#or maybe my audience is awake at a different hour.

[tunamayuuu]

magical girl doa3! congrats on 3k, foru!!

designs by @doctorforks !!! please go support her work esp if you luv fyodor

i've never had as nerve-wracking an experience when rendering as this one...! color matching with markers than on a screen is truly a different experience.. on top of substituting certain colors for shading.. regardless, i learned a lot while rendering this illustration!

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Chapter 7, All of you

Masterlist Word count: 2.4k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: Can you tell I'm procrastinating my school work? I should've been working on a presentation but this fic is consuming my every thought.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut. (Yes, for real this time)

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I do really want to get to know you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. All of you. 

The sickeningly sweet tone of your voice keeps ringing in Sylus’ ears as if it were tinnitus. It's been no more than a few hours since everything went down and he tried to go to sleep, but here he lays. Sleepless, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, his reflection staring back at him. A few weeks ago those mirrors had been a great idea, now he regrets them more than anything. 

They make him angry, to look down at himself and see someone so weak, so desperate for a person to like him that he loses all sense of confidence when one bad thing happens. He tries to remind himself that people are flawed, that you couldn't possibly hate him for having a panic attack, but her voice rings in the back of his head. 

"Who could possibly want you? Look at you! Crying over nothing!" 

Deep down he knows she was wrong, yet those words, all of her venomous words, are engraved in his memories. 

And then there's you who looked at him so kindly and determined when you helped him. Would you still be awake at this hour? He checks his phone on the nightstand for the time. 22:38. It's not that late. Perhaps he should send you a text. 

He unlocks his phone starts typing "you up," but quickly deletes it when he sounds it out in his head. Seems too forward for a moment like this. Maybe a heartfelt apology for sending you away so suddenly? Or a time and place to meet for that date you want so bad? To be fair, he wants it too. With a sigh, he settles for a short message. 

Sylus: "I'm sorry." 

He throws his phone to the side but it dings before it can even hit the mattress beside him. 

You: "Don't be. I get it." 

How could you get it? He just had a childish meltdown over a memory of a person he left years ago. It's not behavior for a grown man. 

Sylus: "Still." 

You: "Can't sleep?" 

Sylus: "No." 

You: "I'll put the kettle on." 

Sylus frowns to himself. Why you'd still want to take care of him is a mystery he can't solve. Not without talking to you at least. He peels himself off the covers and gets dressed in his sweatpants and a nice sweater to go see you next door when his phone pings again. 

You: "I'm considering this our first date btw." 

A smile pulls on his lips. He barely knows you but this just feels right. This feels like you... like home... 

He shuffles into his slippers and head out into the hallway. Your door is slightly opened and he figures you did that so he can let himself in. When he steps into your apartment it is so different from a few days ago. All the furniture is in the same place, but the room is bathed in the light of a few decorative lamps that emit warm yellow light and some candles burning on your coffee table. The whole place feels like a warm hug. 

You stand in the kitchen, pouring tea for the both of you and it just feels right to Sylus. Like some kind of domestic bliss. Something that he's never had before. You turn to walk the mugs to the coffee table and spot him standing at the end of the small little hallway leading into your living room. You smile. 

'Hey.' 

'Hey,' he responds, trying to hide his smile. You walk to the coffee table and he follows. The both of you take a seat on the couch on separate ends. 

'Do you like honey in your tea?' 

'Do I look like a person who likes honey in their tea?' You shrug and he feels himself smile again. 'Sure.' You walk back to the kitchen and come back with two teaspoons and a honey jar. 

'How much?' 

'Just a little bit.' You nod and he watches as you, very seriously, put some honey in his tea with one teaspoon and one massive glob with the other teaspoon in your own. 'Isn't that a bit excessive?' 

'I don't tell you what to like,' you tease as you put the lid back on the jar. With your mug in your hand, you sit cross-legged on the couch, half turned towards him. 'Do you want to talk about what happened?' 

'Not right now.' 

'That's okay. You don't have to tell me.' 

'I want to. Just not right now.' You nod. 'Honestly, I just want to listen to you talk.' That catches you a big off guard. 

'You want to-' 

'Yes. Your voice soothes me for some reason,' he admits. Shit, that might even be the first time he acknowledges it, let alone admit it, to himself. 

'Sure. What do you want to hear me talk about?' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

He was hanging on your every word, humming in agreement every once in a while to assure you he was still listening. It's probably been hours and you're pretty much talked out. Sleep is all that's on your mind right now and it seems Sylus feels the same way. His eyes are barely staying open, his cup of tea long abandoned on the coffee table still half full. You had an inkling he wasn't a tea person but he did try. 

'Sylus?' He hums in response, a low, rumbling hum. 'I think we should go to bed.' Another hum. You're not sure he's awake anymore, so you gently push his shoulder. He looks over at you, almost annoyed you disturbed him. 'Do you want to stay? Cuddle maybe?' 

'Cuddle? Only if you're sure about it.' 

'I am.' 

And suddenly the giant man is in your bed. You had suspected him to want to be the big spoon or something, but somehow he ended up with his head on your chest, curled against you like a big cat. His arms around your waist, pulling you as close as humanly possible. His legs entangled with yours. One of your hands is on his shoulder, the other in his hair gently scratching his scalp. If you wouldn't know any better, you'd say he almost sounds like he's purring. 

It's the best weighted blanket you could ever ask for. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

Soft light passes through your carelessly closed curtains, illuminating the scene on your bed as you blink your eyes open. Halfway through the night you must've pushed the covers off because Sylus is basically a human sized space heater. You must have twisted and turned quite a bit together because Sylus is on the other side of the bed that he started in, but still half on top of you. Normally that wouldn't bother you because it actually feels quite nice, but the tea you had last night now wants out. 

As carefully as you can, you slide out from underneath the peacefully sleeping Sylus in hopes he won't wake up. You'll probably scoot back in when you're done in the bathroom. It's not like you have anything better to do today. 

In the bathroom you decide to do a quick hygiene check. After all, this is not a man you want to scare off with bad morning breath or BO. You decide to take a quick shower and brush your teeth. Then you dress back into your pajama shirt. You figure you'll grab some panties in the bedroom before getting back into bed. Then, one last check the mirror. Sure, your hair is a mess and you've got flushed cheeks because you have the hottest man you've ever seen in your bed, but you look alright. 

By the time you get back, Sylus is awake and lying on his back. One arm strewn over his face and the other... No... 

Sylus is jerking off in your bed. 

