only interference of them that was permitted was the Clawing ritual, and those were rare.

He caught Huntsig’s eyes with his own, and the Star Colonel nodded.

“It seems this DeSimon has put out feelers for an illegal hunt. To take a breeding pair of Ghost Bears alive and smuggle them off planet. Lyran Intelligence feels that this is a very good way to provoke an unsanctioned invasion of Commonwealth space by Dominion forces, and have tasked Leutnant Kriesel here with preventing that.”

Jehan barked a short laugh.

“Unsanctioned invasion? Aff, that is a good way to phrase that. Every Trueborn Warrior who could secure a Dropship and Jump transit would charge headlong. Even if we had to plough through the Wolves and the Falcons to do it.” His use of the word ‘we’ was not lost on either of his guests. He set his water bottle back down on the side table. Clasped his hands behind his back, set his feet shoulder’s width apart.

“So.” He asked. “When do we start?”

[shit-enmu-says]

Phantasmagoria: Chapter 8

CW for manipulation, unhealthy relationships, love bombing, blood/gore/death, and drug/alcohol use, neglect

Muzan (alias Shingetsu) continues his manipulation of Enmu and discovers another deeply buried secret. Meanwhile Enmu’s mental state deteriorates with each passing day.

It had been weeks since Enmu’s initial meeting with Shingetsu in the library. Since then, they met almost every night to the point he was scarcely home at all.

Shingetsu was a perplexing individual to say the least. In spite of his proclaimed fondness of Enmu, it seemed at times as if he wished to push him away. During the quiet hours of early morning, he’d pull Enmu close to him. Yet if Enmu got too comfortable, he made some excuse to get up or leave.

His demeanor could change in the blink of an eye. At times he was warm and engaging, speaking animatedly with him over anything from their research to their eventual escape. At others, he ignored Enmu entirely. It seemed this nothing he did, be it trying to engage him in conversation, taking better care of his appearance, or fetching him scroll after scroll from the endless shelves that lined the walls could get his attention.

Things had been that way for a couple of nights. Enmu stared down at his notes despondently. It brought him back to the days when he was young, doing anything he could think of to impress his Ayumu. Ayumu, who treated him at times as if he didn’t exist at all, particularly when he was younger. It seemed as if he only acknowledged Enmu’s presence to tell him off.

“Why does he ignore me all the time?” Enmu had asked his father on a rare day off, “He’s so cold to me. It’s like he hates me.” “Ayumu? Hate you? Nonsense,” his father had said, “He just doesn’t understand you. Sometimes I don’t understand you myself and that’s my own failing. Whatever inner demons you’re battling, it’s been hard on all of us, not just you.”

“You’ve been unusually quiet,” came a deep voice from behind him. Enmu turned around to see Shingetsu leaning over his shoulder. “How long have you been standing there?” Enmu asked, alarmed.

“Long enough. Something’s eating at you. Care to enlighten me or are you just going to stare at the ceiling all night?”

“So you see things that aren’t there?” Shingetsu asked, “That explains a lot.” Their notes lay forgotten on the other end of the table. A small cup filled with sake replaced the notebook Enmu had been holding.

He wasn’t sure why he agreed to this. He never cared much for alcohol. He disliked the taste of anything but plum wine and didn’t have much of a tolerance for the stuff. Still, it seemed impolite to decline Shingetsu’s offer.

Enmu knew he would regret this later. It was getting harder to think clearly already. He should really be more guarded around this man. Whatever they were, he didn’t know Shingetsu all that well. He felt compelled to open up to him but wasn’t sure why.

“Not just see,” Enmu said, rubbing his temples, “Sometimes I hear things. Or smell things.” “You smell things that aren’t there?” Shingetsu asked. “Sometimes,” Enmu mumbled, “Speaking of which have you seen any rats upstairs?”

“Rats? No. Why do you ask?”

“Sometimes when I go up to sweep the halls it smells like rotting flesh,” Enmu said, “I wondered if one had gotten trapped in the walls and died.”

Shingetsu stared at him. “No, I’ve never smelled anything of the sort,” he said, “Your cup’s empty. Let me pour you more.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think I can drink anymore,” Enmu said, putting his hand in front of the raised tokkuri. He didn’t have much of a tolerance for the stuff as it was. If he continued drinking he’d have a migraine tomorrow. He eyed Shingetsu, frowning slightly. There was a cup in his own hands. He’d brought it to his lips a few times but it didn’t seem any less full. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking clearly.

