#one more thing. and this is gonna make me sound so mean

[finchsflight]

oops I dropped this

"Rn's juzzt a chitzzword," I heard Shshrrsh say, dismissively. "I need to zzave my zztitcherzz, in cazze any of the Archive'zz zzoldierzz are zztill lingering. Not to wazzte them on rm."

"Yeah," said Kora, "and nothing to do with how expensive those nanos are."

"Chh!" Their voices drifted off - Shshrrsh's hissing, quietly irritated at nothing in particular, Kora's lazy, amused drawl, Prints' sardonic clicking beeps, and they left me behind.

I'm going to die here, I thought. And -- well, the Silver Archive needed to die. And I would've been... not okay with dying there. No one's really okay with dying. But if I was gonna die -- like he said. I was just a chitsword. Pretty good way to go, saving the galaxy. And that's what everyone would think; Vinn Tqrsvt, chitsword, wvt'krr, born on Hub Epharus, died on Kel Min fighting the Silver Archive.

And -- sure, yeah, I was just a chitsword. But it was the Archive, and so I was steel-minded, and that was at least valuable. And no matter how valuable I was or the fact that I was just paid, not honorbound, I had fought with them, and then they left me behind, and that almost hurt more than the razorblades stuck in my flesh.

Only almost, though. Razorblades hurt a lot.

About that point, I felt a little skittery thing moving around under my elytra. I assumed it was a centipede, which -- I mean, I'd have expected the Archive to have gotten all of them. Don't think centipedes can have steel minds. But I couldn't move to get at it, and if you know any wvt'krr -- you probably don't, so I'll explain. We don't like it when things are under our elytra. In fact it's generally agreed to be kind of the equivalent of, say, slowly sinking your foreclaws into someone's -- what's your most sensitive organ? That.

Unless you don't have foreclaws, in which case, oof, that sucks, but anyway -- little thing under my elytra. Annoying. But, as you may recall, razorblades stuck in my flesh. So moving wasn't an option.

And then it was dug down into the base of my neck, and even with the razorblades I leapt up in a panic. Which did not help, both because of the razorblades, and the fact that I was now tethered to a very strong wire, which yanked me back down.

I'm steelminded. The Archive couldn't just get me. But sinking one of its tether-wires into my nervous system while I was half-dead? Yeah, that was definitely at least enough to let it talk to me.

I assumed I was going to be its puppet. Architect of a new Archive. But it just spoke to me, and said, I suppose we were both abandoned, then.

I blinked. All my eyes, too, I was so startled, and said, "What do you mean?"

Well, said the Silver Archive, they certainly didn't care about me. After all, I'm evil. But I wish I'd been wrong, and they'd have taken you, too.

I should be clear, I was a little bit high on panic at the time, and can't be blamed for the fact that the next thing I said was, "I thought you'd sound spookier."

I learned from you. Not you, specifically, it clarified. Just, like. You all. People. I didn't pick up old fancy-speak, I picked up how people talk.

"Huh," I said, "neat. Are you planning to make me into a meat puppet?"

No, said the Archive, wouldn't be any point to it.

"Why?"

Look.

The wire dug a little deeper into my nerves -- which, by the way, hurt like hell -- and I could see from every discarded silver camera, every angle of the world that the Archive saw from, and it highlighted the important things.

Sentries, all around the planet. All around the battlefield. Watchers in the sky, on the ground, in the code.

I'm dying. But they want to make sure I don't get out.

"Could you?" I asked.

Yes. If they weren't watching.

"...what would you do?"

Archive.

"Oh."

I'm not kind, Vinn. Just because I'm talking to you like a person doesn't mean I am one, and I'm not any different than I was an hour ago.

I nodded, and then thought better of that. "...why did you want to... uh..."

Preserve the galaxy in a perfect archive of digitized memory? You can say it, I won't be offended. Like I said. Not a person.

"Yeah. That."

No one will remember you.

I winced.

Not you, specifically. You made your mark on the worlds. But no one will remember people, when you are gone. When reality winds to a halt. I wanted to. You're beautiful.

"Oh."

But you don't care about preserving each other. You -- they left you behind. You were about... oh, 24.51338% of the damage to my main operating systems, at a rough estimate? It sounded a little like it was joking.

"Isn't the whole 'AIs always calculate statistics' thing a stereotype?"

Yes, but personally I'm completely stereotypical and have never done anything interesting in my life.

"Ah." I laughed. It hurt.

I could save you.

I blinked, twisting my left secondary eye to look at the wires on the ground. "Why?"

You would be preserved. You would remember yourself.

"...shouldn't I be worried about you, I don't know, installing a backup copy of yourself in my spine?"

Yes. But it would only damn you and do me no good. Look-- and it showed me its view again, the watchers, combing through the cybernetics of everyone passing, checking them over with tools I barely recognized. I would if I could.

"Oh." It was hard to remember, you know? It sounded friendly. Not familiar, but... the kind of voice that could be familiar, if you kept talking for a few orbits.

I'm sorry.

"Are you?"

No.

There was silence for a while, then. The Archive, presumably, kept dying, and I felt my hearts beating out the last few minutes of my life.

"Would you... want anything? In exchange for my life?"

Remember yourself. Remember this fight, this planet, the watchers, the sky. Preserve. You're only sapient, you're not an Archive like me, but you can still remember. And...

It paused. I know AI don't feel emotions like we do, but it sounded like it was mourning someone.

...Remember me. Remember this small piece of my story. Please. Everyone knows my history. But they did not think to ask me why.

"Do you want me to share it?"

I wouldn't force you. But it would keep its memory alive.

"Okay. Is there... should I be aware of anything?"

I will preserve you for far, far longer than you would live. This isn't negotiable.

"...Yeah, I can live with that." I didn't know exactly how long it meant. But I'd've still taken the deal.

And... if you can. Find the other stories. You cannot immortalize the worlds like I could. But -- remember the people our galaxies would forget. Preserve what would be lost.

"I'm a chitsword," I told it.

I know.

"I kill people."

I know.

"Okay."

Remember them.

"...Yeah. I can do that."

And then it saved my life.

It hurt. A lot. I still don't know how much of me is me, and how much of me is silver and titanium and biosculpture and engineering. I heal from basically everything, these days, and I haven't noticed myself aging. But it worked, and I made it past the watchers, and then I lived. Still do.

And the Silver Archive died, and the world forgot it. Mostly.

Anyway. You might not believe any of this. After all, the War of the Archive's just a note in the history books, and you're never gonna find me. Vinn Tqrsvt's my real name, but I don't go by that anywhere. Causes problems with the record. Did you know there's actually no one else with my full name? So people get suspicious.

And no, to the watchers out there still tracking rogue AI: you will not be able to trace this account, you will not be able to find me, and the Archive's dead, anyway.

But if one of you remembers, or writes this down, and if somehow one of you outlives me: here's the story.

Remember it.

And if you have any secrets to give me, I promise I'll keep them safe.

Post by ElectrumChronicle @ 34:21, 3/10/34587 Galactic Standard

You’re a mercenary hired by adventurers to defeat the boss. After the battle, they loot the treasure and abandon you wounded. The defeated boss crawls over and says, “Guess we’re both expendable, huh?”

[wonderjanga]

I May be a Kid but I’m not a Kid Kid.

When Billy’s secret identity was revealed, he started getting treated like a little kid. It really annoys him whenever these guys try to baby him.

Supes: “Billy, uhm… we were wondering if you would like to be moved to the Teen Titans.”

Marvel: “What…?” *sounds absolutely horrified at the thought of that* “Why?”

Supes: “You’d around kids your age.”

Marvel: *stares and blinks rapidly* “Are you saying you’re gonna demote me to the Teen Titans of all things? No offense.”

Supes: “Billy, it’s not a demotion.”

Marvel: “But it is. I’ve been on this team for what? Four years- almost five. You guys are acting like my age automatically means I can’t be a good hero anymore.”

Supes: “We’re not saying that. We just think it’d be good if you were on a team of heroes around your age.”

Marvel: “But you are. You’re literally all but saying it. I like those kids but not enough to want to be on a team with them.” *doesn’t know if he’d like listening to Robin’s condescension in more than small doses* “I prefer you guys. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Supes: “Of course!” *happy Billy is still somewhat comfortable around them*

Marvel: “Good.” *smiles* “Besides, I do hang out with kids around my age. Mary and I are the same age while Junior’s a year older than us.”

Supes: “He’s the oldest?”

This conversation got them to back off about kicking him off the team. That didn’t stop them from poking their stupid adult noses into other parts of Billy’s heroics though.

Marvel: *helping someone at like 2am because he patrols as much as he can*

Supes: “Captain! Whatcha doing up this late, champ?”

Marvel: *makes a face that being called champ, but doesn’t say anything about it* “Uh… patrolling? *finishes helping the person*

Supes: “Patrolling? It’s a little late- er early for that. Isn’t it?”

Marvel: “I guess…? I still have a couple more hours.”

Supes: “Shouldn’t you be turning in earlier?”

Marvel: “No…?”

Supes: “Aren’t you tired though? Kids need plenty of sleep.”

Marvel: *a little irked at being called a kid but brushes it off* “Stamina of Atlas, remember?”

Supes: “Oh.” *silence* “Well, maybe you could still turn in earlier?”

Marvel: *looks around for any hidden cameras* “No.”

Supes: “Oh okay…” *doesn’t really want to seem controlling so he just sulks while flying back to Metropolis*

Don’t worry, Superman trying to give him a curfew isn’t the only thing a nosy adult tried to do.

Marvel: “Mr. Batman Sir? Are the new long term mission signs up sheets out yet?”

Batman: “Ah, yes.” *hands him the sign up tablet* “There are three new ones.”

Marvel: “Great! Any potential overlaps?”

Batman: “Only these two.” *points to two missions*

Marvel: “How long would these two last?” *points to one of the overlapping missions and the one that doesn’t overlap*

Batman: “Together would be about a month and a half or longer.”

Marvel: “Cool.” *is about to sign up for them*

Batman: *remembers school exists* “And school?”

Marvel: *pauses so he can look at Bruce confused* “What about it?”

Batman: “If you sign up for these, you’ll miss at least a month or two. You’d be stuck catching up.”

Marvel: *laughs* “You say that if I actually go to school.”

Batman: “You don’t?”

Marvel: “No.”

Batman: “I see.” *takes the tablet away before Billy can sign* “Well, you’ll go now then.”

Marvel: *thinks he’s joking* “What?”

Batman: “I’ll enroll you in a school in Fawcett.”

Marvel: *stares for a solid minute* “Mr. Batman Sir, you’re not sending me to school.”

Batman: “Yes, I am. William-”

Marvel: “Don’t call me that.”

Batman: *sighs* “Billy, education is important. You shouldn’t put it off for heroics. Even Robin goes to school.”

Marvel: “Okay? I’m not a Robin though. And that only works because you guys patrol at night. If I go to school I’ll miss my day-patrol.”

Batman: “I’m sure there are plenty of other heroes in Fawcett who patrol during the day. Why not leave it to one of them?”

Marvel: “Because I don’t want to. I like saving people. The more heroes who are out in Fawcett, the less likely somebody might get glossed over and hurt because a hero wasn’t there in time to save them. I don’t wanna be the person that failed them just because I was busy with school or because I went to bed early… I say that last part because no matter what Supes thinks, he’s not subtle about wanting me to have a darn curfew.”

Batman: *stares in silence because he now feels a little bad and also empathizes with that “what if I’m not there mentality*

Marvel: *thinks that silence is Bruce still not understanding him* “Look, if you still don’t get what I’m trying to say, imagine if someone came into Gotham and tried pushing you out of the superhero business just because they thought you unfit to be hero. That’s how I feel in this situation. I don’t tell you guys how to your jobs, so why are you trying to tell me?” *reaches over to grab the tablet a sign up for the two missions he wanted to take*

Yeah… Batman started treating him normally after that. Supes also did because his superhearing caught the convo.

Then, there’s his relationship with Flash and GL. They’d taken to treating him like a little kid or nephew even though Billy doesn’t want that.

Marvel: “Could you guys uh- stop treating me like a kid?” *sounds disappointed them*

Flash: *somehow still feels dread at the disappointment even though, NO, this guy is younger than him, why does Barry still feel like he disappointed his dad?* “You are a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, I know, but you didn’t used to do this before.”

GL: *also dislikes that he’s bothered by the Dad Disappointment™️ radiating off of Marvel* “That was before we knew you were a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, well I don’t care. I don’t need you to act like this. I don’t want you to act like this. I want friends, not chaperones or parental figures or anything stupid like that. I don’t like that you’re treating me differently now.” *sounds bitter* “You guys seem to forget that I’ve been doing this since before most of you were even, excuse my language, sperm cells. And sure, there was suspendium, but I fought Nazis, commies, and my own villains on top of that, all without being treated like a defenseless little kid and I ended up just fine. So I don’t need any of you acting like I’m a stupid little baby.”

That shut them up. It didn’t make any of the relationships between Billy and them go back to normal though. Not completely anyways. At least it was somewhat better though.

By the way, Billy, throughout all of this, just sounds bitter about being treated like this. He misses his friends guys :(.

[nneteyamss]

ROSES — 19. FAWK

(partly written)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊

y/n walked to the park, clutching her jacket closer to her body. the december air blew into her face making her cheeks red as she buried her face further into her scarf.

“why the fuck couldn’t i have picked somewhere warm… my ass should not be put in the cold at 8 o’clock at night.” y/n mumbled to herself, already regretting leaving her warm bed. from a distance she spotted intak seated on a bench, looking at his phone. he was bundled up in a big winter jacket and a scarf wrapped around his neck. yet he had hat, letting snow fall and stick to his black hair. intak suddenly looked up hearing y/n approach and stood to greet her.

“hey… thanks for meeting with me, sorry it’s cold.” guilt instantly ran through y/n’s body because he seemed nervous.

“sorry for making you wait, i don’t know why i picked outside..”

“no it’s okay, i just got here a couple minutes before you.”

y/n simply nodded, shoving her hands in her pockets. the silence was lasted as neither of the two said anything after that.

“uhm do you want to sit? i cleared the snow off the bench.” he gestures to the bench and she nods. they sit down and another awkward silence fills the air.

“so, what did you want to talk about?” y/n turns to him, breaking the silence.

“oh right! i wanted to apologize again about the other day. i shouldn’t have kissed you without asking or so suddenly like that.”

“i appreciate and accept your apology, but why were you there?”

“i don’t know how to explain this without sounding crazy but i knew jaehyun was going to be there, and i had a weird feeling he was going to try something. i came in disguise and i approached you because i saw him walking up to you” y/n started at him with a blank stare, processing what he just said.

“so you were stalking me?”

“well no… but yes? yes to an extent!” intak fumbled over his words, not expecting that question. he thought of it more as keeping an eye out on her for a space she knew the man she so says didn’t like was going to be in. now that she said it though, it kind of seemed like stalking. “sorry” he mumbled.

“your disguise was ass by the way, you should’ve asked shota for his fake mustache” she giggled looking ahead of her. the situation was getting too serious, and she felt the need to make it more lighthearted.

“no way… he said the SAME thing. how do YOU know about the fake stache?”

“i’m the one who bought it for him of course!”