He must have not heard the shower turn off and as much as you should be offended, angry, annoyed at the very least... It's kind of hot. His ragged breathing, his strong arm flexing with every stroke. Nothing you haven't seen from him before but seeing it in the flesh is something special. 

Quiet as you can, you walk over to the bed. When you climb onto the mattress Sylus feels the dip and pulls his arm off his face, looking at you with wide eyes. But the look in your eyes says enough. He grins and continues, watching you closely as you move over to straddle his thighs over the covers. 

'Were you thinking about me,' you ask, your voice still low and gravely from sleep. 

'Yes,' he breathes out, sounding not nearly as tough as he does in his videos but about ten times hotter. 'About your mouth, your tits, your hips, everything between your thighs.' 

He seems to have found his confidence again and, honestly, it's a relief he's finally relaxed and at ease. Especially considering he's not at home. You shuffle a bit closer to where his hand is stroking his dick under the covers, your pussy getting wetter by the second. 'Do you want to kiss me?' 

'Please,' he groans and reaches out for you. He grabs the back of your neck, pulls you forward, and kisses you with so much despair that you fear he might die without your lips on his. You're so close that you feel his fist bump against your stomach with every stroke. 

You can tell he's getting close. His grip on your neck gets tighter and his kisses keep getting interrupted by his own moaning, groaning, and whining. Suddenly his hand stills and his head shoots back, his lips leaving yours and giving you great excess to his neck. Wet kisses litter over the underside of his jaw with the rare love bite here and there until his breathing steadies. 

He looks back at you then, with so much kindness and admiration. His hand slides into your hair, gently running his nails over your scalp and pulling you close once more to press a sweet kiss on your lips. Then, things change very rapidly. 

'Time for breakfast,' he says as he looks you in the eye with a mischievous grin. He flips you onto the bed with ease and makes himself at home between your thighs. 'No panties,' he asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. His arms wrap around your thighs, pulling them over his shoulder and your core closer to his face. Then he looks up at you expectantly, waiting for your consent. 

Some voice inside your head is screaming in your ear to speak up and say yes, give him your enthusiastic consent. Another voice in your head is whispering in your other ear that it would be so much fun to hear him beg. Make him wait until he's completely pussy drunk without even touching it. The thought makes your head spin and you keep your mouth shut, your bottom lip securely between your teeth and a twinkle in your eyes. 

'Come on sweetie, use your words,' he says, his voice wafering ever so slightly. He presses a kiss to your thigh, so close yet so far from where you want him. You keep quiet. 'You want me to beg for it?' There's a glint in his eye, something almost boyish, mischievous, teasing. 

And then he bites your thigh. A gasp slips from your mouth, releasing your bottom lip from your teeth but you remain quiet. One of his arms lets go of your thigh. He moves it so that his hand is on your stomach, traveling up under your shirt, the tips of his fingers gracing your tits but not quite going far enough to hold them or play with them. 

Sylus moves his head to your other thigh and begins his assault there. Biting, kissing, sucking your skin. A string of moans leaves your lips at the pleasure builds up between your legs. 'Pretty please,' he breathes out, barely holding it together. His eyes are back on yours, boring a hole in your soul before biting your thigh again. 

'Yes,' you moan, 'please Sylus.' He dives in right away, licking a stripe up your slit then latching his lips on like he's kissing yours. The hand under your shirt moves to grab your tit, gently massaging it. You can tell he's done this before. The way he switches between licking and sucking on your clit makes you dizzy. You get close to a high faster than ever before. 

Without really noticing it, your hand is in his hair, your hips grinding against his face, chasing a high that is coming towards you like a freight train, and all you can see is his eyes. His eyes watching you so attentively, noticing every buck of your hips, every moan, every whimper, every time your back arches. And he plays into it, following your lead. 

Then you notice it. He's bucking into your mattress while watching you come apart on his lips. This turns him on as much as it does for you. Shit, how did he get this good? 

Suddenly, the freight train crashes. Your hands pull at his hair, your back arches, your voice a blubbering mess of praise and appreciation. You feel your whole body shake and you see Sylus smirking at you while pressing kisses to your lower abdomen. He didn't even have to use his fingers, and you came undone for him like that. 

Insane. 

Sylus pushes himself up on the mattress and climbs over your body, leaning on his forearms so he is close enough to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue. It's fucking hot and he seems so relaxed. 

'Nap, then breakfast?' You look down at his naked form, admiring him one last time before disappearing under the covers again, and you notice that he came again. This time on top of your sheets. You feel strangely proud. 

'Sure, but you're doing my laundry after.' He looks down at himself and the mess on the covers. With a sly look he comes down to you again, pressing another sweet kiss on your lips. 

'I'll get you new ones.' 

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[dreamwatch]

Spoilin' for a Fight

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #8 - Prompt: Band Politics | Word Count: 920 | Rating: T | CW: language, lot's of language! | POV: None | Pairing: None | Tags: Transcript, band fight, arguments, petty bullshit, our babies are divas now! | AO3

****

Transcript of recording made backstage at Corroded Coffin concert - Starplex Ampitheatre, Dallas, TX, Aug 5th, 1996

Eddie Munson (Lead guitar & vocals): You were off.

Jeff Williams (Lead vocals and rhythm guitar): Where are the black towels?

Gareth Jones (Drums): Excuse me?

EM: Your timing was off!

GJ: Yeah, time for the old man to get his ears checked.

JW: Don’t we have a dozen black towels on our rider?

EM: My ears are fine, your timing however—

GJ: You’re going senile, you can set your watch by me.

EM: Yeah well that’s not much use to me if you’re playing in a different time zone, is it?

Matt Morrison (Bass): There’s no Cherry Gatorade either. And your timing was definitely off, you were throwing me all over the place.

GJ: Well maybe it wouldn’t be if he wasn’t out there playing like Yngwie fucking Malmsteen! See that? That’s a grey hair I didn’t have when you started that solo. I was worried I’d never see my kids graduate.

EM: So you admit you were off?

GJ: You know, sometimes you’re a real (inaudible)

JW: Jesus Christ. Calm down, dude.

GJ: I’m calm! 

MM: And there’s no Sprinkle Spangles. 

EM: You have one job - keep the fucking time. That’s it. Not that hard, man. 

GJ: Oh, not that hard? What are you, Neil Peart now?

EM: I couldn’t be any worse than you. 

GJ: Go fuck yourself, Eddie.

JW: Gareth! Come on.

(Sound of door slamming)

MM: Let him go, he was pissing me off as well.