Shingetsu placed his hand over Enmu’s, pushing it down until it was flat against the table. “Please,” Shingetsu said as he filled his cup once more, “I insist.”

Enmu’s pulse quickened as a chill went down his spine. He shivered, staring up at Shingetsu wide eyed. He could have sworn for a moment that as Shingetsu’s lips parted in a smile that he saw fangs. Enmu glanced down at the ground. Blood was spattered all over the table, the floor, and all over him.

“You dozed off again,” Shingetsu said. Enmu gasped, blinking furiously as he downed the contents of his cup in one gulp. It burned going down, but the pain helped him regain his focus.

“Ah, sorry,” Enmu said, rubbing his eyes, “I suppose I’ve just been tired lately.” Whatever he’d seen moments ago was gone. Shingetsu looked perfectly normal now. There was no blood on him or anywhere else, just the warm, flickering glow of candle light. Comfortable, safe, and mundane.

“You seem to do that a lot,” Shingetsu said. “Do what?” “Pass out.”

“Oh…that,” Enmu said feebly, “That’s another problem I have. Sometimes I have dreams so vivid I can’t tell if they’re real or not.” “That must make for a very interesting life,” Shingetsu replied. “That’s not the word I’d use,” Enmu sighed, “It just makes everything more difficult.”

“Is that so?” Shingetsu said, leaning forward. “It’s gotten me into trouble,” Enmu said, “My family used to live in a bigger house before our clinic had so many competitors. We were wealthier in those days. I dreamed we still lived there and wandered in. Scared the family who lived there now half to death.”

Enmu leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. The room was spinning. How could he possibly walk home in this condition? He had to go home this morning at least so Ayumu wouldn’t grow suspicious. “It’s caused other problems, too. Sometimes I’ll forget a patient’s appointment because I’ll dream I’ve already seen them.”

“It’s impressive you’re even able to work in this state,” Shingetsu said. “Ah, this is nothing,” Enmu replied, “Things aren’t nearly as bad as they used to be when I was younger.” To his surprise he found himself wishing for more sake. Perhaps one more cup would help purge those unpleasant images from his mind and allow him to sleep. Without even having to ask, Shingetsu poured him another cup.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “You don’t have to worry about me telling,” Shingetsu reassured him, “You seem to be holding this place together even with everything else going on.”

“Damn!” Shingetsu said, sitting up ramrod straight. He gathered his things, glancing around the room. “What’s the rush?” Enmu slurred, “I thought you were going to stay a while.”

“Can’t. Morning,” Shingetsu said as he buttoned his coat and put his hat on, “I have to leave now. I trust you’ll clean up down here.” “How can you tell it’s morning?” Enmu asked, swaying as he gripped the table’s edge to steady himself, “There aren’t any windows down here.”

Shingetsu’s back was to him. “I can feel it in my bones,” he said. “I’m sorry…what?” Enmu asked as he stumbled forward. “Never you mind,” Shingetsu said, as he made his way to the door.

As his pale hand gripped the door handle he glanced over his shoulder. “And Enmu?”

“Y-yes?” Enmu asked, face flushing. He wasn’t sure if it was the sake or the shock of Shingetsu calling him by his first name. To him he was always Doctor Tamio if he was addressed directly at all, nothing else.

“Don’t go upstairs today. Do you understand?”

[bookgeekgrrl]

My media this week (9-15 Feb 2025)

his little smirk delights me

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

😤 A Family Affair (Nero Wolfe #46) (Rex Stout, author; Michael Prichard, narrator) - forever mad this contains so much period-typical misogyny towards feminists & a rape 'joke' bc otherwise it's one of my very fave in this series! dammit, rex!

😍😍 Notebook No. 6 series (magdaliny) - 56K, stucky - incredible post-WS recovery fic - this should be a classic of the fandom, up there with infinite coffee, ithlyn and 4mw. I am changed for reading it. essentially an epistolary story, since he was writing for someone. Bucky's voice was incredible: funny and devastating, often at the same time, which felt both very real & very Jewish (complimentary). in my stucky bookclub, someone said that reading this felt like they were reading Literature and I don't disagree (esp with at least one direct allusion to Joyce's Ulysses). if you are a stucky/WS fan and haven't read this, don't wait any longer.