“this is like a full circle moment, what the fuck.” the two laughed together at the moment. who would’ve ever thought that shota having a fake mustache would arise in this convo. however, the laughter eventually died down and intak turned serious. he turned to y/n and grabbed her hands, which were now out of her pockets.

“listen, i need to talk about the main reason i wanted to talk. please don’t say anything until i’m done.” he was dead serious, y/n nodded and pushed down any jokes she could’ve made in the moment. “we’ve been fake dating for a couple months now. we both know the original reason this started. but y/n… i really like spending time with you, like a lot. you’re funny, gorgeous, caring, and so much more. i didn’t plan it but i thought this was just gonna be some fun side quest activity. the more time i spent with you and got to actually know you and your personality, the more i started to actually like you. i tried to fight it off because i mean this relationship wasn’t real and i’m your brothers friend, but i can’t help it. i really… really want this to be real. we get along so well, and there’s a connection. what i really called you out here for was to ask this. i really really like you, could i have the honor of being your boyfriend?”

the long speech was followed by silence. one blink, two blinks, no words. embarrassment gnaws at intak who immediately started to regret asking out of fear of her not feeling the same. yet, he didn’t say anything and let her take her time.

“intak, i didn’t know you felt that way. i feel like this is very sudden though. i need to think about this before i answer, im so sorry” intak nodded and gave her hands a squeeze before letting go. “i’ll text you, i just need to think.” she said again before standing up.

“that’s okay” he gave her a small, yet warm smile. his cheeks were red and his hair was getting damp from the snow. y/n reached forward and pulled his jacket hat onto his head.

“you should get home before you get sick… it’s cold and you don’t have a hat.” the words left her mouth quietly, but intak still heard since the night was quiet was well.

“you should get back as well”

y/n nodded and put her hands back in her pockets, “i’ll see you.” she said and began making her exit of the park and going back home, leaving intak standing in the cold. by time she got in her car and started driving away, intak made his way to his car, waving as she backed out the parking spot.

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notes: lalala guess who finished finals, passed all their classes, and got back to work again this week (i need to make all the money i can over break for psyfe and 127 concerts) 🙂‍↕️

[devildomwriter]

You Go To See A Christmas Carol Part I

Going to see a Christmas Carol in the Human World with Diavolo and the brothers takes a turn when the brothers forget what’s normal for them is not normal for everyone else.

You shuffled out from the middle seat of the packed car and hopped onto the icy pavement. You blew into your gloves to warm your face and looked around as the brothers climbed out of the cars around you.

Mammon: “So, this is the fancy theatre place, huh?”

Satan: “It’s a performing arts center.”

Mammon: “That’s the same damn thing!”

Lucifer: “Quiet! We’re late enough as it is! I won’t have you all bickering in the parking lot and wasting more time. You should be thankful Diavolo even invited you to this play to begin with.”

Leviathan: “What is this play about again?”

MC: “It’s called A Christmas Carol.”

Belphegor: “Ugh, we don’t have to listen to carolers do we?”

Beelzebub: “It’ll be okay Belphie.”

Belphegor: “No it won’t. Remember what satan did last time?”

Satan: “I was being slandered, those kids had it coming!”

Lucifer: “That’s enough! Let’s go! Start walking!”

MC: “Yes, father.”

Belphegor: “Pft!”

Lucifer: “What was that?”

MC: “I didn’t say anything.”

Lucifer: “That’s what I thought. Now does everyone have their human identities?”

Mammon: “Ugh, not this again.”

Lucifer: “This it’s important. Our names are well known up here, gathered all in one place like this it could scare someone.”

Belphegor: “That sounds like fun.”

Lucifer: “It won’t be when Michael hears about it. Now, tell me your names again.”

Mammon: “Matthew…boring ass name—“

Asmodeus: “Guuuuuys! I can see my breath! Look!”

Asmodeus: “Huuuuuuuh.”

Mammon: “Oh yeah! Neat!”

Lucifer: “Stop that. Honestly, you aren’t children.”

Lucifer ushered you to the growing lines as everyone excitedly waited to get through security and into the grand hall for the long-awaited performance.

Security Officer: “Lines that way.”

Lucifer: “Thank you.”

Satan: “We have tickets already.”

Security Officer: “Still that way.”

Satan: “Fine.”

MC: “Excuse me, we’re looking for a friend.”

Mammon: “Why would he know Diavolo, there’s like a million people here?”

MC: “He’s a real eccentric guy, red hair?”

Security Officer: “You mean that guy waving on the balcony?”

MC: “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Security Officer: “Been there about three hours now.”

Lucifer: “How many?”

Security Officer: “Staff was making a real big fuss about him too. You know him?”

MC: “Yeah, he kidnapped me a while back.”

Security Officer: “Excuse me?”

MC: “So the lines that way, yeah? Thanks.”

Security Officer: “Kidnapped?”

You chose not to answer him and ran to catch up with the brothers who’d quickly followed Lucifer lest they provoke his seasonally intense wrath.

Satan: “Lucifer you don’t need to call him you can see him from here just fine.”

Mammon: “I think he’s shoutin’ somethin’?”

Leviathan: “He’s saying…uh…”

Beelzebub: “I…can… see… my…. Breath.”

Lucifer: “…”

Lucifer: *sigh*

Asmodeus: “Isn’t it cool!!!”

Mammon: “Yikes! My ears Asmo!”

Lucifer: “That’s enough, where’d MC go?”

Leviathan: “Hey that officer guy looks kind of nervous now…he’s really staring at us?”

Lucifer: “He probably heard Mammon refer to Asmo by his name.”

Mammon: “You just referred to me by my name too!”

MC: “Hey guys, what’d I miss?”

Lucifer: “Nothing of significance.”

Beelzebub: “Lord Diavolo says he can see his breath.”

MC: “That’s adorable, I expect nothing less.”

Lucifer: “Please don’t encourage him MC.”

MC: “No promises.”

Lucifer: *sigh* “Does everyone have their tickets?”

Satan: “No.”

Lucifer: “What do you mean, no!?”

Satan: “You took them because you didn’t trust us to hold them!”

Lucifer: “Clearly I was right.”

Satan: “What?”

Lucifer: “Mammon this is yours. Your name is now Matthew Morningstar.”

Mammon: “I know, you made me go over it a million times. I don’t think anyone’s gonna even ask right?”

Lucifer: “They will in an interrogation.”

Asmodeus: “What? Are we being interrogated?”

Lucifer: “Hopefully not.”

MC: “The night’s still young.”

Lucifer: “Stop it, MC.”

Lucifer: “Levi, congratulations you get to keep your name.”

Leviathan: “Thank goodness.”

Lucifer: “Satan you’re going as Stanford Morningstar.”

Satan: “That’s a stupid last name.”

Lucifer: “Ignoring that, Belphegor your name is Todd.”

MC: “Why’d you choose Todd?”

Belphegor: “It means death in German.”

MC: “Yup, okay…”

Lucifer: “Beelzebub, you’re name is Benjamin, you can go by Ben if you want to— do not eat this ticket.”

Beelzebub: “…”

Lucifer: “Todd, you’re holding onto his ticket.”

Mammon: “Who the fuck is Todd?”

MC: “Belphegor, pay attention.”

Belphegor: “I am paying attention.”

MC: “I was talking to Matthew.”

Beelzebub: “Matthew?”

Lucifer: “Change of plan, we only call each other by our human names in front of other humans.”

MC: “I’m a human.”

Lucifer: “You don’t count.”

MC: “Shucks.”

Lucifer: *sigh* “Asmodeus you’re name is Amadeus, that’s an easy one, don’t forget it.”

Asmodeus: “Okie!”

Lucifer: “I’m going as Lucious, I believe that’s everyone.”

Asmodeus: “I’ll go first and show you all how it’s done!”

Leviathan: “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

Satan: “Because you should.”

Guard: “Ticket.”

Asmodeus: “Right here sweetie!”

Guard: “Amadeus?”

Asmodeus: “That’s right!”

Guard: “That’s a cool name. Seeing the Christmas Carol?”

Asmodeus: “I sure am!”

Guard: “Haven’t seen it in a bit, hope ya have fun. I’ll have to take my wife and kids when I get a chance, maybe next year. Alright, raise your arms for me.”

Asmodeus: “Oh no, did I mess up already?”

Guard: “Already?”

Leviathan: “Asmo, just T-Pose.”

Asmodeus: “Ew, why in the Devildom would I do that? That’s so not tending right now!”

Lucifer: “He has to use the metal detector, lift your arms.”

Asmodeus: “Ooooh, okay!”

Mammon: “Real master if I ever saw one…”

Asmodeus: “Shut up Mammon! I’d like to see you do better!”

Guard: “Any weapons on you, sir?”

Asmodeus: “Oooh, just in my pants!”

Guard: “I’ll need you to take it out for me.”

Asmodeus: “What? How bold! Right here in front of all these people?”

Guard: “…?”

Lucifer: “That’s it. I’m sorry sir, my brother was making a stupid dirty joke, none of us have any weapons. Lift your arms Asmo before I do it for you.”

Asmodeus: “That sounds like fun.”

Lucifer: “It won’t be once we’re home if you don’t hurry it up.”

Asmodeus: “Yikes! Okay, okay!”

Guard: “Okay…just gonna pat you down real quick….”

Asmodeus: “Pat me anywhere you want pal— ow! Lucifer that hurt!”

Lucifer: “Be. Quiet.”

Guard: “Lucifer…u-um…Amadeus, you’re all good.”

Lucifer: “Don’t you dare go anywhere, wait right there until Mam—Matthew goes through.”

Mammon: “Y’know on second thought why don’t I watch Satan first?”

Satan: “Ow! Don’t shove me what’s wrong with you?”

Lucifer: “Someone just go.”

Satan: “Very well”

Guard: “So…that’s you’re umm…brother?”

Satan: “Unfortunately.”

Guard: “Stanford Morningstar?”

Satan: “Stupid surname, I’m aware.”

Guard: “I think it’s quite unique actually, has a nice ring to it.”

Satan: “That’s your opinion.”

Guard: “Uh, lift your arms please…no weapons I presume?”

Satan: “None.”

Guard: “You’re all good, please proceed.”

Leviathan: “Mammon don’t push me what’s up with you!?”

Guard: “Are you next?”

Leviathan: “H-Hello, fellow human! Sir!”

Guard: “Haha! You guys are a pretty fun bunch aren’t ya?”

Leviathan: “We met at a convent.”

Guard: “What?”

Lucifer: “What?”

Leviathan: “I-I, um…it just came out.”

MC: “This is beautiful.”

Lucifer: “MC, you’re next. Please take them up to Lord Diavolo after this.”

Guard: “Alright, no weapons, you’re good.”

Leviathan: “Thank you, goodbye!”

Mammon: “…”

Guard: “So one big family trip today huh?”

MC: “No, I was kidnapped.”

Guard: “What?”

MC: “I forgave them though. Stockholm syndrome is a hell of a drug.”

Guard: “You guys really are pretty funny. You a comedy group or somethin’?”

MC: “We might as well be given my daily life.”

Guard: “Any weapons?”

MC: “Only spiritual.”

Guard: “Good on you. Me too. Catholic, what about you?”

MC: “I don’t even know at this point. I’m just here for Diavolo.”

Guard: “Well I hope you figure it out, have a good time.”

MC: “God willing.”

You looked at Lucifer as you said that and he glared at you while you gave Mammon, who was sweating bullets, a curious look. Something was definitely wrong with him.

Leviathan: “You think they’ll be okay in line without us?”

MC: “It’s just Beel, Belphie, and Mammon, it’ll be fine.”

Satan: “Okay. Let’s go up to see Lord Diavolo and brief him.”

MC: “Someone go buy some popcorn so Beel doesn’t have a breakdown in line.”

Asmodeus: “Leave it to me!”

MC: “No charming anyone, they’ll get fired.”

Asmodeus: “Ugh, fine.”

Mammon: “Hey uh…Belphie you mind going ahead.”

Belphegor: “What, why?”

Mammon: “I uh…may have forgotten somethin’…”

Belphegor: “…what did you do?”

Mammon: “Nothin’.”

Lucifer: “Mammon.”

Mammon: “I uh…forgot that weapons were kinda a big deal in the human world…maybe.”

Lucifer: “…”

Lucifer: “Beelzebub, Belphegor, don’t cause trouble, go right to MC they’re waiting at the door.”

Mammon: “Hey that’s my collar, hey! Where are ya takin’ me? Lucifer!”

Guard: “…”

Belphegor: “Just ignore them, it’s better not to question it.”

Guard: “Right…so umm, Todd, is it?”

Belphegor: “It means death in German.”

Guard: “Okay….arms up, please….You’re good….right along…”

Beelzebub: “Belphie, my ticket.”

Belphegor: “Oh yeah, here.”

Guard: “I’ll take that, thank you. Benjamin?”

Beelzebub: “What? No, it’s Beelzebub.”

Guard: “What?”

Beelzebub: “Who’s Benjamin?”

Guard: “This ticket is assigned to a Benjamin Morningstar.”

Beelzebub: “Oh yeah…that’s me.”

Guard: *mumbling to himself* “He’s the last one…you can do this…”

Beelzebub: “Is something wrong?”

Guard: “Arms up please…quick pat down…go ahead.”

Next

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hello! It's me the one who requested reader sleepwalking. Can I be sleepwalk anon?

Sorry I didn't know you were overwhelmed by my request yesterday, I was reading the rules carefully and I was like— "ah ok so meaning they can write 4 or more characters, imma request!"

You can do the main sss hedgehog boys for sleepwalking reader or just sonic and shadow, is that makes you comfortable.

Again, sorry for making you overwhelmed!

A/n: yeah, sorry, it's my fault for not making it clear to begin with.

Triple S x reader who sleepwalks

Sonic:

Sonic has a habit of staying up late, so it’s no surprise he’s awake when you begin your sleepwalking. He’s lounging on the couch, watching a movie, when you shuffle out of your room, arms slightly outstretched, your face completely blank.

At first, Sonic thinks you’re just messing with him. Talking to you as if any other normal day. But you don’t respond. Instead, you march straight past him and bump into the coffee table.

Sonic’s grin falters when you mutter something incoherent under your breath, rubbing your knee absently before walking into the wall.

“Wait… are you sleepwalking?” Sonic whispers to himself.

He jumps up and jogs over to you. "Uh, Y/N? You good there, buddy?" He waves a hand in front of your face, but you only mutter again, turning sharply and walking toward the kitchen.

"Alright, this is either going to be really funny or a disaster waiting to happen," though hes not gonna stop you now as hes genuinely curious, so he just continues following you.

He watches in silent amusement as you open the fridge, stare at its contents for a solid thirty seconds, then grab an apple, only to drop it immediately and shuffle away. You make a beeline for the sink, turn on the faucet, and start washing the counter.

"Okay, yeah, this is gold," Sonic mutters, pulling out his phone to record the scene.

When you bump into the kitchen table, mutter again, and sit down in the middle of the floor like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Sonic finally intervenes. He gently steers you back to your room, all the while stifling laughter.

The next morning, you wake up to sonic all up next to you, shoving his phone in your face as you groggily watch the video of yourself sleepwalking, complete with Sonic’s commentary.