JW: You weren’t exactly on top of things yourself, man.

MM: I beg your pardon?

EM: I could hear your bass.

MM: You’re supposed to hear it!

EM: I don’t need to hear that much of it!

(Sound of door opening)

GJ: And if we’re critiquing one another, you were flat and Jeff was pitchy as hell. And Matty, there are four strings on a bass, try using the other three.

EM: Yeah, sure, whatever.

JW: Nothing wrong with my vocals, dude. Stick to your own lane. And Eddie’s right, your timing was all over the place tonight.

MM: You know something, I’m going to make sure my amps are right up tomorrow night, drown you assholes out completely.

GJ: I wasn’t off!

MM: The Bud is warm. What the fuck is up with this venue, man?

EM: We give you a solo slot to show off your chops, when it’s my solo just do your fucking job. 

GJ: You give me a solo spot so you can all take a piss! Let’s not pretend it’s some gift from the band to me, you want a bathroom break.

MM: To be fair, the audience needs a bathroom break, too.

JW: Not helping. And Eddie, he’s right, that solo was longer than we planned.

GJ: Thank you. There’s only so many hours a man can listen to that shit before he loses concentration. 

EM: It was the same solo I played in Houston.

MM: It was definitely longer.

EM: Well even if it was, and it wasn’t, your supposedly professional musicians. If I’m improvising, and I wasn’t—

JW: You absolutely were—

EM: I wasn’t! But even if I were, you should all be able to adapt and keep up with me. All you have to do is stay in the groove. You were like fucking… he was doing some weird fucking jazz thing out there, for God’s sake. 

GJ: I was trying to keep us all awake! You should be kissing my feet, I was bringing much-needed energy to that shitshow. Did you see the audience? They looked like they were all on fucking Ambien!

EM: Fact remains, you are a drummer. You have one job - keep time. 

GJ: Oh that’s my job? I just keep time?

EM: Yes?

GJ: I bring nothing else to the table?

(Long pause in recording)

MM: You make great lasagne.

(Laughter can be heard)

EM: You do make great lasagne.

JW: I’m pretty sure he buys that in.

GJ: Oh fuck you, I do not!

MM: Did anyone find the black towels?

EM: Just use a white one for Christ’s sake.

JW: We have them on the rider—

EM: It literally doesn’t matter!

MM: It’s the principle, dude! Today it’s black towels and Cherry Gatorade, Tomorrow it’s your Paul Mitchell Tea Tree Oil shampoo.

EM: If that ever happens, the venue is blacklisted. That’s no joke.

JW: I need to talk to Phil (Jackson - Band Manager), I’m fucking done. I need my black towels.

(Sound of door opening)

MM: Ask him about the Gatorade! A man could die of thirst here.

GJ: There’s water right there, dude.

EM: And Bud.

MM: But I want Cherry Gatorade. Why is that so hard to understand? It’s on the rider for a reason. I need hydration after—

EM: Then drink the fucking water!

GJ: How much hydration can you need? You stand in one spot all night!

MM: I beg your pardon?

GJ: Am I wrong?

MM: Yes! You are!

EM: I’m staying out of this one.

(Sound of door opening)

JW: Okay, towels are coming, they were in another dressing room.

GJ: Fucking amateurs, man.

MM: What about the Gatorade?

JW: Shit. Forgot, sorry.

MM: Son of a bitch. 

EM: Can someone explain to me what the fuck is wrong with the water?

GJ: Wait a second… some fucker’s recording this!

(Sound of tape clicking off)

End Transcript

****

If you're an Iron Maiden fan... you know what this is from!

Also - I might retcon Matty's last name at some stage so if you see it change... no you didn't!

[hostclubau]

By Any Other Name

This is an x reader, multi-ending, otome style story.

fem!reader

Summary: Your life is hell, and your parents abandoned you to a literal loan shark. A near death experience has changed the trajectory of things, but is this a blessing? Or an endless fall into things far worse than you had before?

Content Warnings: The host club has an After Hours that's effectively a brothel. There are BDSM themes and the exploration of a lot of kinks. Foul language, canon levels of violence, mature audiences only.

Chapter 3: Introductions

Notes: There are several OCs who work at the club. River belongs to @silkendandelion Jocasta belongs to @leftsidebonfire Mentions: Av Starling belongs to @shaanks // Unaek belongs to LeftSideBonFire

There are more OCs who work at the club - they will be tagged as they appear in chapters ^_^

It took some fiddling to sort out how the shower and bath tub worked. Fortunately, even though it was all fancy, blue still meant cold, and red still meant hot. The water pressure was nice, harsh enough to feel nice while being soft enough you didn’t think you were getting power washed. The soaps, shampoos and conditioners were all pretty subtly scented, and you just went with what you thought was supposed to go together.

Everything looked like it was more expensive than the last thing you touched, but you were trying not to be nervous about it. The tub’s big enough you almost wonder if you can’t just sleep in it, but even in a fancy place like this water will lose its heat. Floating in the middle of the tub you imagine that waking up in cold water would be bad, but for now the heat feels amazing.

“This is insane.” You murmur to yourself. You’re floating in a bathtub. You just finished taking a shower in a bathroom that has gold and silver veining in marble walls. The floor is sealed stone and you could press a few buttons and make your little mini-jacuzzi-pool thing into a hot tub.

A few hours earlier you’d been pressed against rough bricks, mostly certain you were going to die in an alley. Now, at least, you knew you’d make it to another sunrise.

Beyond that though?

The water starts to cool and you get out, letting the tub drain. You dry off, and even use the provided hair dryer to at least get most of the water out of your hair. Pulling on the terrycloth robe that was hanging in the bathroom, even the smallest one was almost too big, you tie it up and head to bed. There’s a little tray with a cup on it and you’re reminded about the grumpy doctor’s orders, pouring yourself a glass of water and drinking it.

Maybe a little faster than he wanted you to, but you didn’t chug it.

Crawling into the bed was a little painful. You were lucky to have a mattress on the floor, so the idea of a box spring felt like luxury already. By the time you scrambled into the middle of the massive bed and sprawled out on top of the covers you were deeply tired. You didn’t make it under the covers when you fell asleep, but the robe kept you plenty warm while you slept.

It’s a soft knock at the door that wakes you up. You didn’t jolt awake like you usually do and you think that maybe comfy beds are a little more dangerous than you like. Pushing yourself up against the stiffness that settled into your injuries since you didn’t even twitch in your sleep, you get sat up in time for the door to open just a crack.