😊 Rear Admiral ('Nathan Burgoine) - entertaining, mostly pwp short story: "Can one average nurse and his way-more-than-average crush make it work? Russ figures there’s one way to find go big or go home." You know how after you read something incredible (see above) you gotta switch gears to the complete opposite? yeah, that.

😊 Stick Handling (Kit Olmstead) - fussy fashion reporter + hockey player who makes him undergo the mortifying ordeal of being known. def a grumpy/sunshine vibe, entertaining read

🥰 The New York Avengers series (Brenda) - 54K stucky baseball AU: 2nd chance, friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-(finally) lovers, lots of baseball details & loads of fantastic graphic & multimedia aspects, like you don't see much these days tbh

🥰 Sweeten to Taste (saintgarbanzo, author; babooshk_art, artist) - 51K drarry set immediately after canon. some really interesting musings about retributive v restorative justice. Plus amazing food writing

🥰 Mine is the Shining Future (brideofquiet) - 48K, Stucky, pre-WWII no powers AU; reread, absolutely stellar fic

💖💖 +76K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖

dinluke lawyer au #1 (spqr) - Star Wars: dinluke, 31K - absolutely fantastic au, all the details (especially han) were *chef's kiss*

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

The Sam Sanders Show - Inside the Secret Vocal Techniques of Top Singers (ft. Doug Peck)

Would I Lie to You - s18, e5

Taskmaster - s18, e10

Handsome - Pretty Little Episode #26

Handsome - Paul Simon & Edie Brickell ask about love

One Song - Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love"

Um, Actually - s10, e2

THE MUPPET SCRIPT

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem

Only Murders In The Building - s1, e7-10; s2 & s3

D20: Dungeons & Drag Queens - "The Battle For Darktide" (s2, e6)

D20: Adventuring Party - "In The Nick of Twine" (s19, e6)

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

Pop Culture Happy Hour - 2025 Super Bowl

Vibe Check - Cheers, Queerleaders!

Short Wave - The Dangers Of Mirror Cell Research

You're Dead to Me - Causes of the British Civil Wars: Royalists versus Parliamentarians

Pop Culture Happy Hour - Guide To Great Shows On Network TV

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Unusual Loves Stories Week: Hachiko

Pop Pantheon - DIANA ROSS PT. 1: THE SUPREMES & DIANA ROSS PT. 2: THE SOLO YEARS (with Hit Parade's Chris Molanphy)

Vibe Check - Can We Talk About F*cking Eggs?! featuring Tim Miller

99% Invisible - Your Own Personal Jesus

Today, Explained - Tater bot

Decoder Ring - The Scratch-Off Ticket’s Instant Win

Imaginary Worlds - Filk Fusion: Where Sci-Fi Meets Folk Music

Switched on Pop - Does It Trance? The Weeknd & FKA Twigs

Persuasion by Jane Austen - Persuasion 10. | Family Connections

Short History Of… - Beatrix Potter

It's Been a Minute - Eggs are expensive, but are they safe?

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Unusual Love Stories Week: Post Office Bay

Endless Thread - Love in 60 Seconds

You're Dead to Me - The Arts and Crafts Movement: William Morris and his circle

The Curious History of Your Home - Ovens

Today, Explained - The making of a beauty king

Pop Culture Happy Hour - Captain America: Brave New World And What's Making Us Happy

99% Invisible - The Power Broker Breakdown Wrap-Up

Wait Wait… Don't Tell Me! - WWDTM: GWAR

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

Only Murders In The Building (Original Score, Seasons 1-4)

Finally Enough Love: 50 Number Ones [Madonna] {2022}

Philly Soul Soothers

Classic Disco Hits

Juliana Hatfield covers

[ambrossart]

DWM Writing Update + Preview #2

I'm heading out of town for Columbus Day weekend.

I was hoping to have the next DWM fic done before I left (which is now going to be more like 7-8,000 words 😂), but I'm still editing the last few scenes, so I'll finish it when I get back on Tuesday.

While I'm away, here's another little preview!

--------------

Four blocks away, Scott Sloman was dressed in his Sunday best and restlessly pacing his basement, which was now pristine thanks to his diligent efforts the day before. 