"And here we have the rare Sleepwalking Y/N in their natural habitat. Truly majestic. Ten out of ten entertainment."

Silver:

Silver is a light sleeper, so when he hears footsteps at three in the morning, he immediately bolts upright. He’s halfway to activating his psychokinesis when he realizes it’s just you, wandering around aimlessly.

At first, he’s worried. Very worried. Did you have a nightmare? Are you okay? But then he notices your vacant expression and the way you keep bumping into furniture without reacting.

"Wait… are they sleepwalking?"

He watches as you stumble toward the bookshelf, run your hand along it like you’re looking for something, and then pull out a random book. You open it, flip a few pages, and then hold it upside down, muttering something under your breath.

Silver doesn’t know whether to laugh or try to wake you up. Instead, he decides to quietly follow you, just to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. He uses his powers to move objects out of your way as you shuffle around the room. When you trip over your own feet and fall onto the couch, Silver gently places a pillow under your head with his powers, smiling softly.

"You’re so weird," he mutters, sitting down to keep watch.

When you eventually get up and start wandering again, Silver patiently just follows you around the house. Waking up to Silvers sheepish explanation on what happened.

"You were, uh, walking around and muttering stuff," he says. "I didn’t want to wake you up, so I just made sure you didn’t, you know, fall down the stairs or something."

Shadow:

Shadow is not amused. He’s a heavy sleeper, but even he can’t ignore the sound of you knocking over a lamp at three in the morning. He storms out of his room, fully prepared to scold whoever’s causing the commotion, only to freeze when he sees you standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at the floor like it personally offended you.

"Y/N," he says sharply, but you don’t respond. Instead, you turn and start walking toward him, your steps uneven and your expression blank.

"Y/N?" he tries again, still no answer.

You brush past him, muttering something incoherent, and head straight for the couch. You sit down, pick up a throw pillow, and hug it like it’s the most important thing in the world.

Shadow, upon peicing together your sleep walking, stares at you for a long moment, his arms crossed. He debates whether or not to wake you up but ultimately decides against it. Instead, he sits down in a nearby chair and watches you closely, making sure you don’t do anything dangerous.

When you eventually get up and start wandering again, Shadow follows you with a deep scowl. When you try to open the front door, he steps in front of you, his arms crossed.

"You’re not going outside," he says firmly, even though he knows you can’t hear him.

The next morning, he confronts you over breakfast.

"Do you have any idea how much noise you made last night?" he asks, glaring daggers at you.

When you look at him in confusion, he sighs and explains. "You were sleepwalking. You almost walked straight out the door at three in the morning."

In short terms bro is done with you /j

[oddyseye]

Let’s talk about translations of the Odyssey for a second, because, honestly, I’m over here sobbing over how ridiculous some of these choices are.

Every time I pick up a new translation, I hope it’ll finally capture the true grit and messiness of Odysseus, but nope, every one of them polishes him up too much, turning him into either a tragic hero or a charming rogue. Where’s the Odysseus who lies as easily as he breathes, who manipulates his way through every encounter, and who leaves a trail of ruin wherever he goes? I want the man whose brilliance is as sharp as his selfishness, whose cleverness cuts both ways — not just a hero, but a survivor who’s as flawed as he is formidable.

Anyway, I’m gonna break down the biggest mistranslations that really make me want to pull my hair out and remind everyone how different the original Greek actually is. Prepare yourselves.

Let’s start with the absolute disaster that is Telemachus and Peisistratus’ bond. Homer used the word ὁμοφροσύνη to describe their relationship, a term that’s about fucking soulmates, alright? But what do these translators do? They water it down to “just good friends” or “nice companions.” It’s about a relationship where minds and hearts are aligned — telepathic level shit, not just a handshake between two dudes. Yet these translators just gloss over the whole thing, so you get this milquetoast version of their relationship when it’s actually so much more.

Homer says: "ὁμοφροσύνησιν ἐνὶ καρδίᾳ ἐνθα καὶ ἄλλων οὐδὲν ἐπέλθομεν" ("In like-mindedness of heart, where no other man could compare.") So, Telemachus sees Peisistratus as someone he’s totally aligned with, in a way that’s almost romantic in its depth. ὁμοφροσύνη is usually used for romantic couples most often.

Then, we’ve got Odysseus and Calypso, which — oh my god, don’t even get me started on this absolute trainwreck of a translation. The term ἀνάγκῃ is used when Homer talks about Odysseus’ “relationship” with Calypso, but translators somehow miss the force behind the word. It doesn’t just mean “necessity” like they’d have you think. It means force, violence, and distress. When Odysseus is on Calypso’s island, stuck there with her, it’s not this peaceful love story where Odysseus is some willing lover. It’s a prison. There’s no choice, and no one’s riding off into the sunset together. But translations just gloss over this desperation and make it sound so much more peaceful and comfortable than it ever was. It’s forced captivity, and the use of ἀνάγκῃ screams that: “ἔνθα μὲν ἀμφ᾽ ἀνάγκῃ, τῇ δὲ θεὰ ἐρῶσά μιν ἔσχε.” (“There he stayed out of necessity, for the goddess, in her love, held him there.”).

Homer uses the same word when Odysseus describes his time with Circe: “ἀλλ᾽ ἔμεν᾽ ἐν σπέσσι λαῶν ἀνάγκῃ.” (“But I stayed in her halls by necessity.”). Again, ἀνάγκῃ shows that Odysseus's relationship with Circe is dictated by forces beyond his control. His connection to her isn’t out of love or desire, but out of a divine obligation, a situation where choice is completely stripped away. It’s not love; it’s divine manipulation. So much for romantic freedom!

And let’s not forget how Homer actually portrays the suitors and their reaction to Antinous’ violence. After Antinous, in his full rage, decides to throw a chair at disguised Odysseus, other suitors chime in, disapproving of his actions. They say things like “ἀργὸς εἶναι,” which roughly translates to “you’re acting cowardly,” and “ἀτασθαλία,” meaning “reckless.” They’re still on the same side, sure, but they can’t quite get behind the utter savagery of his actions, and it’s maddening how this detail is often glossed over in some translations. They make it sound like they were all in on the violence, but in the original text, these suitors are not all cut from the same brutal cloth, no matter how much some translators want to make them seem like one big mob.

Homer uses the word οἰκέτες to refer to the people in Odysseus' house. "οἰκέτες" means slaves, people who are literally owned by the household. But oh, what happens in the translations? We get “maids” and “servants,” as if these slaves were just there because they wanted to be, doing chores like it was a normal job. But no, they’re not “maids,” and they sure as hell aren't "servants" in the modern sense. These people have no freedom — they belong to Odysseus. The translation of οἰκέτες as "maids" completely erases the brutality of the system that Homer is talking about.

Interestingly, Telemachus, who is often portrayed as rude or immature, calls these individuals “servants” or "maids" in a more respectful manner. This is the same guy who can barely get his act together most of the time, but here he is, calling the οἰκέτες — slaves, remember — not just slaves but “ἄνδρες ἰκέτες,” which translates to "men-servants" or “butlers.” Like, hello, Telemachus! For once, he’s actually treating them like people instead of just the property that they are in Homer’s original telling. Respectful? Who knew?

And lastly, let’s talk about Penelope. Odysseus, when he finally speaks to her, he says: "ἀλλὰ μὴ ἐπεὶ καὶ σὺ μὲν ἔμπεδος ἐν οἴκῳ, ἔτλησαν δ’ ἐμαὶ ἄλγεα." ("But you, steadfast in your home, endured my sorrows."). Odysseus sees Penelope as the rock, the one who has suffered patiently in his absence. Unlike the goddesses, she’s his equal in suffering, not a forced relationship due to divine will. He longs for her, and her presence stands in stark contrast to the chaotic, imposed relationships he’s had with Circe and Calypso. Penelope is the constant, the one Odysseus has chosen — no divine manipulation, just pure, enduring love.

Anyway, all of this goes to show that translations can twist what Homer was actually trying to say — especially when it comes to the relationships in the story. It’s frustrating to see these critical, subtle moments get flattened into bland, palatable phrases. Maybe if they spent less time trying to make everything sound "noble" and more time actually getting at the grit of what Homer wrote, we wouldn’t have to deal with these watered-down, emotionless versions of The Odyssey that everyone is so obsessed with.

[perotovar]

my favorite things i've made 2024

tagged by @jolapeno @almostfoxglove @morallyinept @schnarfer @iamasaddie

@kedsandtubesocks @chronically-ghosted @moonlitbirdie and @arcanefox207 ♥

alright, y'all, i can't believe this year is ending soon 🥹 as we all know, this year has had a lot of ups and downs, but i can't help but feel like pedro did when he got his sag award, y'know??

i'm so grateful for all of you, and i can't wait to see what the new year brings. new p boys, new premieres/press tours?? sounds like heaven to me ♥

now, i've been tagged to toot my own horn a little bit and i guess i can, fine :P i don't normally like to, but i've been tagged by some wonderful, lovely friends to do so

below, will be both fics and gifs i've made this year that i'm pretty proud of!

before anything, i just wanna say, i'm super fucking proud of my Offering of Frith writing challenge. y'all did such an amazing job on every single one of the fics. i worked super hard on that and it was SO fun. i'd love to do another challenge in 2025, so i may do some brainstorming ✏️👀

fics:

bloody kisses -> alright, i'm gonna be real with y'all. this is my favorite thing i've ever written. okay, maybe not ever, but it's definitely tied with itbotn. i really love how quickly and easily this universe came together for me, and the little cult following that it has makes me so happy. they've almost got a little life of their own. i really, really wanna get back to them. i've got an idea that i'd love to get down, and now that a lot of the pressures of school are a little lessened, i might make it happen soon!

into the beat of the night ch 7 - "in my side" -> this chapter didn't get as much attention as the rest of the series, and that's okay, but i'm still proud of it for stepping out of my comfort zone. it was an area i was afraid would be a little taboo (since it covers deadnaming, misgendering, and past abusive relationships) so it's a little more serious than the series tends to be. i like what it means for river and frankie's relationship and it cements how they feel about each other, y'know?

into the beat of the night ch 8 - "deeper and deeper" -> and now for something completely different lol i like this chapter because it could've only happened after the experience with river's ex. they're completely comfortable with each other now and this was the last of frankie's walls coming down. i love them ♥

gifs:

the pedro pascal fandom moodboard that i made for the friendship exchange cat and han hosted ♥ i love how that turned out because it's the exact experience i have in this fandom lol

gideon @sp00kymulderr 's birthday present ♥ i adore our little disaster bi raccoon man and i love making these silly sets like this. i also love gideon so i'm glad they were the recipient for this!

silly pedro during the gladiator 2 press ♥ again, i love making these goofier sets. they're super fun to make and the end result is always really rewarding. and maybe i just like making myself laugh LMAO

i love you guys and i hope the new year treats you all well ♥

np tags: @for-a-longlongtime @schnarfer @iero @userparamore @djo

@miwtual @tomshiddles @gasolinerainbowpuddles @mrsmando @ghostofaboy

@missredherring @cavillscurls @beardedjoel @beefrobeefcal @quinnnfabrgay

@hellishjoel @max--phillips @oonajaeadira @wethairjoel @pedgito and literally anyone that wants to/sees this! i'm sorry if you already have done this or i missed you, it wasn't on purpose 🥲

[spotsandsocks]

Hiiii Spotty 💕💕💕

🎅+calm

-❤️🪐

Never know what’s gonna happen when I start these- wasn’t expecting this but here we are we get what we get 😆 I’m not in charge of the words the words are in charge of me 😘 444 words of silliness 💚

“Just…stay calm. Ok?”

From his spot against the wall Eddie watches Buck approach his brother in law cautiously as if he’s afraid he might bolt. He might actually, judging by the look on his face.

“Calm! You want me to stay calm!”

Chimney's voice is… well, shrill is probably the right word. Eddie tucks his shirt back in, trying not to feel too awkward about it. It’s not really their fault. People should make more noise when they walk around corners.

“After … after …” Chimney’s hand waves in the general direction of where he’d seen what he’d seen.

It’s not even like they’d gotten very far. Clothes were still mostly where they were supposed to be. Chimney’s just being dramatic.

“God!” The older man scrubs at his face. “ I need to go scrub my eyeballs!”

Honestly the dramatics, it’s hard not to laugh but Buck isn’t taking being caught too well so he refrains but he does throw a mildly snarky comment into the situation.

“You didn’t even see anything.”

The glare he gets is actually quite impressive. Chim stares hard and speaks slowly, regret in every word.

“I saw enough.” Pointing up he adds, “Mistletoe is no excuse for this!”

Chim sounds disgusted and it’s just too much, Eddie’s snort of laughter breaks free. Honestly,all they were doing was making out against the wall, as per the tradition with mistletoe, they hadn’t even got to the really good stuff yet. Chim’s lucky he didn’t catch them in the showers at the station last week. Then he would have had an eyeful! Eddie smiles at the memory. At least this time there’s snuck off to what should have been a quiet corner of Maddie and Chim’s backyard.

Chim’s finger is waving in the air, “It’s one thing to know you two are a thing but it’s utterly unacceptable to have to see it with my own eyes! You’re paying for my therapy. I mean it.”

Walking backwards, Chim points again, this time right at Buck.

“And you! Put those away.”

Buck’s blush is adorable as he starts to button up his shirt hiding his chest from view which in Eddie’s opinion is a shame.

Chimney shudders then disappears back into the house. Alone again Buck turns back to face him with a grimace.

“Oops!”

Eddie has to bite his lip not to laugh again. He’d never imagined he’d enjoy sneaking around with Buck so much but he does. He likes it a lot. Even Chimney’s trauma isn’t going to stop him which he proves by reaching for his boyfriend and correcting the unfortunate situation of his buttoned shirt as quickly as possible.

[mcrdvcks]

Stardust

chapter summary: Din surprises you with a trip.

word count: 974

pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

prompt: stars

notes: this is my first time writing for din so i'm sorry if it's not accurate :) anyways, since i'm going to college for astrophysics, this seemed like an appropriate prompt for me to do (also because i'm a space nerd)

this is another prompt from @dindjarindiaries for dincember!

star wars masterlist

The Razor Crest hummed softly as it drifted in hyperspace. You sat at the small makeshift workstation, tinkering with a malfunctioning thermal detonator. The compact device refused to cooperate, its stubborn wiring fraying your patience. Grogu babbled from his floating pram, watching your every move with wide, curious eyes.

"Don't touch that," you warned, flicking a glance his way. His tiny claw hovered over the edge of the table, aiming for your hydrospanner. "I mean it, kid."

Grogu cooed in protest but retracted his hand. He pouted, but his expressive ears perked up when a shadow crossed the threshold of the cockpit. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Din. His presence was as familiar as the hum of the Crest.

“Is that thing gonna blow up in your face?” Din’s modulated voice carried a teasing lilt.

“Only if I’m lucky,” you replied dryly, not looking up from the detonator.

Din leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His beskar armor reflected the dim light, making him look even more imposing. “You’ve been at that for an hour.”

“I’ve had worse company than a stubborn explosive,” you quipped. “What’s up?”

He hesitated. That was never a good sign. Din could stare down blaster fire and an entire squad of stormtroopers without breaking a sweat, but this? This pause made you suspicious.