“You awake, kid?” Alvida’s voice asks through the opening.

“Yeah,” you peel the word from your mouth and hope it makes it to the door.

“Can I come in?”

Looking down you tug the robe closed a little more properly and then look back at the door. “Yeah.”

Alvida steps in, carrying a few overstuffed bags. “It’s not a lot, but you should be able to make an outfit from it.” She starts explaining. “Gave me an excuse to clean out my attic. The bras and underwear are new though - I got you a few different sizes in case you were wearing a binder or something.”

“New?” The word escapes you before you can stop it and you shake your head while getting off the bed. “Ah, sorry, thanks. I mean it. I wasn’t looking forward to putting last night’s clothes back on.” You admit walking over to her.

“We can go shopping together properly after you get settled in a little better.” Alvida offers. “Nami, Av, and Unaek can come too. Koala too maybe, she’s a little touch and go with shopping.”

“Why-.” Be so kind to you? Why say it so nonchalantly? Why, why, why, “… so many people?”

“Eh, it can be more fun that way. With other people around it makes it easier to accept gifts vs picking stuff out for yourself.” She doesn’t look at you as she says it, but you feel like you’re getting called out. “Besides, Nami needs a crowd, and you want her with you if you go shopping by default. She gets such good deals you’d think she really had just up and stolen it.”

“I didn’t think anyone who worked here would be poor.” You say, looking through the first bag nearest you.

“Oh she’s not poor,” Alvida laughs. “She just goes hard for the good bargains. Relentlessly. It’s almost like a kind of therapy for her.”

“Huh. Alright then.” You mutter absently, pulling out different pieces of clothes and starting to put together something to wear. You were used to cobbling something decent from almost nothing, whenever Arlong didn’t just hand you a full outfit or uniform, and were pretty good at it. Enough to blend in at least.

“I can bring breakfast up here for you, or you can come down and eat at the bar. We’re not open yet, so it’s just the openers and some of the cell mates.”

“Cell mates?” You question, looking over at her.

Alvida smiles. “Joint used to be a prison.” She points up. “Ten floors total. The first three floors were remodeled entirely, that’s the club proper. The ceiling in the main area seems stupidly high because three prison levels are almost four residential stories. But that allowed for all the needed customizations, and then this floor is the VIP guest floor.

“It’s also where the main offices are, but the owners aren’t going to pop out of the walls like daisies, so don’t get nervous going from where ever to here.” She clarifies and you scoff.

“Floors six to ten had the least amount of remodeling. Clusters of cells were combined and they were turned into apartments. They’re pretty swank, if not a little kinky if you think about it for too long. Lots of the workers live there, rent’s cheap, and there’s a certain level of security staying above The Club.”

“And y’all call those people cell mates?”

“Lovingly,” Alvida says with a grin. “Lots of people here were either pirates or are related to ‘em, so there’s a certain kind of vibe when it comes to the humor.”

You snort, unsure if you really know what normal is in any capacity. You should fit right in with the average worker in The Club, if nothing else.

“I’ll… come down for breakfast. I’m going to be meeting people one way or another.” You admit. The idea doesn’t have you leaping for joy, but so far no one you’ve met is unreasonable, so you’re not worried. You don’t think Shakky would put up with anyone like that in the first place.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it then,” Alvida says, stepping away. “Just come down to the bar and Katakuri’ll get you sorted.”

You don’t ask who Katakuri is, and Alvida doesn’t hang around to answer you. You figure it’ll either be painfully obvious, or it’ll be just as easy to ask someone when you get downstairs. It takes a couple tries to find a bra that fits, but you’re not surprised that one of them does. So far it seems like this place is full of competent people, and that gnaws at you a little, but you shove it away for now. There’s nothing to be done except go with the flow at this point.

The jeans are baggy, but not too long or heavy. You liked the feel of a long-sleeved shirt the most, but the neckline cut across your shoulders it was so low, so you put a t-shirt with a graphic on it that caught your eye over top of it.

Sitting down to put on socks your breath catches in your throat. They’re new. Thick and soft and there’s no holes or stains. The clothes felt weird too, like they were just as new, even though Alvida said they were from her attic. It was possible she just took real good care of her things, she struck you as the type to be good at sewing just so she could fix something to her own standards.

You couldn’t remember the last time you and your clothes were clean at the same time. Last Christmas maybe.

“Some kind of emotional warfare or something.” You grumble to yourself, pulling the socks on and getting your shoes on before you head downstairs.

The Club at eight something in the morning is very different from how it looked last night. There’s the soft scent of cleaning solutions and freshly vacuumed carpets in the air when you first get off the elevator. The interior lights are a little brighter, a gentle pale blue instead of the pinkish red vibe last night. The music’s more chill too, but it might be just because it’s not open yet.

Nothing else really looked any different. It was amazing what changes lighting and music could do to a place.

Only one person was behind the bar when you made it downstairs. He was tall. Tallest person you think you’d ever seen in your life and it was actually impressive he could move around behind the bar and not take out rows of empty glasses.

A white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a few buttons tastefully undone with a vest pulling it all together. Dress slacks, half-gloves and it looked like he was wearing a custom silk face mask that covered his nose and mouth, leaving just his eyes and cropped magenta hair exposed.

“Uh… Katakuri?” You question and he nods.

“You must be the guest.” His voice is even, smooth, and a little deep. He’s probably just as good at selling drinks as he is getting people to stop when they’ve had too much.

“Yeah, uh, Alvi said to come here for breakfast?” The question barely leaves your lips and he nods toward the bar, indicating for you to sit, so you do.

“Coffee?” Katakuri prompts and you nod.

“Please.”

You start to ask what they have for breakfast when a red head in sharp sunglasses comes out of the kitchen. He walks straight toward you like you already knew one another, and gives you a big, sharp, toothy smile.

Part fishman? You feel your hackles raise and immediately shove them back down. You decided some years ago that Arlong and his crew weren’t going to make you into some kind of racist asshole.

He sets a plate down in front of you as Katakuri puts a cup of coffee, and a glass of water, nearby.

“Omurice!” The red head declares. “It’s all I’m allowed to make, but Thatch says it’s good enough to be served. Oh! if you’re allergic to eggs or rice or something I can get someone else in the kitchen to make ya something different, no hard feelings or anything.”

“Ah, no this… should be fine.” You manage. It’s a bit too much for first thing in the morning, but whoever Thatch is, maybe getting his approval is a big deal. “Thanks, uh…”

“Shachi.” Katakuri says, the smallest hint of irritation in his voice.