On that morning, Scottie had woken up early, consumed a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, and French toast (all prepared by his lovely mother, of course; Mrs. Sloman was an excellent cook), pulled on his rubber gloves, went downstairs, and got to work. It took him hours, but it was worth it. Every crumb, every cobweb, every splatter, every stain had been expertly tracked down and eliminated with the toughest chemicals money could buy. Now every surface sparkled radiantly, and the air carried a whimsical, woodsy scent that transported you to the crisp forests of New England—not that Scottie had ever been to New England, but he imagined that’s what its forests smelled like. 

He grabbed the can of EVERGREEN Air Freshener and gave it a vigorous shake.

“Do not spray that again,” Jeff told him. “You’re gonna give us all cancer.” 

“I’ll stop spraying when you guys stop smelling.” 

He pressed down hard on the nozzle and sprayed a thick cloud of EVERGREEN mist into the air. It showered over the table like a light drizzle of rain, getting on everyone’s hair, everyone’s clothes, and speckling the open page of Eddie Munson’s notebook. 

Eddie, who had been tuning everyone out and listening to music on his Walkman, now looked up with bewildered annoyance. “Dude, come on…” He fanned the remaining mist away with his hand and immediately went back to his notes. 

Observing him, Grant said to Jeff, “Damn, Eddie’s really in the zone today.”

It wasn’t exactly unusual for him to be this withdrawn. Eddie Munson took his D&D very seriously—perhaps a bit too seriously, although no one would ever dare tell him that. Before every session, while everyone else joked around and snacked on donuts and muffins (also prepared by Mrs. Sloman), Eddie sat quietly in his chair, the same chair he occupied for every session, and gradually slipped further… and further away. The Walkman, a gift from his uncle for his fourteenth birthday, only accelerated his emotional departure.

But he would return eventually. He always did. 

“You think he’s anxious about her coming?” Grant asked.

Jeff frowned guiltily. “Probably.” 

Beside Grant, Gareth was sharpening his pencil with a small metal pocket sharpener. From the look on his face, you would have thought he was honing a warblade. 

“He’s preparing his mind for battle,” Gareth said, his blue eyes burning with a ferocious and frightening intensity. “The enemy draws near. She will soon be at our gates.” He withdrew his pencil and blew fiercely on the pointed tip. “We must be ready to meet her.”

Jeff and Grant rolled their eyes. It was way too early in the morning for this. 

“She’s not the enemy,” Jeff said.

“Well, you’re a traitor,” Gareth replied. “Yeah, Eddie told me you’re the one who invited her, you Judas.”

“What? Oh c’mon, man, don’t start that now.” 

“How’d she do it?” Gareth asked. “Did she blackmail you? Bribe you? I didn’t realize your loyalty could be so easily bought, Jeff.”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” 

Grant, ever the rational one, said, “Ignore him. Gareth’s just mad she beat him in the spelling bee last year.”

And that’s when Gareth fired back with unseemly anger: “She did not beat me in the spelling bee! That whole competition was rigged right from the start. Every round, she got the easiest words while I got stuck with all the hard ones. It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. I’m telling you, the whole thing was a sham!”

Jeff and Grant exchanged an amused glance. “My mistake,” Grant said while Jeff snickered. “Clearly you’ve moved on from this.” 

Gareth waved him off. “Oh shut up, Grant. Look, this is about way more than a spelling bee, okay? That girl is a heartless, horrible devil-woman. I will not break bread with her. I will not fight alongside her on the battlefield. I won’t, I won’t, and neither will Eddie.” Gareth clapped Eddie on the shoulder and said, “Right, Eddie?”

The older boy flinched, looked up, and pulled the left speaker box away from his ear. “What?”

“We’re standing together, right? Against our common enemy?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knitted together. “I dunno what you’re talking about.” 

And now Scott Sloman had heard enough. “Are you guys even listening to me? Come on, this is a huge moment for us… for me, especially. I need you all to be on your best behavior today. No burping. No farting. Sit up straight and keep your elbows off the table, gentlemen. Today, we have a young lady gracing our party.” 

Gareth sneered. “She’s no lady. She’s a hellbeast.”  

Scottie slammed his fist on the table. “See, this is the kinda shit I’m talking about! You psychos are gonna scare her off before she even—” He saw that Eddie had already put his headphones back on, an act of subtle but profound defiance. Scottie’s jaw dropped. “Eddie… Eddie… Hey, Eddie, I’m talking here.” 

“Leave him alone,” Jeff said. “He’s getting into character.” 

Scottie scoffed at that. “Oh please… Eddie uses the same character for every campaign. If he doesn’t know his character by now, he never will.” 