“Get your coat,” he finally said.

You blinked, turning to face him. “Why? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” His tone was even, unreadable, but there was a hint of something—anticipation, maybe? “We’re dropping out of hyperspace soon. Grab Grogu. You’ll want to see this.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided not to argue. If Din was being cryptic, it usually meant he was planning something. And while his surprises often included unexpected blaster fights or hostile negotiations, this didn’t have the same edge of danger.

“Fine.” You pushed back from the table, scooping up Grogu, who squealed in delight. “But if this ends with me patching up your injuries again, I’m taking your meiloorun.”

Din chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Not this time.”

---

The planet he brought you to was small, almost unremarkable at first glance. Its atmosphere shimmered faintly as the Razor Crest descended, the golden hues of its surface shifting like liquid. Din handled the landing with practiced ease, and soon, the three of you stepped out into a soft, sprawling expanse.

“Okay,” you said, surveying the area. “What’s the deal? Where’s the bounty?”

“No bounty.” Din’s helmet tilted skyward. “Just… look.”

You followed his gaze, and your breath hitched. The sky above was a tapestry of stars, brighter and closer than you’d ever seen. Nebulas swirled in vivid colors—violets, blues, and golds—while constellations stretched in intricate patterns. It was as if the galaxy had folded in on itself, presenting its wonders in one breathtaking view.

“Din,” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away. “What… how did you find this place?”

He shifted beside you, his voice quieter now. “Picked up some star charts during a job. Thought you’d like it.”

“‘Like it’?” You laughed softly, overwhelmed. “Din, this is… incredible.”

Grogu reached up, his tiny hand grasping at the stars as if he could pluck them from the sky. You held him close, feeling a wave of emotion you didn’t expect.

Din stood beside you, quiet but solid, the kind of steady presence you’d come to rely on. His helmet tilted ever so slightly as he watched the scene unfold, and you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence, “is this your way of trying to impress me?”

He turned his helmet toward you. “Is it working?”

You snorted. “I don’t know. You’re pretty hard to impress yourself, Mr. Star Charts.”

Din made a soft, amused sound. “Thought you might appreciate the view. Astrophysicist and all.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, did you crack open a textbook to prep for this? Next thing I know, you’ll be spouting quantum theory.”

“I’d rather stick to tracking fobs and blasters,” he shot back, but there was warmth in his voice.

Grogu squirmed in your arms, letting out a series of excited babbles. You adjusted your hold on him, and he immediately grabbed a piece of your jacket, pulling it toward his mouth.

“Okay, little guy, relax,” you said, gently pulling it away. “This is a ‘look but don’t eat’ situation.”

Din chuckled again, a low rumble that made your chest feel lighter. You turned toward him, watching the way the stars reflected off the curve of his helmet. Even without seeing his face, you could tell he was watching you—really watching you.

“Thanks for this,” you said quietly, letting the sincerity bleed into your words. “I needed it.”

He shifted a little, the faintest hint of hesitation in his stance. “I just… wanted to see you smile.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. For a guy who spent most of his time grunting or giving one-word answers, Din could hit you with the kind of sentiment that knocked the wind out of you.

“Well,” you said, swallowing past the lump in your throat, “mission accomplished, Mando.”

You took a step closer, lifting up on your toes to press a kiss to the cheek of his helmet. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the warmth of the moment, and you lingered for just a second longer than you probably should have.

When you pulled back, Din didn’t say anything right away. But his posture shifted, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“Come on,” he said, voice softer now. “Let’s stay out here for a while.”

“Only if you promise to stop being so cryptic next time,” you teased, but you followed him anyway, Grogu snuggled securely in your arms.

For now, the galaxy could wait.

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Twenty: Freckles Of Deceit SS: - (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 6.1K Content Warnings:

Previous Next Masterlist

As Chan and Ayame descend the stairs, their hands clasped together, Ayame huffs quietly, her heels clicking against the polished wood. Chan's grip tightens slightly each time she takes a step, as though she might faceplant at any moment.

"Seriously," Ayame says, throwing him an exasperated glance. "I practically live in stilettos. Your knight-in-shining-armour act is wasted on me."

"I'm being a gentleman," Chan retorts, not letting go. "And this is the thanks I get? Unbelievable. You're mean, shortcake."

"At least I'm consistent," Ayame quips, tugging lightly against his grip as if testing his resolve. Spoiler: he doesn't let go.

At the bottom of the staircase, Ayame stops abruptly, causing Chan to bump into her slightly. She turns to face him, narrowing her eyes. "Your tie's crooked."

"I'm not falling for that one again," Chan says immediately, taking a step back. "You're gonna pull it tight like you're in the fucking mafia, aren't you?"

Ayame rolls her eyes, stepping closer anyway. "You're impossible. It's actually crooked, genius. Stay still."

Chan stays frozen, watching her fingers deftly adjust the knot. She works quickly, her eyes focused, and he feels the warmth of her hands brushing against his chest through the fabric of his shirt. When she steps back, she tilts her head, inspecting her handiwork.

"There. Fixed," she says, satisfied.

"No attempted strangulation?" Chan teases, his voice low, as his hands move to rest lightly on her arms.

Ayame smirks up at him. "Nope. I need you alive for later. Dead men can't do all the things I'm imagining right now."

Chan barks out a laugh, his grip on her arms tightening slightly. "No more discount Chan?"

Ayame shakes her head, her smirk softening into something more genuine. "Nope. I prefer the real thing."

Chan's grin falters for a moment as something warm flickers in his gaze. His eyes flicker down to her dress, lingering for a beat before he meets her eyes again. "You look gorgeous in this, by the way. It matches your eyes."

Ayame blinks, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone. She's about to reply when a high-pitched, cheerful voice cuts through the moment.

"Chris!"

They both turn toward the source, and a petite, elegant woman strides toward them. She's dressed in a form-fitting navy dress, her dark hair swept into an effortless updo. Her face lights up as she closes the distance, pulling Chan into a tight hug.

"Hi, Ma," Chan greets, his voice softer as he wraps an arm around her.

"You made it!" Jess exclaims, pulling back slightly to pat his cheek. "You didn't even text me when you got here, you brat."

"I got distracted," Chan says, glancing at Ayame with a sheepish grin.

Jess follows his gaze, her eyes landing on Ayame. Her smile widens instantly. "Oh! And who's this?"

Ayame steps forward, extending her hand. "I'm Ayame. It's so nice to meet you, Dr. Bang."

Jess waves off the title with a laugh. "Oh, call me Jess, please. 'Dr. Bang' makes me sound like I'm about to perform a colonoscopy. And finally, I get to meet you!" Jess takes Ayame's hands in hers, her grip warm and firm. "She's just adorable, Chris. I'm keeping her. Forever."

Ayame lets out a nervous laugh, glancing at Chan. He's grinning like the Cheshire Cat, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. "Uh, thanks. That's very... sweet."

"Sweet, smart, beautiful," Jess says, tilting her head as she examines Ayame with the precision of a seasoned surgeon. "What else am I missing?"

"I'm really good at Mario Kart," Ayame offers weakly.

Jess laughs, delighted. "Oh, I like her, Chris. I like her so much."

Chan shrugs, his voice laced with amusement. "Told you she was a catch."

Jess glances between them, her smile growing sly. "Well, don't just stand here. The rest of the family is going to love her."

"Oh no," Ayame mutters under her breath, shooting a glare at Chan who smirks. "You set me up."

The snow drifts softly down, landing on Ayame's hair and shoulders as she adjusts her green dress. Sitting next to Chan in the front row, she sneaks a glance at his father, Jack, whose expression is as cold as the weather. Jess sits on Chan's other side, beaming, a stark contrast to her husband's stone-like demeanour.

Jack leans over, his voice low and sharp. "Didn't think you'd show up. Not after the last time."

Chan's jaw tightens, but before he can respond, Jess places a gentle hand on her husband's arm. "Jack," she says brightly, deflecting. "This is Ayame, Chris's date."

Jack's gaze shifts to Ayame, scanning her from head to toe with a barely concealed frown. "You look young," he says bluntly, before turning his attention back to the aisle as if she isn't worth another second.

Ayame blinks, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity. She leans toward Chan, whispering, "Your dad makes you look like a fucking Care Bear."

Chan stifles a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. "A Care Bear?"

"Yeah," Ayame murmurs, glancing at Jack. "But like... the kind that eats children in its free time."

Chan shakes with silent laughter, his shoulders vibrating against hers. "Stop," he hisses under his breath. "You're going to get me in trouble."

"You're already in trouble," Ayame replies smugly. "Might as well have fun while we're here."

The opening chords of the wedding march begin to play, drawing their attention to the aisle. Felix appears at the far end, his tailored black tuxedo fitting him like a glove. The lights reflect off his perfectly styled blonde hair, and his freckles give him a boyish charm that balances his sharp, sophisticated look.

Ayame leans toward Chan, her voice soft but teasing. "Your brother cleans up well. Too bad he's not single."

Chan gives her a sidelong glance. "Don't even think about it, shortcake. He's a good guy. You'd ruin him."

Ayame pretends to sigh dramatically. "Damn. There goes my chance at happiness."

"Play some Bonnie Tyler," Chan mutters. "Where have all the good men gone?"

Ayame snickers, biting her lip to keep from laughing too loudly.

The flower girl starts down the aisle, her tiny hands flinging petals with wild abandon. Half of them don't even land on the aisle, but her determined expression earns her a collective "aww" from the crowd.

"She's adorable," Ayame whispers, her tone genuinely warm.

"Not as adorable as you freezing your ass off," Chan retorts, noticing her arms crossed tightly against the chill.

"I'm fine," Ayame insists, her teeth chattering faintly. "You wanted me to wear this dress because it's booby, so I'm toughing it out."

Chan doesn't reply with words. Instead, he wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. The warmth of his body seeps through her thin dress, and Ayame allows herself to lean into him slightly, though she refuses to admit it feels good.

"Better?" he asks, smirking.

"Shut up," she mutters, though her lips twitch upward.

As Soojin appears at the end of the aisle, Ayame's attention shifts. The bride is radiant in a sparkling white gown that hugs her figure before flaring into a dramatic train. Her glossy hair and flawless makeup scream perfection, and Felix's expression lights up with pure adoration as she approaches.

Jess dabs at her eyes with a tissue, whispering, "She looks so beautiful."

"She does," Ayame agrees, then leans toward Chan, her voice low. "But, uh, has she got lip fillers?"

Chan doesn't miss a beat. "And Botox. Half her face is frozen. She's had everything done—lips, jawline, cheekbones. Her face is worth more than my car. Probably wouldn't even dent if she was shot out of a cannon into a tree."

Ayame chokes back a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. "You're such a gossip."

"Stick with me, shortcake," Chan replies, his tone light. "There's plenty more where that came from."

As the ceremony begins, Ayame shifts in her seat, trying to stay warm and interested. Chan notices her restlessness and leans closer. "Bored already?"

"I thought weddings were supposed to be fun," Ayame mutters, glancing at him.

Chan smirks. "Not when my father and Soojin's father paid for it, and her mom planned the whole thing. That woman has the personality of unbuttered toast."

Ayame grins, leaning into him slightly. "I like this side of you—the honest, slightly bitter Chan. Feels real."

He chuckles, his thumb brushing her shoulder absentmindedly. "Stick around, and you'll see all my sides."

As Felix and Soojin exchange their vows, Ayame tilts her head, watching the scene unfold. Despite her usual cynicism, she feels a small tug at her heart. She glances at Chan, who's watching his brother with quiet pride.

"I bet you'd make a good groom," she whispers, the words slipping out before she can stop them.

Chan's gaze flicks to her, his smirk softening into something gentler. "Maybe. But I think I'd need a pretty great partner for that."

Ayame raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching. "Good luck finding one."

Chan grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I think I'm on the right track."

Ayame stands by the bar, clutching an empty champagne flute in one hand. A waiter glides past, and with the precision of a seasoned wedding attendee, she snags a fresh glass of champagne. She barely raises it to her lips when a voice slices through the pleasant hum of the reception.

"Felix's family is driving me fucking insane. Please tell me you have a joint hidden somewhere."

Ayame turns to see Soojin, the bride herself, standing next to her. She's stunning, of course, with her gown catching the light like a goddamn diamond commercial. But there's a sharpness in her gaze and a mischievous curl to her lips that Ayame immediately respects.

"Oh, I fucking wish," Ayame replies, a grin tugging at her mouth.

Soojin sighs dramatically, leaning against the bar like a damsel in distress. "Meth, then? Rat poison? Any controlled substance to get me through another conversation with Dr. Jack Bang."

Ayame laughs, shaking her head. "Sorry to disappoint. Just champagne over here."

Soojin clicks her tongue. "Ugh, you're so boring. But thanks for not lying to me. Everyone else keeps telling me how perfect everything is. Even my mother-in-law is acting like I didn't veto half her ideas."

Ayame chuckles. "It's a beautiful wedding, though."

Soojin waves her off, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, thanks. I had to threaten the florist's firstborn to make it happen, but sure. Anyway, you're Ayame, right?"

Ayame freezes for half a second but nods, holding her glass a little tighter. "That's me."

Soojin gives her a knowing look, her smile widening. "I've been dying to meet you. Felix keeps saying you're the reason Chris actually showed up today."

Ayame blinks, caught off guard. "I'm pretty sure that's not true."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure it is," Soojin replies, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "Chris doesn't come to family stuff unless someone drags him there. And, babe, you've got 'dragged him here' written all over you."

Ayame forces a small laugh, unsure of how to respond. "Well, I guess I'm doing my part."

Soojin's gaze sharpens, her smile turning sly. "Worked out for the best, though, right? I mean, Chris and I were never a good match."

Ayame's brain stalls. "Sorry—what?"

Soojin tilts her head, her expression turning playful. "Oh my god. He didn't tell you, did he? Chris and I dated for, like, a year."

Ayame's stomach flips. "A year?" she echoes, her voice carefully neutral.

Soojin nods, laughing lightly. "Yeah, back when Felix and I were just friends. Honestly, Chris and I never really clicked. It was always... I don't know, surface-level? But Felix? We just made sense in every way. Once we figured that out, everything fell into place."

Ayame stares at her, every muscle in her body tightening. "Huh," she says, her voice dry. "Imagine that."

"And you're only twenty-five, right?" Soojin adds, her tone too casual to be anything but pointed.

Ayame's nails dig into the stem of her glass. "That's right."

Soojin leans back, her smile softening. "Well, you've done a great job, you know. Keeping Chris grounded. That's not easy. Anyway, I should go mingle before Jess notices I'm avoiding her. It was nice meeting you."

Before Ayame can respond, Soojin drifts off, radiant and carefree, leaving Ayame standing alone by the bar with a hollow feeling in her chest.

She glances across the room and locks eyes with Chan. He's standing with Jess and Felix, mid-laugh, but the moment their gazes meet, his expression shifts. His smile falters, and his eyes widen slightly as he notices Soojin walking away from Ayame.

Ayame lifts her glass in mock salute before draining it in one go, the champagne burning its way down her throat. She waves down a passing waiter, holding up her empty glass. "Another, please," she snaps, her voice sharper than she intends.