“Oh! Right, sorry sorry.” The young man lifts his glasses up, flashing a pair of deep green eyes at you to go with his broad smile before bowing. “Shachi, at your service, honored guest.” He straightens back up, putting the glasses back in place. “Seriously, if you want something else, don’t hesitate to ask for it.”

Shachi gives you and Katakuri a short nod before heading back into the kitchen.

You look up at the big guy behind the bar. “Honored guest?”

“First time Shakky’s declared someone her guest since I’ve been here.” He answers evenly as you dig into your breakfast.

“Wow, this is delicious.” You mutter the words, but you’re honestly shocked by how good it is. “Thatch must be a real bastard if that guy can cook this good and it’s all he’s allowed to make.”

Katakuri makes a noise like a grunt and when you look up you’re almost positive he’s smiling from behind the mask.

“He’d cry if you told him that.”

You laugh at the remark. “Which he?”

“Both.” Katakuri answers and you almost choke trying not to laugh.

A beautiful young man with dark skin and long wavy black hair walks up to the bar, him and his companion regarding you with polite, and curious smiles. She’s a little shorter than him, athletic, with short cropped hair, a section of it is blonde while the rest is brown. From your perspective they’ve both walked out of a photo-shoot even if their uniform are just slate grey tops and black pants.

“You must be the guest. I’m River,” he says, introducing himself as he extends a hand to you. You’re still eating so you just kind of look at it and then back up to him. The awkward look on his face speaks for itself and you give him a wary smile.

“Pleasure.”

“Jocasta,” the lady with him says. She doesn’t extend her hand, patting River comfortingly as she lowers his hand for him. “Are you better with faces or names?”

“…Faces.” You admit after a moment.

“Good, we wear name tags during shift so you’ll learn people’s names eventually. If you tell Kata the basic appearance of who you’re looking for he’ll steer you right, so don’t let the flood of introductions worry you.” She offers up.

“You’re… hosts then?” You question, figuring it’s way too early for any escorts to be around.

River pales, which is impressive for someone who looked more Alabastan than local, but his chestnut skin seems to loose some of it’s saturation. Maybe it’s just the semi-horrified look on his face.

“Heavens no.” He answers. “I’m a stagehand mostly. I do some dances, but I couldn’t host.”

“I help backstage and in the front of the house getting people checked in.” Jocasta explains, a big grin on her face. At the least she seems to have taken your confusion as a compliment.

“You’re both so pretty, though. Him especially.” You remark bluntly, pointing to River with your fork.

“Oh.” Jocasta’s fair features flush and River preens a little, the color coming back into his face.

“Leave her alone so she can eat, you two.” A gruff voice says and you turn to see two very tall, broad shouldered guys dressed in black coming over to your little gathering.

One’s a little taller than the other and looks incredibly bored, with dark eyes and dark cropped hair. The one with him has barbed wire tattoos everywhere as far as you can see, pale blue hair in dreads that he’s already pulling back and tying into place.

“Heat,” he says simply and then nods his head toward the other. “Wire. Bouncers by day, kitchen staff by night.”

“Other way around.” Wire grumbles, rolling his eyes. It’s probably all the effort he can muster.

You incline your head. “The guest.” You offer up, unsure how bringing up your lack of name would go this early. You hear Wire grunt and see the ghost of a smile on his lips. The dry humor is appreciated, it seems.

“C’mon Jo, help me get some omelets going.” Heat says to Jocasta and the two head off to the kitchen. River stands there awkwardly for a moment longer before Wire practically lifts him up and walks off with him.

A yawn pulls your attention down the other side of the bar and you see a sleepy young blonde man looking back at you. There’s an impressive scar on his face, but it’s seemed to have spared his eye, as two eyes take you in. Katakuri sets a cup of coffee nearby even though you didn’t hear anything but a yawn come from him and the young man gives you a smile.

Straightening up he takes a few heavy chugs of the coffee and sighs. It would be dramatic under any other circumstances, but he seems genuinely relieved to have the coffee. If there was anything about him that was dramatic currently, it was the ascot, three-layer suit and leather gloves that he was wearing.

He looked like he was getting ready to go work at a hedge fund or lawyer’s office.

“Sabo,” he offers, inclining his head. “You’re Girl.” He manages to say the designation like an actual name so smoothly you’re not sure how to react.

“Uh… yeah.”

“I,” he begins, emphasizing the word. “Actually am a host… and escort.” Covering his face with a gloved hand he yawns, drinking more of the coffee before continuing. “And I provide legal services when needed. Even if that means staying up all night. Ah, Kata, is there a spare room down here?”

“Four’s unbooked.” Katakuri replies. “I’ll come get you in a couple hours.”

“Divine,” Sabo hums, draining the rest of the coffee. He walks by you, stopping and leaning in just a little. “Don’t stare, dear guest.”

“I… wasn’t?” You tilt your head in confusion as Sabo walks away and see him jerk his thumb toward the front. You don’t even have to turn and look, because someone shouts at Katakuri.

“Oi! Is Marco in?” The voice is rough and angry, like the person speaking is looking to beat Marco within an inch of his life, whoever that is.

You turn and look as Katakuri answers him and if it wasn’t for Sabo’s warning your eyes might’ve fallen out of your head.

Half as wide as he is tall, and fuck he’s tall, is a pale skinned, red-headed behemoth of a man stalking toward the bar like he has half a mind to pick it up. He was shorter than Katakuri, but you were pretty sure the red-head could pick him up too while he was at it, just out of spite.

Aside from looking like a hoodlum he was gorgeous. His skin was flawless, and the deep blood-red lipstick suited him well. He was mostly topless, a few seemingly random necklaces on, all made of leather and metal, with the same style of bracelets on his arms. Tight jeans and matte black boots finished the look - it was hard not to stare.

“He’s in.” Katakuri answers, and the large angry man’s expression shifts from aggravation to a big grin. His bright eyes move away from the barkeep to you, and you look back.

“Wanna take a picture, darlin’?” He offers and you grin.

“Rather have enough time to commit those abs to memory,” you retort, turning back to your breakfast.

He laughs. “Fuck yeah, that’s the kind of shit I like to hear.” Sitting down next to you, everything about his body language says you have his attention. “I’d wonder if you could afford me, sweetheart, but hells for a set of lips like that I’d be willing to negotiate.”

“Eustass,” Katakuri’s voice has an edge to it, and your new friend turns to look at him. “She’s Shakky’s guest.”