He snatched the Walkman off the table and yanked it away, viciously ripping the headphone jack from the plug. 

Eddie’s head jerked up in startled surprise. “Dude, what the fuck—” 

“I’m doing this for your own good, Eddie. It’s about time you learn how to socialize with the fairer sex.”

Eddie glared at him, exasperated. “I know how to talk to girls.” 

“Really?” Scottie shot him a dubious look. “Okay, Eddie… how many words have you said to that cheerleader you think’s so cute?” 

“Zero,” Grant answered for him. “He’s said zero words to her.”  

Eddie just sighed miserably. “Can I have my Walkman back, please?”  

“No, Eddie, you can’t,” and Scottie set the cassette player on the shelf behind him. “See, this is exactly my point, you guys. We have a huge opportunity here. A girl is coming to play D&D with us. And not just any girl. One of the popular girls! Do you guys understand what this means? If we play our cards right, maybe she’ll start bringing her friends. Her popular friends. Her pretty friends.” 

“Is that what you think’s gonna happen?” Jeff asked. “You think a bunch of cheerleaders are gonna wanna play D&D with you?” 

Scottie shrugged and said in a waning voice, “Well, you never know…”  

Eddie put his head in his hands. “I knew this was gonna happen. I knew this was gonna happen. She’s not even here yet and she’s already ruining the game.” 

“Hey, where is she, anyway?” Grant said. “It’s already after ten. Are we sure she’s even gonna show?” 

“She probably won’t,” said Gareth. He leaned back in his chair, satisfied and smug. “Yeah, I bet she chickened out like the coward she is. Screw her, I say we start without her.”  

“We’re not starting without her,” Jeff said. “Look, she’ll be here, okay?”

“Spoken like a true traitor.” 

“Dude, stop calling me a—” 

Suddenly, the doorbell chimed. The sound echoed over their heads like a distant warhorn on a cold, fog-covered battlefield. Gareth reached for his newly sharpened pencil and held it like a knife. 

“She’s here.”

[pokemon-researcher-alexander]

[A video begins with Alexander and Sage taking the stage. He sits next to an old-school projector, and starts pulling out slides that he has prewritten in both Sinnohan and Galarian.

We will be down on the floor for further questions, so please do not interrupt me at this time. And while we are amongst you, please do not pet any of my Pokémon. They are generally mistrustful of strangers, and I would prefer to avoid any incidents. Exceptions may be made on a case-by-case basis, but only if they approach you first and I give written approval. The three with me today are as follows:

Sage happens to be shiny, lending a bluish tint to his greenery. Note that, having evolved in the dead of a particularly harsh winter, he ended up coniferous, rather than deciduous, much to my dismay during pollen season. Typically, Leafeon subsist almost entirely on sunlight, with a few berries to supply other essential nutrients. Given that both these things were in short supply at his time of evolution, his occasional diet is more in line with the other Eeveelutions.

While it is more difficult to tell without a side-by-side comparison, he is also larger than average, and has a much denser undercoat, traits he shares with the next Pokémon.

Changing slides with one hand, he absentmindedly tosses out an Ultra Ball with the other as Sage steps back. The white light resolves into a Luxray, and there is immediate muttering at her unusual appearance. Alexander rests a hand on her back, and it vanishes into the fur.

There are three main features that people typically remember about battling line Luxrays; a piercing gaze, luxurious mane, and a long, short-furred tail. You will notice that, as a purely wild-bred specimen, rather than one with a battling line ancestor, Aspen only has the first of these traits.

Without the mane, her ears are seated fully on top of her head, to allow for a better range of motion. Like Spruce’s, they are smaller, to help limit heat loss, as is her tail. The beardlike ruff of fur also helps with that, in addition to protecting her throat. Her proportions may seem off, with longer back legs than front, and comically oversized, fuzzy feet, but these adaptations allow her to walk on snow and make large leaps.

In what is hopefully a planned demonstration, he takes the hand off her back, snaps his fingers once, then makes a few signs that come across as nonsense. Aspen seems to understand, though, padding to the other side of the stage before turning and springing nearly 9m from a standstill. She lays down where she lands, watching the crowd carefully.

Flipping to his last pair of slides, he drops a Luxury Ball in the space that she vacated. Upon seeing the ubiquitous purple-and-cream fur, the reaction is just as immediate, but far more frightful, with at least one aborted scream, and three people running out the door. Alexander sighs, as Spruce appears to be fully asleep.