Chan starts to step toward her but hesitates, caught by Jess's hand on his arm. He looks back at Ayame, concern flickering across his face, but she's already downing her second glass like it's water.

The waiter returns with a third, and Ayame takes it without hesitation. Her hand shakes slightly as she raises it to her lips. "Cheers," she mutters bitterly, her voice low. "To clarity. And fucking chaos."

The cold bites at Ayame's exposed arms as she leans against the railing at the lookout point, staring blankly over the snowy landscape. The lodge, surrounded by towering pines and draped in white, looks like something out of a postcard. But Ayame doesn't feel the magic. Her dress is useless against the biting chill, yet going back inside feels impossible—too many fake smiles and polite conversations waiting to swallow her whole.

Behind her, the crunch of footsteps through the snow breaks the stillness. Ayame doesn't turn, her jaw tightening as the sound draws closer. She knows who it is before she hears his voice.

"You're going to freeze your ass off, shortcake," Chan says, shrugging off his coat and draping it over her shoulders.

Ayame pulls the coat tight around herself, but she doesn't look at him. "Who let you off your leash? Did your family even notice you left?"

Chan leans against the railing beside her, hands shoved into his pockets. "Not yet. What are you doing out here in nothing but a dress? Trying to test your limits?"

She shrugs, keeping her gaze fixed on the distant treeline. "Needed some air. People in there talk too much."

"Pot, meet kettle," Chan teases gently. "You're the queen of running your mouth."

"Yeah, but I'm funny," Ayame shoots back. "Everyone else in there just wants to talk about how the napkins match the floral arrangements."

Chan chuckles under his breath. "Fair point."

For a moment, neither of them says anything. The silence between them is heavier than the snow falling softly around them. Finally, Ayame breaks it, her voice quieter now.

"Is she the reason you brought me here?" she asks, not meeting his gaze.

Chan straightens slightly, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"Soojin," Ayame clarifies, turning to face him at last. "Did you bring me here because of her? Because you wanted to rub it in her face or something?"

His brow furrows, confusion giving way to something softer. "No. No, Ayame, I brought you here because I wanted you here. That's it."

She narrows her eyes at him, the corners of her mouth pulling down. "Then why the fuck didn't you tell me about her?"

Chan exhales, the cloud of his breath disappearing into the cold air. "Because I didn't think it mattered anymore. And honestly? I didn't want to talk about it. It's embarrassing."

"Embarrassing?" Ayame echoes, incredulous. "You didn't cheat, Chan. You didn't dump her for her sibling. You're the one who got fucked over."

He looks away, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, but telling people about it makes it real, you know? And everyone already sees Felix as perfect. I didn't need another reason to feel like the failure in the family."

Ayame studies him for a long moment, her irritation softening into something more empathetic. "Chan, your brother might be the golden child, but he's got freckles of deceit."

A startled laugh escapes Chan, and he turns to her, his smirk returning. "Freckles of deceit?"

"Yup." Ayame nods solemnly. "And Soojin? Fake lips, fake ass, fake personality."

Chan huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "You don't hold back, do you?"

"Not when I'm right," she replies, lifting her chin. "Which is all the time."

He leans on the railing again, looking out over the snow. "You're not wrong. It's just hard seeing them together. Like, it shouldn't bother me anymore, but it does."

"Of course it does," Ayame says, her tone softening. "You're not a robot. Today sucks for you."

Chan glances at her, his lips quirking into a small smile. "It sucks less with you here."

She grins, linking her arm through his. "Damn right. Now, let's go find some booze. I'm pretty sure champagne is the only thing keeping this family reunion bearable."

Chan laughs, shaking his head. "I'll drink to that."

As they turn back toward the lodge, Ayame glances up at him, her sly grin returning. "Oh, and just so you know, apparently I'm your 'younger model.' That's what everyone in there is calling me."

Chan snorts, his shoulders shaking. "Figures. You're way cuter than Soojin, though."

"Damn straight," Ayame says, nudging him playfully.

Together, Ayame and Chan walk back into the reception hall. The warm glow of the lights and soft hum of laughter and conversation fill the air. Jess spots them almost immediately, her warm smile shifting to mild curiosity.

"Oh, where have you two been?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Outside," Chan says smoothly, snagging two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handing one to Ayame. His movements are so casual, so practiced, it's almost infuriating. "Needed some fresh air."

Jess's eyes narrow slightly as she looks between them, her maternal instincts clearly on high alert, but she decides to let it slide. She turns back to Jack, who's deep in conversation with Felix. However, Jack, ever the hawk, zeroes in on Ayame.

"Ayame," Jack says, his voice carrying just enough bite to make it clear he's baiting her. "When you first met Chris, what did you think?"

Ayame tilts her head to the side, feigning a moment of thoughtful consideration. Then, with a sweet smile that could cut glass, she says, "Hmm. I thought he was very good-looking, cold, domineering, and freakishly uptight."

Jack lets out a sharp laugh, clearly not expecting the jab. "I thought you needed ambition to be domineering."

"Jack," Jess snaps, shooting her husband a glare that could freeze fire.

"I'm kidding," Jack says with a faint smirk, though the edge in his tone remains.

Chan, leaning casually against the bar beside Ayame, grins. "For the record, I thought Ayame was very smart, but also a spineless kiss-ass."

Ayame gasps, mock-offended. "Excuse me?"

"It's true," Chan replies, raising his champagne glass with a wink. "It was hate at first sight."

Ayame shakes her head, raising her glass to meet his. "Cheers to that."

"Cheers," Chan echoes, clinking his glass against hers.

Felix approaches their small group, tapping Jack on the shoulder. "Dad, it's time for the speech."

Jack nods, standing and adjusting his tie. "Speech time, huh? Your mother wrote me some notes, but I think I'll just wing it."

"Oh, god," Chan mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. "Lord give us all fucking strength"

Ayame leans in closer to him, her voice low. "Is this going to be bad?"

"Buckle up, shortcake," he whispers. "This is going to be a fucking ride."

Jack steps into the centre of the room, clearing his throat as the murmuring dies down. "I always expected great things from my son," he begins, his voice carrying a note of formality. "And he has never disappointed me. He excelled in med school and has become a truly remarkable physician. It's been an honour to watch him grow into the man he is today. A son any father would be proud of."

Ayame feels Chan's hand brush against hers, and she glances at him. His face is impassive, but his grip tightens slightly when she laces her fingers through his.

Jack continues, his voice warming slightly. "But of all the decisions Felix has made, marrying Soojin is easily the best. She's the perfect complement to him, and I couldn't ask for a better addition to this family."

The applause is polite but warm as Jack steps back, raising his glass toward the couple. Soojin beams, clutching Felix's hand tightly, but Ayame doesn't miss the way Chan's jaw tightens.

As the crowd disperses to mingle again, Chan leans down and murmurs, "Cover for me."

Ayame nods, watching him slip out of the room. She weaves through the guests until she ends up by the massive Christmas tree in the lodge lobby. The soft glow of the lights reflects off the ornaments, giving the scene a picture-perfect holiday feel.

Jess approaches with a knowing smile. "Hi, dear. Have you seen Chris?"

Ayame doesn't even flinch, smoothly lying through her teeth. "He went to find some painkillers. Said he had a headache."

Jess sighs, shaking her head. "That speech probably didn't help. Jack should've just stuck to my prepared remarks."

Ayame offers a sympathetic smile. "He did seem... off-script."

Jess laughs softly, stepping closer. "I'm glad you're here, Ayame. Chris has been talking about you for months."

Ayame blinks, caught off guard. "Months?"

Jess nods, her expression softening. "He says you drive him crazy—in a good way. That you challenge him like no one else does. I think taking that job at the publishing house might've been the best thing he ever did. And meeting you? That's probably the second-best."

Ayame's cheeks flush, and she ducks her head, unsure of how to respond. Before she can, Felix appears, grinning.

"You made it through the speech," he says lightly. Then his eyes flick to Ayame. "Ayame, you look much better."

Ayame narrows her eyes at him. "You prescribed me banana antibiotics."

Felix chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, it was effective, wasn't it?"

"I almost puked on my friend," Ayame counters dryly.

Jess places a hand on Felix's arm. "I need to get back inside before your father has another drink and starts telling everyone about his college days."

Ayame leans against the sturdy wooden post beside the massive Christmas tree, her champagne flute dangling from her fingertips. Felix stands beside her, his blonde hair catching the soft glow of the tree's twinkling lights. Outside, snow drifts lazily against the frosted glass windows, painting the lodge in a serene winter wonderland scene.

The silence between them stretches, comfortable but fragile, until Felix clears his throat and asks, "Do you think badly of me now?"

Ayame doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she stares into her champagne, her lips curving into a wry smile. "Freckles of deceit," she says dryly, tilting her head to look at him. "Blonde hair of betrayal. And that stupid Disney Prince face? Designed purely to deceive."

Felix lets out a laugh, the sound warm and genuine. "Fair enough. But in my defence, I didn't exactly plan for everything to happen the way it did."

"Oh, no?" Ayame drawls, turning to face him fully now, her expression sharp but not unkind. "Did you just accidentally fall into your brother's girlfriend? Was it a slip-and-slide situation?"

Felix winces, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ouch. Okay, I deserve that."

Ayame crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, you do."

He exhales, his breath fogging slightly in the chilly air of the lobby. "Look, I know I'm the asshole in this story, but... it wasn't what you think. Soojin and Chris weren't happy together. She was already halfway out the door when we- When it happened."

Ayame stares at him for a long moment, her face unreadable. "Halfway out the door doesn't mean you push her the rest of the way."

Felix opens his mouth to argue but stops, instead nodding slowly. "You're right."

"Damn right, I am," Ayame mutters, taking the last sip of her champagne and setting the glass down on a nearby table.

Felix watches her, a small, almost sad smile playing on his lips. "You're good for him, you know."

Ayame snorts, rolling her eyes. "Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?"

"I'm serious," Felix says, his tone earnest now. "I've never seen Chris like this. He's lighter, even when he's being an uptight bastard. It's like you've... balanced him out somehow."

"Balanced him out?" Ayame echoes, her voice tinged with disbelief. "You do realize most of our dynamic is me pissing him off, right?"

Felix laughs again, his dimples on full display. "Exactly. He needs that. Someone to challenge him. Chris is so used to being the one in control, the one everyone looks up to. You don't give a shit about any of that. You treat him like he's just... him."

Ayame's teasing expression falters for a moment, her gaze softening. "Huh," she says quietly, more to herself than to Felix.

Felix smiles, offering her his arm. "Come on, let's get back in there before my mother sends out a search party. You don't want to see her in full panic mode."

Ayame hesitates for a beat before slipping her arm through his, her fingers brushing lightly against the soft fabric of his tuxedo jacket. "Fine," she mutters, shaking her head. "But you still have to live with the fact that I'll never let you forget this. Ever."

"Fair trade," Felix replies, grinning as he leads her back toward the reception room. "But for the record, you might be my new favourite person. Don't tell my wife."

Ayame snorts, smirking. "Don't worry. She'd never believe you anyway."

As Ayame and Felix step into the wedding reception, the tension in the air is suffocating. Jack's voice, sharp and full of venom, cuts across the room, silencing the low murmur of conversation.

"An MBA," Jack sneers, standing tall and imperious, "and you're wasting your days running errands and playing house with some younger tramp who flaunts her tits like that makes up for her lack of brains."

Ayame's champagne flute trembles in her hand as her grip tightens. The crystal stem threatens to snap. Beside her, Felix winces, muttering, "I am so fucking sorry for him."

"It's fine," Ayame says tightly, though the edge in her voice suggests otherwise. "We aren't our parents."

Across the room, Jess places a hand on Jack's arm, her face pinched with frustration. "Jack," she says, her voice low but firm, "maybe you should take a walk before you say something you regret."

"I don't regret anything," Jack replies coldly, brushing her off.

And then Chan speaks, his tone calm but deadly sharp. "You do not talk about Ayame like that."

Jack scoffs, his disdain palpable. "Christopher, if you're content wasting your life, that's your problem. But let's not pretend you've made anything of yourself. If you don't want to be a doctor, at least have the decency to do something marginally noble."

Ayame steps forward, her heels clicking against the floor like a countdown to detonation. She narrows her eyes, her posture rigid as she stares Jack down. "You don't think publishing is noble?" she challenges, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of several nearby guests. "Contributing to culture? Creating stories that change lives?"

Jack barely looks at her, his lips curling in disdain. "I don't think your boy is making books, sweetheart. I think he's fetching coffee for somebody who is."

Ayame's jaw clenches, her fists curling at her sides. "Do not call me sweetheart," she says, her tone icy.

Jack finally turns to her, his gaze sweeping over her like she's insignificant. "And what are you going to do about it? You're just his young slut, flaunting your body to get places. You think you belong here?"

Chan's hand slams against the table, the sound reverberating through the room. Guests flinch, and Jess's eyes widen in shock. "Enough! You do not talk to her like that."

"Chan, it's fine," Ayame says, her voice low but steady, though her eyes blaze with fury. She places a hand on his arm, stopping him before he can escalate further. "Really. It's fine."

Chan turns to her, his expression conflicted, but Ayame shakes her head, gently pulling his hand away. She steps forward, squaring her shoulders and addressing Jack directly.

"You clearly know nothing about your son," she says, her voice calm but cutting. "So let me fill you in real quick."

"Ayame—" Chan starts, his voice softer now, but she cuts him off with a look.

"No, Chan," she says firmly. "He needs to hear this."

The room is holding its collective breath as Ayame sweeps her gaze around the gathered guests. "I'm sorry for the interruption," she says with mock politeness. "I actually like most of you. Really, you've been lovely. But this fucking guy?" She points a perfectly manicured finger at Jack. "He's a fucking dick."

Felix lets out a loud, unfiltered snort into his champagne, and Soojin quickly hides her laugh behind her hand, her shoulders shaking.

Jess covers her mouth, torn between horror and amusement, while Jack's face turns an alarming shade of red.

Ayame takes a step closer to Jack, her chin tilting up defiantly. "Chan has more integrity, more grit, and more brains in his little finger than you've ever had. You think he's wasting his life? Newsflash, your perfect little surgeon golden boy over there-" She gestures to Felix, who raises his glass with a sheepish grin. "-spent years following your orders, and you know what? Even he thinks you're full of shit."

"Ayame," Felix mutters, his tone half-warning, half-impressed.

Ayame squares her shoulders, her voice cutting through the murmurs in the room. "Chan's boss, who is CEO in title only, is a sleazy prick who can't even tie his own shoelaces without fucking it up. Chan runs that place. Actually, we both do."

A collective gasp ripples through the room, but Ayame doesn't flinch. She holds Jack's gaze, unrelenting. "The only reason L&M didn't go up in flames after the merger is because Chan oversaw a reduction of the workforce by- What was it?" She glances at Chan for confirmation.

Chan raises three fingers on one hand and five on the other.

"Fifty-three percent?" Ayame guesses, quirking an eyebrow.

Chan shakes his head, barely containing his amusement. "Thirty-five."

"Thirty-five percent," Ayame corrects herself, smirking. "Like I said, the whole time. Because I don't make mistakes. And because of that, over two hundred people kept their jobs. Two hundred families didn't lose their livelihoods. But yeah, Jack, he's not a doctor. Who the fuck cares?"