“Ah. Well, you probably could afford me then.” He says with a grin. “Eustass Kid, at your service, honored guest.” Kid says the words with decorum and a wink, but his expression is far from proper.

You let your eyes slide down his abs and back up. Getting a closer look you realize he’s covered in hickies and scratches. You wonder idly if Marco gave them to him, but decide not to ask. Kid seems perfectly content to let you look.

“I’d love to stay and play,” He says as your eyes make it back up to his. The salacious grin on his face seems to want to just eat you alive. “Maybe another time, honored guest.”

“Mm,” you hum, giving him a smile as he gets up and leaves while you return to your breakfast.

“Is it always this busy in the morning?” You ask idly, not even really sure Katakuri’s still hanging around where you are.

“Usually worse.” The answer comes from a new voice and you look over to see someone a couple seats down. He’s got a newsboy cap on that’s pulled down almost to his nose.

“Thought you were off today, Penguin.” Katakuri says.

Penguin smiles and stretches. “Yeah. Shakky asked me to come in and cover Sabo’s first slot so he could get a little more sleep. No one needs him speaking in tongues to a guest again.”

Again?

Katakuri grunts and inclines his head to the side. “He’s in number four, if you want to wake him up once you’re done.”

“Perfect.” Penguin hums before coming over a little closer. “It was a pleasure, miss.” He gives you an easy crooked grin, looking up at you from under the brim of his hat. Despite the darkness around his eyes from the cap the deep blue irises are clear.

The act and the words - you didn’t even say anything to him directly, but somehow the farewell is smooth and not at all akward - has the heat rising in your face.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. The crooked grin turns into an almost shy smile and he steps away, heading toward the kitchen. Resolved to finish eating your breakfast, you were convinced the club’s entire staff was decidedly too gods-be-damned good looking.

It made sense, probably, given the whole concept of hosts and escorts and such. Shakky was beautiful in a way that seemed both completely otherworldly, and also totally effortless. Maybe she had like some kind of devil fruit power that gave her an aura or something that made everyone around her beautiful.

Maybe it was black magic.

Maybe people just looked better in general if they weren’t threatening to throw you off a building every other week.

After you finish up your breakfast, Jocasta returns with two other girls. One’s about her height with a mass of curly hair and a disposition that’s so cheerful you half expect her to burst into actual sunlight. The other has cropped orange hair and a more tempered smile, but they both look nice enough. All three are in similar styled clothing, and Jo introduces them.

“This is Ikkaku and this is Koala,” she says, motioning to each in turn. “We thought we could give you the sixty-four beri tour if you wanted.”

“Not yet.” Katakuri says from behind the bar, looking at you when you turn back toward him. “Shakky says to come up to the office when you’re done eating. Vi should be down- ah, there she is.”

You follow his gaze to a tall young lady approaching the rest of you. She’s tan like River, with powder blue hair and bright eyes. Where as everyone else was in some kind of uniform, she seemed to be dressed a step above, though the running theme was still there, and along with her pencil skirt and button up blouse, she wore a vest.

You notice a pin on the vest and look back over to Katakuri to see a similar, but slightly different one. You thought you might have seen something like it on Penguin too, but weren’t sure. Sabo wasn’t in uniform and Kid was shirtless. Everyone else said they were working behind the scenes, so maybe it had to do with something else.

Vivi nods at the others before smiling at you. “It would be my honor to escort you to the office, Miss Girl.” She states, saying your “name” as easily as Sabo had.

“Uh, sure.” Looking over at Jocasta you aren’t sure what to say. “Later?”

Jo smiles. “Sure, and hey, you might get the sixty-four million beri tour from the Owners, so don’t feel bad if that happens.”

“We can still give you the cheap tour later,” Ikkaku grins. “Seeing The Club in different ways is good for you.”

“Sure,” you manage something of a smile as you follow along with Vivi. The hardest part, if you ended up staying, was going to be getting used to genuinely friendly people.

“I hope breakfast was satisfactory.” Vivi questions as you head back to the elevator you used to get to your room.

“Oh yeah, that was the best breakfast I think I’ve ever had.” You answer. “I think I met like a dozen people too. Nice buncha folks you got here.”

“That’s good to hear. I think Shakky was worried you’d get overwhelmed.”

“Huh? What, oh no, crowds ain’t nothing. I didn’t exactly play beri-poker with anyone, but they didn’t like, toss me in a box or something and only let me out when they needed me.”

“That’s… quite specific.” Vivi says sheepishly.

“Eh, Arlong threatened it a couple times, I guess it stuck.” You shrug.

Vivi stops at the beginning of a long hall that was on the other side of the elevator from the direction of your room. She points to a painting that has three people on it. You recognize Shakky, so you imagine the other two must be the other owners. It looks very much like it was commissioned specifically for the reason Vivi was about to demonstrate.

“You’ve met Shakky, but she’s technically the primary owner. The other two don’t make club-wide decisions without her say. Next is Sir Crocodile,” she indicates a severe looking man with a gnarly scar across his face. You did not need to ask why that was his name. “He handles the finances and balances Shakky and Rayleigh.” She points to the old man in the painting. Despite being older than the other two, there’s a youthful vibe about him. You imagine he gets into all sorts of trouble.

“Rayleigh is the buffer between them and the clients. Usually people will meet with Rayleigh. They’ve got to win him over first to have any hope with the other two.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the rundown, but why tell me all this?”

“Two reasons: I don’t know why you’re going in there, and this could be useful. But I know that Arlong is coming to join the meeting, and he knows everyone in there. It’s only fair you know as much as I can tell you in the next few minutes.” Vivi answers.

“I’m going in there because Arlong almost killed me at the back of your club last night.” You answer flatly, watching her eyes go wide for a moment. “Shakky said she’d buy my debt, and made Arlong leave.”

Vivi goes quiet for a moment and then smiles, turning down the hall toward the large doors awaiting you. “If there’s a seat next to Sir Crocodile, I recommend you sit there, honored guest.”

“Sure… uh, why?” You question, following her down the hall.

“Of the three he has the least patience. If Arlong approaches you, he’ll have to get closer to Crocodile, and the boss might kill him just for that.” She answers with a bright smile on her face.