No, he is not descented, as that is a cruel process that would ruin any chance of survival in the wild, but he will not spray anyone here unless severely provoked.

Spruce is not, as you might think, an unusually-patterned Stunky. He is actually an unusually-patterned Skuntank, despite only weighing some 4kg. Spotted Skuntank, named for the dot on their foreheads, are much more reclusive than their Striped cousins, who fear nothing with an olfactory sense.

In fact, most of our knowledge of them comes from game cameras, and speculations made via comparison with the Striped ones. They are less skilled diggers, but far superior climbers, and all around more agile. Perhaps the most striking result of this, when combined with the shorter tail, is that even the Skuntank perform a handstand as a threat display, something Striped Stunky grow out of as they approach evolution.

Gathering up his slides and notebook, he then drapes Spruce over his shoulders, and flanked by his other Pokémon, leaves the stage very quickly, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.]

// If you made it all the way down here, thanks for reading, and two notes. Don't have much more time tonight, but I'll try to get to follow-up questions in the next week. And if any part of this violates your canon, please just disregard the post. I don't want this to start any IC arguments over whether or not subspecies exist; they do on this blog.

[rusakkowrites]

Time to retaliate! 🤗

For the headcanons: 🐅 for Mr Knightley

and 🗡️ for Emma :)

For the fic writing asks: 👀, 🏅,😈,🌙 ,👖,🌝

Thanks for the ask! <3 Answers under the cut.

🐅 Characterization: character habits, personality, etc. for Mr Knightley

This is a tough one! I do have a lot of thoughts and headcanons about Mr Knightley, but I’m not sure if any of them are particularly unusual. I suppose one thing where I might deviate from the norm in the fandom is that I’m not a huge fan of his characterisation in the 2020 film. I feel like he was made out to be a bit too… youthful, I guess? I also didn’t like the singing scene. I imagine him as being more staid and assured than he was in the film.

🗡 Fighting styles/combat for Emma

I think she’d be pretty useless in a fight! She’s always been very sheltered and protected, and her only sibling is so much older than she is that they probably never got into a real tussle. Emma would probably go into a fight really confidently but immediately discover that she’s in over her head. (And then Mr Knightley would rush to her rescue and scold her afterwards.)

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

Nothing that I would censor due to the subject matter – and even if there was something I didn’t want to post on main, there’s always the option of using a secondary account or posting anonymously.

However, with multi-chapter stories, I’ve banned myself from posting any chapters before I’ve finished writing the entire fic. Even if I’m really close to the end when I start posting, it just stresses me out too much to see my buffer of chapters dwindling down while I’m still writing (and those last chapters always end up growing longer than I’d planned). So I guess that any WIPs that I don’t manage to finish are doomed to remain in the WIP folder forever.

🏅What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc)?

I’m really proud of all the work that I put into So Happy a Summer. I did have a good time writing it, but it wasn’t one of those stories that just flow out effortlessly – I had to push myself quite a bit to get it done. It was challenging but ultimately very rewarding.

😈 Is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate?

I have received one or two comments about skimping on the fluff when writing romantic scenes. I personally don’t really enjoy multi-paragraph love confessions or detailed descriptions of tongues battling for dominance, so I tend to leave a fair bit to the imagination in my romantic fics. This is how I like to write, so the readers who would like more fluff are out of luck. :D

🌙 What time of day do you prefer to write? Why?

I would prefer to write in the morning, afternoon or early evening. However, I almost inevitably end up writing late in the evening or in the middle of the night instead. This is partly due to the fact that work interferes with my hobbies, partly because I have a terrible habit of procrastinating and partly because my creativity really seems to get going after 9 p.m.

👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

A plantser who leans more towards planning than pantsing. Some of my short fics are more or less unplanned or only have a vague outline in my head. However, for longer fics, I need some kind of an outline, or else I write myself into a corner and get stuck. My outlines vary from a few bullet points in a notebook to detailed timelines of events and generally go through a lot of editing and refining as I write – if my original plan doesn’t quite work, I have no compunction about tweaking it.

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

I don’t think I’ve ever written anything about Sir Walter Elliot, but I feel that his character could be a lot of fun to explore! Also, I recently acquired a horrible plot bunny involving John Thorpe – can’t imagine why…