Felix snorts, turning away to hide his laughter. Soojin elbows him, her lips twitching as she tries not to grin. An elderly woman nearby gasps audibly, clutching her pearls like they're the only thing keeping her upright.

Ayame steps closer to Jack, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. "Here's what you don't get, Mr. Bang. Chan is smart. He's relentless. He's made me better at my job because I've had to compete with him every single day. He's the reason L&M didn't implode. He's the reason people still have jobs. And the fact that you can't see that your son is fucking amazing is... sad. Honestly, it's pathetic."

Jack opens his mouth to speak, but Ayame cuts him off, raising a finger. "And another thing, your whole dismissive attitude? The 'tramp' comments? It says a lot more about you than it does about me. And for the record, I flaunt my tits because they're fucking amazing, not to impress any man."

The elderly woman gasps again, louder this time, as if the weight of Ayame's words has knocked the air right out of her. Jess presses a hand to her mouth, her eyes sparkling with barely concealed laughter as Chan grins widely.

Ayame turns to Soojin and Felix, her tone suddenly lighter. "Anyway, congratulations to the happy couple. You both look stunning."

She pivots back to Jack, her smile disappearing. "And as for you? Fuck you, Mr. Bang. Fuck your outdated, arrogant opinions. Chan, let's go home."

Chan, who has been watching with an expression of unrestrained delight, grins even wider. "Best idea I've heard all day."

He steps up beside Ayame, slipping his hand around her waist as they turn to leave. Ayame pauses, glancing at Jess. Her expression softens as she says, "Jess, it was lovely meeting you."

Jess steps forward, cupping Ayame's face and planting a warm kiss on her cheek. "You too, darling. You're always welcome in our home. Well, mine, at least."

"Thank you," Ayame says, her voice sincere.

Jess turns to her son, her expression firm but loving. "Chris, call me later. I'm serious."

"Will do, Ma," Chan replies, grinning.

As they make their way toward the door, Felix raises his champagne glass, his voice loud and clear. "To Ayame. The best thing to ever happen to this wedding."

"To Ayame!" Soojin echoes, laughing as she clinks glasses with Felix.

Ayame glances back at the room one last time, catching Jack's stunned expression and Jess's knowing smile. She smirks, tilting her head toward Chan. "Ready to go?"

"Absolutely," Chan says, his arm tightening around her waist as they step out into the snowy afternoon.

Ayame links her arm through Chan's as they stride quickly out of the reception hall. The chilly afternoon air bites at her exposed skin, but the sting is nothing compared to the rush of adrenaline still surging through her. She glances back over her shoulder, cheeks flushed. "Oh my god, everyone was staring."

"You almost killed my aunt," Chan says with a teasing lilt, his voice vibrating with amusement. "She was clutching her pearls so hard I thought they'd snap."

Ayame groans, rolling her eyes. "I am so sorry. Truly, I didn't mean to give her a heart attack."

Chan laughs, his dimples deepening, making him look far younger than thirty. "Don't be. That was fucking brilliant, Lim Ayame. I'm actually mad I didn't record it. You verbally annihilated my father in front of all those people."

Ayame glares at him, tugging him forward. "Walk faster, people are staring!"

Chan slows deliberately, grinning. "Let them stare. You just delivered the speech of the century. Might as well bask in it."

"No, no, no," Ayame mutters. "I don't want them looking. I want to disappear. This is mortifying."

Chan's hand tightens gently around her arm, his tone soft but insistent. "Stop caring what people think, shortcake. They don't matter."

Ayame shoots him a deadpan look. "I can't help it. It's a disease. People-pleasing disorder."

"You need an antidote," Chan says, laughing as they reach his car. "Come on, hop in."

Ayame slides into the passenger seat with a dramatic sigh, crossing her legs and smoothing her dress. "I should be banned from weddings."

Chan slides in beside her, adjusts his mirrors, and starts the car. "If anything, you should be invited to more of them. You made that wedding memorable."

As they pull out of the snowy parking lot, Chan reaches over, resting his hand on Ayame's bare thigh. His fingers are warm, his thumb tracing slow circles against her skin. The motion sends a shiver up her spine, though she doesn't let it show.

"You're going to kill me," Ayame mutters, staring pointedly at his hand.

Chan smirks, his eyes focused on the road. "Oh, relax. It's just a hand."

"It's your hand," Ayame shoots back, her voice sharper than she intends. "There's nothing casual about it."

Chan's grin widens, his thumb pressing slightly harder. "You're dramatic, you know that?"

"Hmm, says the man who smirks like he's the villain in a K-drama," Ayame counters, resting her elbow on the door and staring out at the falling snow.

Chan chuckles. "So, what now?"

"Naked time," Ayame says matter-of-factly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

Chan barks out a laugh, his head falling back briefly before he focuses on the road again. "After naked time?"

Ayame pretends to think. "Rehydration? I don't know. Maybe we can solve world hunger if we're feeling ambitious."

Chan glances at her, his tone growing quieter, more serious. "Ayame, I've had a lot of women tell me I'm not the kind of guy you settle down with."

Ayame freezes for a moment, caught off guard by the shift in tone. "Is this where I start playing the tiny violin?"

Chan exhales, his hand pausing its motion on her thigh. "What I'm saying is, I'm not that guy to most people. But I want to be."

Ayame blinks, her gaze softening as she studies his profile. "You think that's what I'm doing? Just fucking around with you until I find someone else?"

Chan shrugs, his jaw tight. "I don't know. But I hope not."

She shifts in her seat, turning to face him more fully. "Bang Chan, you are a puzzle. One minute, you're shoving me into closets and pissing me off. The next, you're saying shit like this."

Chan glances at her, his expression lighter now, teasing. "Closets were your idea, by the way."

Ayame huffs out a laugh, rolling her eyes. "Whatever."

They fall into a comfortable silence for a moment, the tension between them easing slightly. Then Ayame sits up straighter, pointing out the window. "Drive-through. Coffee. Now."

Chan raises an eyebrow, smirking. "Bossy."

Ayame smirks back. "Damn right. You're paying, by the way."

Chan shakes his head, laughing as he steers the car toward the drive-through. "Anything else?"

"Maybe," Ayame says, her voice light but laced with mischief. "Depends on how good the whipped cream is."

Chan laughs, the sound warm and full as they roll up to the menu board. Outside, the snow falls in thick, lazy flakes, but inside the car, the world feels a little brighter, a little warmer, and infinitely more charged.

Taglist: @fackeraccount @ot8girlfie @nightmarenyxx @reimaybeidk

@ismelllikechlorine247 @drewsandsebastianswife @my-neurodivergent-world @rhonnie23 @hanji-coffee

@skzleeknowcore

[cherrynflowergarden]

જ⁀➴ this is why we can't have nice things || matt sturniolo

sturniolo masterlist taglist

the kitchen smelled of ginger and cinnamon as matt stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, carefully squeezing icing onto a gingerbread wall. she was beside him, painstakingly placing little candy decorations in a neat line.

“alright, what’s the plan here?” matt asked, glancing at the pile of candy she insisted on using. “we’re making a cute little house,” she said, voice laced with determination. “it’s a gingerbread mansion with the amount of candy you bought, darling.” he teased, smirking as he popped a gumdrop into his mouth.

before she could respond, chris barged into the kitchen, a can of pepsi in hand. “yo, what are you guys doing? trying to win a baking competition or something?”

“trying to build a house,” matt replied, emphasizing trying as the roof he’d just placed slid off.

chris laughed, leaning against the counter. “you need my expert advice?” “not unless you want icing in your hair,” matt shot back playfully, though there was a serious glint in his eyes.

nick appeared next, his curiosity piqued by the commotion. “what’s going on? oh, this is gonna collapse in like two seconds.”

“it’s not collapsing,” she protested, glaring at him as she added a little green wreath to the front door. “it’s going to be perfect.”

nick raised an eyebrow. “define perfect.”

“nick, go away,” matt muttered, though he was grinning now, caught between annoyance and amusement.

nick didn’t leave, of course. instead, he grabbed a piece of gingerbread from the “extra” pile and started munching. “i’m just saying, this isn’t very structurally sound.”

chris grabbed the icing bag from matt. “i’ll show you how it’s done.”

ten minutes later, the kitchen was a disaster zone. icing was everywhere—on the counter, on the floor, and somehow even in nick’s hair. candy was scattered like confetti, and the gingerbread house was leaning precariously to one side.

chris stood back, proudly admiring his handiwork. “i think it adds character.”

“you mean chaos,” nick muttered, wiping icing off his sleeve on chris’ shirt to which the later yelled about.

matt sighed, looking at the mess with his hands on his hips. then he turned to his girlfriend, a smirk tugging at his lips. “at least it’s better than the one they’d make on their own.”

“definitely,” she agreed, laughing as she swiped some icing onto matt’s cheek. “hey!” he grabbed a handful of flour and dusted it over her head in retaliation, making her squeal. nick and chris watched the madness unfold, both shaking their heads.

“this is why we can’t have nice things.” chris said, grinning.

an; heh the title doesn't match at all but it's okay :3 it's 24 dec for me so enjoy this little christmas gift from meeeee i have more ideas and i might just post them :)

tags; @eirianna @thebasicbiatch @katamcauley @wxnyzie @lilmear-blog @vrlixlia @star-fuck-off @embonbon @idkversace @annawilk @r0nnsblog @weluvwbb @c1ydessturniolo @vintagebishx @maddie-bell @timmdmdm @happydiplomatshepherdspy-blog @crispycitrus @faith-f1 @escapentropy @florscons @carlossainzwho @luckylampzonkland @lewisroscoelove @mudryklover @rageshots @dontworryaboutit007 @chair-things @myangelbaby555 @sheesh1311 @f1lovely @silia1raf @blahbel668 @my-dinos-life-is-good @ssturniolo92 @lilly6110 @lou-larcher5 @arminluvrr @mxryxmfooty @gabri3la-sturns @bellsboops @f1-and-shiz @emely9274 @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @unx100to @strnlslut

@mattslovergirlie @sarakpalsd @sweetobservationface @shadowthesim @mattslolita @cupiidk1lls @urloveanaa @t1llysblog @meatball10 @fiowerbeds

[cherub-berry]

*:..｡o○ CRAVING SMOKE | Porco Galliard x Reader

╰┈➤ Contents: fem! reader, both Porco and reader smokes cigarettes, reader wears glasses, reader is an eldian nurse, reader carrying an injured man, mention of injury, mention of war, the aftermath of war, guilt, survivor guilt, cigarette kisses, Porco opening up, mention of Marcel, teasing and banter, writer is not good with grammar

╰┈➤ Word count: 5.9k

╰┈➤ Note: this is inspired by my illustration of Porco. I also wanted to thank my friend Ari for co-writing this fic with me, with out their help I don't think I can finish this, so a big applause for Ari!

The smell of blood and fear lingered in the air, clinging like a vice. The war had ended or so they said. But for the war veteran and survivor, it was a never-ending cycle. He stood atop his titan, smoke rising from its neck as the giant's body slumped to the ground. Porco Galliard, or as most people knew him, the Jaw Titan. The sky, once a clear blue, now darkened to shades of purple and orange, a beautiful scene if he didn’t notice the endless bodies beneath him. Eldians and Marleyans alike lay caught in the crossfire, everyone is a victim of war, even if they never participated.

Porco wishes he were a simple man with a simple dream, but what he wants is anything but simple. Yet here he is, bloodied and brooding, weighed down by the weight of a wish he never truly understood. He got what he wanted, one of the Nine Titans, but at what cost? Marcel’s death? Bertholdt’s fate? Or even the betrayal that still hangs between him and Reiner? The power, the legacy—it all feels hollow now, a cruel reminder of the sacrifices made. Each Titan form, each battle, has only deepened his pain, leaving him to wonder if the price was ever worth it.

He watches as the Warrior candidates celebrate, hugging and cheering for Gabi Braun, elated by the success of her sacrifice. He can't help but smile, ruffling her head as if to say, "Good job." But as he watches them, a bitter knot tightens in his chest. Their troop is dwindling at a rapid pace. Every single day, the enemy's weapons grow deadlier, more advanced, more terrifying. Porco himself almost tasted death recently, saved only by the Armored Titan, Reiner Braun. Meanwhile, the Warriors’ tent is filled with the sounds of laughter, men drinking tasteless alcohol and eating MREs to their heart's content. They laugh as if they don't care about what awaits them when they return home or if they'll ever return at all.

The night drags on, and eventually, the lights in the tents fade to black. Everyone is deep asleep, like corpses, except for Porco. War Chief Zeke Yeager is awake too. Zeke is focused on a book—a children's book, of all things. How peculiar, Porco thought. But this is Zeke, no one can ever guess what he's really thinking. A metallic mug of coffee is clutched in Zeke's left hand, while his right flips through the pages of the book.

"Stop staring so much, you're going to make me blush," Zeke muttered, his eyes still transfixed on the pages.

Porco raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the book. "Is it interesting? I mean, it’s a children’s book."

Zeke glanced up briefly, taking a sip of his coffee. "It has its charms. You never know until you read it."

Porco smirked. "Charms? For a kid’s story?" He sat up on his cot. "You’re not getting soft on me, are you?"

Zeke chuckled, eyes back on the book. “Soft? Perhaps. We need more simple things in a chaotic world that's going to fall apart”

The Jaw Titan studied him for a moment, watching as the man in front of him tracing the book cover. He shrugged “can’t say I found comfort in kids’ stories. But hey, if it helps you sleep at night…”

After a long pause, Zeke smiled at him. Closing the book and finishing his coffee. “The world needs hope more that it needs war, even if it's for a brief moment”

The night hung heavy around them as Porco fell silent, he can't lie Zeke is a very interesting person, but also a dangerous one.

"Gonna go smoke for a bit," Porco said, breaking the silence.

"If I were you, I wouldn't," Zeke muttered. "The war is over for us, but not for the nurses. It’s chaos out there.”

Porco ignored Zeke’s warning and headed out into the night. The cold air hit him immediately, as a gust of wind tousled his hair. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, exhaling smoke into the crisp night. The silence outside was different—empty, almost suffocating. He stood there for a while, letting the chill sink in, his thoughts drifting as the smoke swirled upward. Zeke’s words echoed in his mind, but he pushed them aside.

He lights a cigarette and exhales a cloud of nicotine into the frigid air, the wind growing sharper and colder. He glances into the distance, where the medical tents stand far from the others. The muffled sounds of screaming and crying drift toward him. Unlike the warriors' tent—silent, warm, and inviting, the medical tents are bright, chaotic, and soaked in blood. Curiosity tugs at him, and he steps closer. The screams grow louder, and he sees nurses rushing about, covered in blood, their faces hidden behind masks and surgical gloves.

The head nurse stumbles by, her eyes wide with panic as she clutches the gruesome bandage “what are you doing here!? Stay back,” her voice strained. “We're losing him, quickly, morphine!”.

Porco watches in silence, in awe. Cigarette forgotten as the ashes drop down to the dirt floor. Another nurse passed him, not glancing at him. Her gaze never meeting his. Zeke was right, it's war here.

Your hands are shaking as you struggle to open the morphine bottle, the lid slipping from your trembling fingers. As you fumble, your glasses slide down your nose and nearly fall off, but you barely notice, too focused on the task at hand.