[calidore]

cyberpunk

a very short ateez fic

summary: Under the neon gaze of Seoul, two past lovers meet at a local convenience store; two lovers who promised they will find each other in their next life. As the night grows older the secrets they share become more intimate. Will they fall in love again or should their love die with the night.

i wrote this thinking about yunho, but his name is mentioned once, so really it can be about any member heavenly inspired by "cyberpunk" by ateez. i took some lyrics from it too no warnings, but my writing is very mundane. i focus more on the vibes than the plot it didn't turn out exactly how i invisioned it, but i hope you like it

ao3 link: cyberpunk - bonefire - ATEEZ (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

also, my submissions are open

Darkness falls over the city, but its reign doesn’t last long, as the neon lights accompany it in a chaotic dance. The silence spreads around, trying to paralyze the city, but with no success. At night, Seoul is more alive than ever, at least for the lost souls.

You finish your cigarette while watching over the movements of fellow night creatures and listening to the ring of the convenience store bell. The pack was almost half empty. You spot a dirty white cat eating from a can left by one of the diner employees. The diner was dimly lit, isolating four souls from the frozen night. You could tell that time passes differently inside the diner. The old gentleman, the couple and the chef were all laughing, exposing their souls to the sleeping audience from outside. The cold wind cuts your skin and suddenly you remember the childhood winter nights you spent watching plastic people inside snow globes enjoying their lifeless existence.

The cat finished eating and went back to its shelter, passing by an open window. You took a closer look and saw a highschooler with his headphones on, looking at the starless sky. It has been a while since you were able to see any stars. Their light has been replaced by the neon signs, which have made your sleepless nights even lonelier. One of them was flashing its green light in the boy's face, but he didn't seem bothered by it. It made him look less real, so maybe he felt that way too. You were wondering what could possibly keep him awake at this hour; he has a whole world in front of him. But then you remembered that worlds come in different sizes. 

You light another cigarette and take your eyes away from the downtown city to look around yourself. The convenience store was busy and loud. A couple of drunk guys who only lay out their hearts at times like this, a stressed university student preparing for a sleepless night and a guy who doesn't belong here. You don't pay him much attention, even though he caught your attention with his mere presence, but it was enough for him to get closer to your spot.

"May I sit here?" he asks, pointing at the empty spot on the bench. You blow out the smoke while looking at him and nod. He sits down, looking at the city that spreads in front of him with empty eyes. "Does it make you feel like a god?" he asks and you look at him without turning your head, intrigued by the questions. It takes him a while to continue, either trying to gather his thoughts or waiting for an equal half spoken answer. "Sitting like this, watching over the city, feeling like you know its entire fate, yet nothing at all?"

You try to catch a glimpse of the man next to you without looking directly at him. You are certain that you have never seen him before, but something about him, his presence, his existence, feels like you have met before. It feels like something that refuses to be forgotten.

"Being a god is a very lonely and dreadful job." you answer without thinking too much, which is out of character for you. Another one of your cigarettes leaves the pack.

"It's like watching a black and white photo with some splashed neon paints. A controlled reality in which life, inevitably, loses its meaning." Your eyes were still watching the people walking down the street. Even though their faces were hidden in the night, you could tell that no one smiles.

You listen closely to the description he gives of this fake view of the city. He is right, if it wasn’t for the lights that lose their paths, it would look like a black and white photo.

But the noise of the city tells another story. Dozens of people wander around when their sanctuary is in this state. The night dilutes time, giving some comfort to the lonely souls. Everything around you feels manipulated, the sky, the stars, even the time. You couldn’t tell what is true anymore.

"Each one of these people is asking questions you do not have the answer for. No wonder your existence would be doubtful." You say, while watching a group of young adults entering a club.

The stranger takes a look at you, then turns his eyes back to the city.

“What do you think is her question?” He points at a window where you could see a woman. She was writing something, pausing from time to time to look at the neon sign of an electronics shop.

“She has a hole in her chest.” you whispered, because anything louder would not sound like a confession. You couldn’t tell why, but this man made you feel like you could tell him anything, because he would understand it better than you. He made you feel like you could give him your heart and he would take care of it for you. But you didn’t have one, so those promises didn’t distinguish from lies.

He listens to you, waiting for you to continue your thought.

“She should fill it. But not with something less holy than her own heart or she will never feel whole again.”

“Something like what?”

Both of you admire the woman. Her misery has mesmerized you because it felt so sincere and personal. You realize why gods do not interfere with humans. It makes their immortality much harder to endure.

“Her lover’s unspoken secret,” you answer.

He looks at you confused, probably hoping for a different answer.

“Why not her lover’s heart?”

“Hearts change. Unspoken secrets don’t. They are more reliable.” you answer.

“It seems like you have lots of answers.”

You turn your head and finally face the stranger. He was tall, wearing a black coat. You try to analyze his appearance more, but your eyes are locked on his. They were strangely shiny in the dead of night.

"Who are you?" you finally ask him, but you are not sure you are prepared to hear the answer.

"Who am I?" he asks you back, surprised by your question. 

You can’t shake off the feeling this man gives you. His presence felt too familiar, like you have known him for a lifetime, but you are sure you have never met him before.

He chuckles at your confused look, but he sounded tired, defeated. “I’m Jeong Yunho.” He offers you his hand and you shake it slowly.

You sit there, looking over the city in silence. It felt more comfortable than lying.

At the first sign of dawn, the man gets up and says his farewells:

"I am glad we have met again." he bows in front of you.

You were surprised by his words, but you don't pay too much attention to them, thinking he might've misspoken.

"You are leaving already?" you ask him, trying to keep your voice from breaking. You could feel the hole in your chest growing.

"I have to,” he pauses for a moment, staring at you, "but I hope we'll meet again." He smiles at you, but you notice how empty his eyes look. Your gazes are locked on each other for a while, neither one wanting to look away, afraid that the other will disappear.

You involuntarily take your eyes away from him to look at the city that is about to wake up, but when you turn around to take a final glimpse at him he's already gone. 

You look back at the harmonious streets where nothing blooms. You see a post clock and notice that it's not working. Time has lost its meaning. Past and future merge into each other. This city has drained you of all your feelings and, just like the smoke from your cigarette, they now spread over it, veiling it. It’s a city made of lies and stolen feelings, no wonder you find such comfort in its silent state.

You take another cigarette from the almost half empty pack. You take another look at the sleeping city as you slip back into time.

[stories-and-chaos]

Tarnished pt 21

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 21/?? Word count: 2248]

—————

The contract signing was much the same from when Fizz won the first year. There were changes to the paperwork and everything was a touch more efficient, but he was still hauled into an office immediately after winning. Fizz was an adult at this point so he didn’t need a co-signer. Not that he had one anymore. 