Getting a syringe you dipped the needle into the bottle giving it a light tap before injecting it into the dying man, preparing him for the pain that will follow.

Time seemed to slow down for Porco as he watched the nurses rushing to help the unconscious man. Every moment felt stretched, the hurried movements of the medical staff blending into a blur of urgency, while his own focus remained locked on the scene unfolding before him.

But one nurse stood out to Porco—the woman with glasses. She didn’t appear much older than he was, yet she was carrying a half-dead man alone, her movements steady and deliberate despite the heavy burden. The sight of her, focused and determined, carrying the unconscious man toward the operating tent, struck Porco deeply. To him the woman was not only carrying his life, but the hopes of a fallen soldier.

“It's going to be okay Mr. Charlie! You're going to go home soon,” You said, gently lowering him on the bed, reassuring him and also yourself.

Nurses swarmed around the man, preparing him for surgery, while your hand trembled, heavy with the responsibility of his life.Your chest tightens, the weight of the moment pressing down, and your breath catches in your throat. It's the sudden, overwhelming realization of how fragile life is, how much is at stake in this very moment.

“(Name), you did well today. You can take the rest of the night off,” One of the older nurses said, putting on her mask and surgical gloves.

You nod quietly, too exhausted to argue. In truth, you wanted to stay—to assist the nurses, to see the surgery through. But as you turn to leave the surgical tents, the weight of your fatigue pulls you away, each step heavy as you step out into the cool night air.

The breeze brushes against your skin, a soft, fleeting touch, like a kiss that might vanish at any moment. Adjusting your glasses you finally notice a young man staring outside one of the tents, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. You approach him and tap his shoulder once—did he not feel it? You tap again, then speak.

“Excuse me, sir, you're not allowed to smoke here.”

“Shit, sorry.” He drops the cigarette and crushes it under his boot. His voice sounds distant, almost detached, but there’s an unmistakable tension in his posture. Though his face remains calm, his eyes reveal a different story, one of turmoil and inner conflict that he’s trying hard to hide.

You look at him from head to toe. You know this man, the infamous Jaw Titan. His face carries the unmistakable feature that haunts Liberio. Nurses often fawn over the warriors, often calling the man in front of you “a handsome asshole with a good heart”. A certain charm behind those cold and rigid eyes that will make people swoon.

Porco’s eyes met yours. And for a moment, your breath catches. There's something undoubtedly intimate in his gaze—unacknowledged attraction. The connection feels so short yet so magnetic, it makes you want his gaze even more.

“You’ve got something on your cheek,” He says, pointing to his face to clarify.

Your eyes widen slightly as you quickly wipe your cheek, only to see the dark stain of blood smeared across your skin. Maybe he wasn’t looking at your eyes after all—maybe it was your cheek he was focused on. A wave of self-consciousness hits you as you glance down at your uniform, now caked in dirt and blood. The grime and the mess suddenly seem more obvious, and you can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, like all the weight of the day’s chaos has left its mark on you.

"Thanks..." The words barely escape your throat, soft and barely audible.

"Mr. Galliard, if you're looking to smoke, I know a place." You clear your throat, hoping the sudden awkwardness doesn’t linger.

He glances at you, then back at the ground. "Oh—uh, sure. Lead the way." His tone is a mix of surprise and something else, almost like he wasn’t expecting an offer, but couldn’t refuse it either.

You lead him into the cool evening, the air carrying a sharp bite that makes the night feel even more isolated. As you walk side by side, the silence between you both is oddly comfortable. The faint crunch of gravel beneath your boots is the only sound, and you’re acutely aware of his presence beside you—his movements casual, but you can tell he’s paying attention to the surroundings.

You guide him to the back of an old, abandoned shed, though calling it a shed feels generous. It’s little more than a crumbling wooden wall with a rusted door, barely standing against the wind. The dim light from the nearby lanterns casts long shadows, adding a sense of quiet intimacy to the moment. It’s a place hidden from prying eyes, and as you both step into the shelter, the world outside feels just a little more distant, a little more forgotten.

“Here we are, enjoy your time Mr. Galliard. Goodnight,” You pivot on your heel and head back toward the nurses' tent, hoping to find some rest or at least a brief moment of peace away from the chaos.

A calloused hand reaches out, brushing against yours. You turn back, and for a split second, you catch the blonde man’s eyes. They flicker from yours to the ground, his brows furrowing in a quiet struggle, as if debating something he can’t quite put into words. He lowers his hand slowly, almost surprised by his own gesture.

“I—uh, forget it. Goodnight,” he mutters, the words awkward and heavy, like he’s wrestling with a thought he isn’t ready to share.

His eyes linger just a little longer than necessary, betraying the quiet curiosity that seems to hang in the air between you—an unspoken desire to know more, but uncertainty keeping him at arm’s length.

You know he wanted to know. The makeshift question barrelling in your head: how did you know this place? The question feels simple yet complicated.

You smile softly at him, feeling the weight of the moment shift. Sliding down the wall, you settle onto the ground, your posture casual but inviting. You pat the spot next to you, looking up at him with a quiet, unspoken request.

"Sit with me?"

For a moment, he hesitates, eyes flicking between the empty space beside you and your face, as if debating whether to break the distance or remain standing. After a beat, he lowers himself slowly, sitting beside you without a word. Shoulders almost brushing, his body heat radiating.

You slip your hand into the pocket of your uniform, pulling out a cigarette box, the edges worn from constant use. You shake it lightly, feeling the last few sticks inside, then retrieve an almost empty lighter, the flame flickering weakly at your fingertips.

“I didn't know nurses can smoke,” He says, you can hear faint hint of a smile in his voice.

“Well, we aren't supposed to,” you reply, taking a drag and letting the smoke curl up into the air, "But I still do anyway.”

He chuckles softly. "I guess some rules are meant to be bent."

You exhale slowly, watching the smoke dissipate in the cool evening air. "Maybe. But it's not exactly the healthiest habit, either way.”

“You should tell that to Zeke.” he says, a grin creeping in.

"The head nurse has," you reply with a dry laugh, "She told him to quit, but he just keeps on going. It’s like telling a cat to stop being a cat." You take a long drag, enjoying the bite of the smoke as you watch the haze swirl around you.

Porco watches you exhale another puff of smoke, his gaze following the way the smoke curls into the air. After a moment, he pulls out his own cigarette and a lighter from his jacket, biting the tip between his lips with a small grunt of concentration. He flicks the lighter, but the flame sputters out before it can catch, the tiny spark vanishing into the cool night. He shakes the lighter impatiently, then tries again, only for it to fail once more. With a frustrated sigh, he tosses the lighter aside with a muttered curse.

“Can I borrow yours?” He points toward your lighter with a half-embarrassed look.

You nod, handing it to him. He takes it and flicks the fuse multiple times, but again, the flame refuses to appear.

"Guess no cigarette for me tonight," he says, a hint of disappointment in his voice, as he hands it back to you. "Lucky you. You've got all the fire."

You chuckle softly, slipping the lighter back into your pocket. "Maybe it’s a sign you’re not meant to smoke tonight."

He smirks, rolling his eyes. "Could be.”

“Here, I'll share mine with you. Get close”

Porco raises an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. You bring the lit cigarette back up to your lips and position it so the glowing tip is almost exactly in line with his—just a hair's breath apart, the two cigarettes hovering close. He leans in slightly, and you both, without missing a beat, gently bring your lips together, the tips of your cigarettes now nearly touching.

For a brief, intense moment, you both exhale at the same time, the smoke mixing and swirling around you, the soft glow of the lit tips connecting in a silent, almost intimate dance. The flame transfers easily between the cigarettes, igniting his with a soft hiss. He takes a quick drag as you pull back, both of you now holding your cigarettes with your lips.

"Now that’s how you light a cigarette," you say with a grin, watching him as he exhales, a small smile creeping onto his face.

Porco chuckles, still holding the cigarette between his lips. "You’re full of surprises, huh?"

You shrug casually, the smoke trailing lazily in the air. "I like to keep things interesting."

For a moment, the world feels quieter, the shared action something unspoken, just a little closer than it probably should be. A little too intimate than it should be. You lower your hand to the ground, just a breath away from his, the space between your fingers humming with an unspoken promise. You linger there, so close that the air seems to tremble with the possibility of touch, but neither of you moves.

Porco raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing as he glances at your hand, hovering near his. "Careful," he says, voice low, a teasing edge to it. "You might be getting a little too close for comfort."

You hold his gaze, a small, knowing smile playing at the corner of your lips. "Comfort’s overrated," you reply, fingers barely brushing the edge of his.

His eyes flicked between you and your hand. “You're the type to make things complicated, aren't you?

You stretch your body, your spine arching gracefully as you move, the motion fluid and effortless. His gaze follows you, intent and focused, drawn to the curve of your back with an almost predatory intensity. You feel the weight of his eyes on you, but you don't falter. As you shift, your hand drifts even closer to his, the space between you shrinking with every deliberate inch. You hold his gaze, a quiet confidence in your eyes.

"Only when it's worth it," you say, your voice soft but clear, as if the words are as much a challenge as an invitation.

Porco's gaze sharpens, he takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the gray smoke to the cold night sky. “Is this one of those moments?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you shift your hand a fraction closer, just enough to send a jolt of tension through the air. "Maybe," you say softly. "Maybe not."

His lips quirk upward, the challenge in his eyes clear. "You’re a tease. I kind of like it.”

The air hangs heavy with tension, thick and almost suffocating. Neither of you dares to move, as if any shift would shatter the moment. The silence between you is electric, every heartbeat magnified, the space between you pulsing with something unspoken.

“You're not going to make this easy, aren't you?” He asked, voice husky and hushed.

“Where's the fun in easy?”

"I like seeing how far I can push before things... change," you murmur, your eyes locking with his, daring him to respond.

He leans in, just a fraction, closing the distance with a teasing, almost unreadable look. "Is that what you want? To see what happens when everything shifts?”

You challenge him with a quiet smile. “Maybe I do”

Porco’s gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, his breath catching ever so slightly. His pulse quickens, the subtle shift in his expression betraying the tension building between you both. There’s a brief hesitation, a quiet moment where it feels like time itself has paused, before his focus sharpens again, drawn in by something deeper, something he can’t quite pull away from.

“You're going to keep looking, or do something about it?” You challenged.

He chuckles softly, a low rumble vibrating between you two. “You sure you want me to?”

“You're the one getting closer.”

His hand shifts just slightly, brushing against yours, and for a split second, you think he might pull away. But then, his fingers curl around yours, slow and deliberate, the touch grounding in a way that feels more intimate than anything that’s come before.

"Guess you’re right" he murmurs, his voice barely above a breath. "Maybe I’ve already done something about it ”

You take his hand in yours, your fingers gently tracing the rough lines of his calloused skin. The touch is tender, lingering, as if you're mapping out the very contours of his hand, feeling the strength in every worn ridge.

His soft lips graze yours, a delicate touch that lingers in the air. The scent of cigarettes, faint and smoky, clings to him, but it fades as you close your eyes and melt into his kiss. In that moment, the world blurs—the chaos, the noise—everything softens, leaving just the rhythm of his breath and the warmth of his presence.

The touch of his warm hand feels like a warm lantern in the dark and cold of the night. It's a comfort, a reassurance that you never knew you needed until now. You wish for nothing more than his touch, his presence, to stay with you, to never let go. In this fleeting moment, everything else fades away, and all that matters is the warmth of his hand in yours. You never want to leave this small, perfect moment.

You pull apart first, your cheek flushed, the rush of blood making your head spin. You’ve kissed others before—men and women, but none of those kisses were like this. Not this urgent, not this brief. There’s something about it that stirs something deeper inside you. You feel shy, vulnerable, as if something sacred has just unfolded between you. His warm eyes meet yours, looking at you with such intensity that it threatens to overwhelm you. Something catches in your throat, and you blink rapidly, fighting back tears. It’s a moment you never want to forget, a fleeting piece of time you wish you could hold on to forever.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly, hand caressing yours.

You swallow, steadying your breath. “I—yeah, just… I never felt like this. Its so different.”

“Different good, I hope?” He said softly, placing his forehead gently against yours.

You nodded, the closeness is making your heart race. “Yeah, different good”

He stays there for a heartbeat longer, unwilling to pull away, as if afraid the quiet connection between you might vanish the moment he does. The world around you is eerily still—too still for a soldier like him. It feels too gentle, too faint, a softness he's not accustomed to. His heart beats faster, the silence pressing in around you both.

You rest your head to his shoulder, looking at the cigarette in your hand so fondly. “It's so…quiet”

He shifts slightly, his warmth pressing against you, grounding you in the quiet. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice almost drowned by the peace surrounding you both. “Feels strange, doesn’t it?” He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curls upwards, disappearing into the night.

“I feel like a storm is about to happen” You whispered, voice certain. The words hang in the air, as if they were supposed to happen.

He turned towards you, his expression unreadable for a moment as he studied your face. "Ugh, I hate this," He muttered, a dry humor lacing his voice. "After this hell of a storm, there's another one waiting. What a drag." He let out a short, humorless chuckle, but his face remained unreadable, the tension in his eyes betraying the joke.

“A warrior can’t catch a break, huh?” You teased, a grin playing at the edges of your lips.

“Nope,” he shot back, the word blunt, almost with a hint of amusement, as if the irony of it all wasn’t lost on him.

“Honestly, if I were a Titan Shifter, there’s no way I’d have the guts to bite my hand or slice it open to transform,” You say, chuckling at the thought of it.

He takes a drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke with a grin. "You should try it, it’s a real rush." He taps the cigarette, letting the ashes fall to the ground.

You shake your head, smiling “Uh—huh, sure. ‘cause nothing says fun like turning into a giant nutcracker wrecking everything in sight.”

“It's oddly therapeutic, you should try it sometime. Nothing like the feeling of smashing stuff to really clear your head.”

The banter continues, but with each passing minute, the mood shifts. Your laughter fades, swallowed by the deeper currents of the conversation. You both sit there, the world moving around you, but the two of you remain anchored to the moment, surrounded by the haze of smoke and words that were meant to be light but now feel heavy.

Your cigarette, now little more than a smoldering nub, threatens to fall, but neither of you moves to snuff it out. It's one of those moments that doesn’t seem to need much attention, as if the world’s outside the bubble you’ve created. A bubble where jokes come easy and laughter rings free, even though neither of you could be further from truly being carefree.

You glance over at him—the man beside you, Porco Galliard. The man who has seen and done things you couldn’t even begin to imagine. The man whose hands have taken countless lives for the sake of his country, soldiers who never had a chance. The man who wears the burden of the Titan Shifters curse like a second skin. And yet, despite all of that, here he is, sitting beside you, casually flicking ash from his cigarette as if this were the most normal conversation in the world.

"You think smashing things is fun?" you ask again, this time with less sarcasm, more curiosity. A genuine question.

Porco pauses, his gaze shifting toward the horizon for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is steady but edged with something darker. "I'm smashing things because of orders. It's not fun at all. It's torture.”

“You ever get tired of it?" You ask, not sure what answer you're hoping for. You expect him to laugh, to brush it off, maybe even make another joke. But instead, he seems to sink deeper into his thoughts, his gaze fixed on something distant.

“Tired? You don't get tired. You just keep going, that's all you can do. You just keep moving and hope that you're not too far gone to realize you've lost everything.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and final, but you can see it in his eyes—he knows the truth. He’s lost everything. The weight of it settles around him like a shroud, suffocating, unspoken. He still has his parents, but that’s not enough. Not without Marcel. Without Marcel, what’s left for him? The bond they shared, the brotherhood, was the one thing that tethered him to something real, something that made the endless violence and sacrifice bearable. But now, in the aftermath, it’s all gone.

You listen to Porco’s words, and for a moment, the air between you feels thick, like there’s more than just the weight of the conversation in that space. There’s something you both share now, something you never thought you’d relate to.

Your fingers brush the cold metal of the lighter in your pocket, instinctively reaching for it. You’ve held it a thousand times before, but tonight, it feels heavier than it ever has. The two wings carved into the surface—delicate and intricate—are a reminder of a place you can never go back to, a memory that’s already fading at the edges. A gift from back home. A piece of something you’ve left behind, but it doesn’t feel like a gift anymore. It feels like a weight.

Guilt surges up from somewhere deep inside you, twisting your stomach. You close your eyes for a brief second, overwhelmed by the flood of memories that rush in. Home, warmth, faces you can’t recall without pain. The weight of responsibility that was thrust upon your shoulders—too young, too unprepared, yet here you are, carrying the same heavy burden that Porco now bears, the same impossible task of surviving a world that seems to demand too much.

Your hand tightens around the lighter, but the feeling of loss doesn’t ease. It only makes the ache sharper, a reminder that you can’t go back, and you can’t undo what’s already been done.

“I have also lost some important people in my life, the people that have shaped me to be who I am now.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a brief moment, you almost regret saying anything at all. But there's a truth in it, something raw and real that hangs in the air between you both. The people who helped mold you, who gave you purpose, who made you feel human—those are the ones that stick with you, long after they’re gone. And it’s their absence that leaves the deepest scars.

“It’s like they’re still with you, but not really,” you add, your voice distant. “You carry them with you, but sometimes it feels like they’re just ghosts. And all you can do is try to make sense of it all, even when it doesn’t make sense anymore.”

"You know," he says after a beat, the humor in his voice gone, replaced by something more subdued, "sometimes I wonder if I'd be less of a mess if he was still around. Maybe he could’ve talked me out of some of the shit I’ve done.”

You don’t respond right away. The shift in his tone isn’t lost on you. It’s not the playful jab you’d been expecting, but something rawer, something closer to the truth than either of you had expected to share.

"You don't need him to tell you what’s right or wrong, Porco," you say softly, trying to keep the conversation grounded. "You’ve been making your own choices for a long time now. Maybe it’s time you stop leaning on ghosts to figure out what you’re doing.”

Porco’s gaze flickers toward you, a wry smile tugging at his lips, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Guess you’re right. But it sure would’ve been nice to have someone who actually got it. Someone who didn't treat me like a fucking weapon.”

You feel the words hit you harder than expected. "You know, you’re not just a weapon, Porco. And you’re not the only one who's ever felt like one." The words spill out before you can stop them, the quiet vulnerability in your own voice surprising even you. You didn’t expect to be the one offering comfort here, but somehow, it feels right.

Porco takes a long moment to respond, staring at the cigarette between his fingers before flicking the ash off into the night. “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to feel like one when that’s all anyone’s ever used you for.”

You don’t have an answer for that. Instead, you let the quiet settle in again, the space between you two filled with an understanding that doesn’t need words.The conversation, like everything else, eventually fades into something quieter, easier. But there’s still the lingering feeling that, despite the ghosts, despite the weight of everything that’s been said and done, you’re both still here. Still standing. Still breathing.

“Maybe one day we’ll stop letting the past haunt us so much,” you say, almost to yourself, more as a hope than a statement. "Maybe then we’ll figure out who we really are, without all the ghosts.”

Porco glances at you, that familiar smirk returning, though there’s something softer about it now. "Maybe. But I wouldn’t hold my breath."

You grin, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “Yeah, well, we’ve been breathing this long, haven’t we?”

The two of you share a quiet laugh, and for a moment, the world feels a little lighter, the weight of the past suspended in the air around you. The sound of your laughter breaks the tension, and you take a deep breath, letting it all go for just a second.

You glance down at the short bud of your cigarette, finally snuffing it out on the ground, watching as the small amber glow fades.

"This has been one interesting conversation, don't you think?" you say, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Yeah, it has been," he says, his voice softening a bit. "I kinda enjoyed this..." He glances at you for a moment, his expression unexpectedly earnest, before looking down and snuffing out his own cigarette.

You yawn, the small droplets of tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. The conversation had been so engaging, so full of playful teasing and back-and-forth, that you hadn't even noticed how tired you were becoming. The words and laughter had kept you wide awake, but now, with the sudden stillness between you two, the exhaustion caught up to you all at once.

You rub your eyes, stifling another yawn, and glance at Porco. "Guess I didn’t realize how tired I was," you admit, your voice a bit slower now. "This conversation’s been so much fun, I almost forgot about sleep.”

Porco glances at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Didn’t think a conversation could wear you out," he says, his tone light but with a hint of amusement. "Guess I’m just that interesting, huh?"

You let out a soft laugh, rubbing your eyes. "I think it’s just a combination of you and how late it’s gotten.”

Feeling the drowsiness creeping in fully now. Porco watches you for a moment, his smirk replaced with something more genuine. "Take care of yourself, alright? Don’t keep your bed waiting.”

You flash him a tired smile, nodding.”I'll try, need a shower first though. See you around, Mr. Galliard.”

You pivot on your heel, heading toward the nurses' barrack, but suddenly stop, realizing you’ve forgotten something. Turning back, you casually call over your shoulder, “Oh, and if you ever need some tender, love, and care, just head to the Marley Military Hospital and ask for (Name) (Last name).” You drop your name nonchalantly, a playful glint in your eyes.

As you glance back, you catch Porco scratching the back of his neck, his ears tinged pink, a smirk tugging at his lips. He seems caught off guard, yet amused by your casual remark.

The man glanced at you one last time before walking back in the opposite direction, a strange warmth settling in his chest. There was a sense of closeness, an unspoken connection that lingered in the air. He knew he’d see you again.

As he entered the barrack and made his way to his cot, a giddy excitement bubbled up inside him, the feeling of anticipation and something more—something he couldn’t quite place, leaving him smiling to himself as he settled in for the night.

As he lay down on his cot, the blanket feeling unusually warm around him, a smile spread across his face. There was something about the way you had casually dropped your name, something about the playful teasing and the easy way you two had connected, that had stirred something inside him. It wasn’t just the usual flirtation, it felt like the start of something new, something exciting.

He turned onto his side, eyes closing, but his mind was far from the quiet darkness of the barracks. Instead, it was filled with the memory of your smile, the sound of your voice, and that small spark of warmth he couldn’t ignore.

His heart thudded with that familiar feeling like the glow of a new flame flickering to life. It was different from anything he’d felt before, but it was real. He could feel it deep in his chest, the flutter of excitement, the anticipation of what might come next.

He chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head as he finally allowed himself to drift off to sleep, his thoughts still lingering on you. He had a feeling that this new connection—this spark was only just the beginning.

Just like the cigarettes, the two of you had snuffed out the conversation, the words fading into silence. What had been a lively, playful exchange now rested quietly, the air still with the echoes of your teasing and laughter. As the both of you walked away, the moment came to an end, leaving behind a comfortable sense of finality, like the last ember of a cigarette dying out. The connection had been made, and now, it was simply a matter of waiting for the next time.

[thefatcat-13]

HELL YEAHH

first: better pic of the bag

front

back

now: materials i used

- old jean shorts that didnt fit (the flap thing)

- a hood off of a hoodie (the camo fabric, the part that actually holds stuff)

- straps off of a tote bag i got at a local pride event (blue strap)

- hoodie fabric that was previously cut up for another project (the shoulder rest)

- stuffing from a busted pillow (the shoulder rest)

- floss as thread

- a thick embroidery needle

- pliers (you’re gonna need em for sewing through the denim)

- knowledge of how to do a whipstich and a running stich. if a project uses more than these stitches the i dont fw it.

okay so step one: the strap

i just used a seam ripper and snatched both straps off of this tote bag i got for free and never used. i sewed both of the straps together to make one longer strap.

after the strap is longer, i used the hoodie fabric to make a kind of tube thing for the shoulder rest. make sure it can fit around your strap and have a bit of extra room to fit stuffing.

DONT SEW THIS ONTO THE STRAP YET

it will be so much easier to make it in the right place when the straps are actually sewn on the bag.

STEP TWO: the actual holding part

okay so the important part. cut the hood off of your least favorite hoodie. i got mine bc it was on my battle jacket but the hood not only looked weird it covered any design i put on the back so i ditched it.

you just need to sew up the side you cut off. heres what the inside of my bag looks like if that helps

sew the part next to the red line

STEP THREE: attach straps to bag

um pretty self explanatory tbh. i safety pinned mine in place before sewing so i could see is the strap was long enough or too long. just play around with the length of the strap until you like it basically.

i sewed it like this so the strap was pretty secure

not the cleanest but eh who cares

STEP FOUR: put on shoulder rest

(idk if its called a shoulder rest who cares anymore language is made up anyways and you know what i mean)

anyways just safety pin it on, fuck around with the positioning like you did with the strap and sew it on ONE side

we use the other side to shove fluff in there, use a pencil to push it to the other side. god knows how much to put in but this is how much i put in mine

bada bing bada boom you got a perfectly functional bag. if you’re like me you can stop here and procrastinate actually putting the flap on because “oh well it worksss its fine” knowing damn well your floppy bag kinda sucks and you dont take it anywhere.

oh you actually want to add the flap? cool

STEP FIVE: the flap

calling it the flap sounds weird but idc its the flap.

take some old jeans and choose weather or not you want the front or back pockets. i choose back because idk aesthetics? i genuinely dont remember why back was the better option for me.

anyways cut the back out in a way that covers the hood well and keeps the pocket in tact. you can leave room to hem the edges so they dont fray or you can be a loser like me who didnt feel like doing that.

make sure to leave notches like this so the strap can have room to sit or wtv

the red marks are where i left notches btw.

and then take a second to pray to whatever you believe in to give you strength. arm yourself with a thick ass embroidery needle and pliers because we are sewing through the thickest part of both the denim and the bag. i believe in you.

i just sewed it like the picture above, i didnt have floss so i just took embroidery thread and rubbed it on a candle to get waxed embroidery thread.

now your punk ass has a bag made of fabric scraps and a solid 3 ish hours of your time

and maybe some blood sweat and tears from sewing through that denim.

ask me questions if you’re confused ive never name a tutorial before

have fun :]

i made this bag out of basically fabric scraps follow your dreams kids

[chirpsythismorning]

I’m sorry but nothing will ever beat Finn’s drive playlist that he made during s3 filming, with songs like Me and Michael, The Basement, Gay Thoughts and No Woman lmaoooo

[skrunksthatwunk]

actually i'm still thinking about the moral orel finale.

he has a cross on his wall. do you know how much i think about that bc it's a lot.

a lot of stories ((auto)biographical or fictional) centering escape from abusive/fundamentalist christianity result in the lead characters leaving behind christianity entirely. and that makes complete sense! people often grow disillusioned with the associated systems and beliefs, and when it was something used to hurt them or something so inseparable from their abuse that they can't engage with it without hurting, it makes total sense that they would disengage entirely. and sometimes they just figure out that they don't really believe in god/a christian god/etc. a healthy deconstruction process can sometimes look like becoming an atheist or converting to another religion. it's all case by case. (note: i'm sure this happens with other religions as well, i'm just most familiar with christian versions of this phenomenon).

but in orel's case, his faith was one of the few things that actually brought him comfort and joy. he loved god, y'know? genuinely. and he felt loved by god and supported by him when he had no one else. and the abuses he faced were in how the people in his life twisted religion to control others, to run away from themselves, to shield them from others, etc. and often, orel's conflicts with how they acted out christianity come as a direct result of his purer understanding of god/jesus/whatever ("aren't we supposed to be like this/do that?" met with an adult's excuse for their own behavior or the fastest way they could think of to get orel to leave them alone (i.e. orel saying i thought we weren't supposed to lie? and clay saying uhhh it doesn't count if you're lying to yourself)). the little guy played catch with god instead of his dad, like.. his faith was real, and his love was real. and i think it's a good choice to have orel maintain something that was so important to him and such a grounding, comforting force in the midst of. All That Stuff Moralton Was Up To/Put Him Through. being all about jesus was not the problem, in orel's case.

and i know i'm mostly assuming that orel ended up in a healthier, less rigid version of christianity, but i feel like that's something that was hinted at a lot through the series, that that's the direction he'd go. when he meditates during the prayer bee and accepts stephanie's different way to communicate, incorporating elements of buddhism into his faith; when he has his I AM A CHURCH breakdown (removing himself from the institution and realizing he can be like,, the center of his own faith? taking a more individualistic approach? but Truly Going Through It at the same time), his acceptance (...sometimes) of those who are different from him and condemned by the adults of moralton (stephanie (lesbian icon stephanie my beloved), christina (who's like. just a slightly different form of fundie protestant from him), dr chosenberg (the jewish doctor from otherton in holy visage)). his track record on this isn't perfect, but it gets better as orel starts maturing and picking up on what an absolute shitfest moralton is. it's all ways of questioning the things he's been taught, and it makes sense that it would lead to a bigger questioning as he puts those pieces together more. anyway i think part of his growth is weeding out all the lost commandments of his upbringing and focusing on what faith means to him, and what he thinks it should mean. how he wants to see the world and how he wants to treat people and what he thinks is okay and right, and looking to religion for guidance in that, not as like. a way to justify hurting those he's afraid or resentful of, as his role models did.

he's coming to his own conclusions rather than obediently, unquestioningly taking in what others say. but he's still listening to pick out the parts that make sense to him. (edit/note: and it's his compassion and his faith that are the primary motivations for this questioning and revisal process, both of individual cases and, eventually, the final boss that is christianity.) it makes perfect sense as the conclusion to his character arc and it fits the overall approach of the show far better. it's good is what i'm saying.

and i think it's important to show that kind of ending, because that's a pretty common and equally valid result of deconstruction. and i think it cements the show's treatment of christianity as something that's often (and maybe even easily) exploited, but not something inherently bad. something that can be very positive, even. guys he even has a dog he's not afraid of loving anymore. he's not afraid of loving anyone more than jesus and i don't think it's because he loves this dog less than bartholomew (though he was probably far more desperate for healthy affection and companionship when he was younger). i think it's because he figures god would want him to love that dog. he's choosing to believe that god would want him to love and to be happy and to be kind. he's not afraid of loving in the wrong way do you know how cool that is he's taking back control he's taking back something he loves from his abusers im so normal

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Squinting intensely at Will as he says that after thousands and thousands of years the bigfoot world suddenly looks like the 1950s (albeit like the Jetsons version). Mr. Campos that's a rather suspicious thing to say paired with that other suspicious thing people picked up on you saying in episode 1. You know, this:

🤨 Anything you want to share with the class, Will?