Fizz and a handful of imps that weren’t at the disastrous party were the only known survivors. There was no sign that Cash or Tilly had survived. Most of the troupe was similarly unaccounted for. 

So unlike his first win, there wasn’t a crowd of familiar faces in the audience. Barb was the only one he recognized in the theater. They had stuck together, supporting each other after everything they had gone through. So even though she wasn’t a fan of Mammon or clowns in general, Barb was there for him.

“Glad to have everything official again, Fizzy my boy!” Mammon chortled, giving the imp a slap on the back. The Deadly Sin had footed the bill for all of Fizzarolli’s medical expenses. Even though their initial agreement only lasted through one year, he had paid for Fizz’s rehabilitation. 

“Happy to be back Mammon, sir!” the imp said enthusiastically. Now was his chance to repay the Sin. He would never have gotten back to the stage this quickly if it hadn’t been for Mammon’s help. And if it had taken too long to get his prosthetics, he might never have been able to perform again. He’d work his ass off for Mammon because of that.

“You know the drill Fizzy, my office first thing tomorrow,” Mammon shoved him out from behind the curtains to interact with his fans. There were a number that remember him from his first win, many of them had merchandise from then for him to sign. He’d garnered a great deal of new fans fascinated by his comeback. Throughout the meet and greet, Barb stayed in his vicinity. She didn’t want any shit going down if she could help it.

Fortunately for everyone, the worst that happened was everyone being awake until the small hours of the morning. Mammon sent his car to Fizz’s apartment bright and early; the clown took a tiny nap on the way to the meeting. “We gotta lot of work Fizzy.” Mammon slapped a blueprint on his eye-burning green desk. “We’re gonna make Robo-Fizzies! Since we gotta rebrand a lot o’ shit from before, might as well make use of your new look. We’ll have Fizzies for every occasion!”

Fizz hadn’t expected that his prosthetics would play much part in Mammon’s plans. “Uhhhh, ya sure we should, Mammon, sir?” He used the robotic limbs, obviously, but they were a tool. He didn’t want everyone to associate them with him. “Won’t that be weird for the fans?”

“Course not!” Mammon stated with greedy cheer. “People love weird shit! ‘Specially those Sinner c**ts in Pride! Why else would they end up in Hell?” He gave Fizz a sharp grin. “They’ll sell like hotcakes in every Ring. Already got ya a meeting with Ozzie, since he’s doing the manufacturing. I told him to give you a tune up while you’re there.” Leaning down, he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, “Plus, if ya put on the charm, maybe he’ll give me a discount on the tune up.” He sent the young man out with a shove and a too broad smile. “Now off to work ya c**t!”

Fizz was intercepted by the costuming department. Since most of his face had been burnt, his skintone was entirely different from the last time they’d worked with him. New colors and fabrics had to be selected before he appeared in public. That and his measurements took up a decent chunk of the morning. Then he was hustled off in Mammon’s car to meet Ozzie.

Still tired from the night before, Fizz fell asleep again in the car. He woke up groggily when the car slowed to a stop. There was a soothing patter of rain on the car roof and when the door open he saw that everything was bathed in a blue light. Wait, we’re in Lust? He had been out hard if he hadn’t noticed traveling to a different Ring. The deep pink tower in front of him was lit from the outside. It was vibrant, modern, and clearly expensive. He felt a wave of distaste at the ostentatious display.

A female succubus, wearing a tight pink dress that complimented the building’s exterior, was waiting for him. “Mr. Fizzarolli?” she asked. He nodded, doing his best not to stare. She was curvaceous and the ‘neckline’ of her dress plunged down past her navel. “Lord Asmodeus is ready for you.”

“As-Asmodeus? I thought I was meeting someone named Ozzie,” he said in confusion as he followed the succubus. She chuckled. “That’s his nickname. One of them anyway.”

“A Deadly Sin is going to meet with me?” Fizz glanced around nervously. The entryway was opulent and sensual. Purple, red, orange, and hints of blue gave the aura of lush warmth. Elegant hearts were incorporated with sexual imagery everywhere. He found himself blushing as he followed; the artwork displayed almost exclusively portrayed nudes and the statues had amazing detail, down to their raging hard erections.

His guide glanced back. “Of course. You’re working for a Deadly Sin and Lord Mammon requested Lord Asmodeus’ personal touch. In here please,” she pressed a button to reveal a glass walled elevator. Passengers could see out into the city and its sparkling neon signs. It was a huge contrast to Greed, with it’s smoky green air and murky waters.

“I guess so,” Fizz had to agree with her. The succubus selected their destination and the elevator sank smoothly. She explained Asmodeus’ factory with the R&D department was mostly situated underground. The ruler of Lust had a research office and workshop within the factory area.

The succubus knocked politely on the door. “Lord Asmodeus, Mr. Fizzarolli is here for your one o’clock meeting.”

“Candy, I keep telling you to drop the ‘Lord’ part. You can just call me ‘Ozzie’ even.” The tall demon stood up from his workbench. He had a white labcoat over his suit; the wrinkles, scorch marks, and worn patches made it clear he didn’t wear it just for show. “Save the formalities for stuck ups like Leviathan or Paimon.” She blushed and stammered “Sorry Lo- Ozzie, sir. I’ll try.”

Asmodeus sent her off and turned his attention to Fizz. The imp froze, standing as stiff as possible. He was alone with a Sin he barely knew about. “Fizzarolli, right? Mam’s told me about you; seems like he’s got some big plans.”

Fizz croaked a response. “Yep, th-that’s me! Heh...heh. Mammon didn’t tell me too much, just something about robots.” He didn’t even say you were another Deadly Sin. “Not really sure what you need me for, but the boss sent me.”

Ozzie huffed, breathing out a heart shaped lick of fire. “Not surprising. Mam loves to be secretive. Let’s chat, yah?” He pulled out chairs by the workbench for both of them. “Mammon wants to make robotic replicas with you as the base model. Mam being Mam, he’s got all sorts of different versions thought up.” The King of Lust unrolled blueprints onto the workspace.

The blueprints showed a very detailed image of a mechanical prototype. Its measurements matched his from the first contest win. “Mammon sent over your info a few years back; he’s been wanting to get these in production since that first pageant win. We mocked up plans back then. Good news is we just need to update your measurements and incorporate new equipment functionality.”

The tall demon looked Fizz up and down. “Speaking of, Mam wants me to give you a tune up I hear.”

“Oh, uh, you don’t gotta do that Oz- Asmodeus, sir.” He still saw his therapist Rodney every few months for check ups and maintenance. He was feeling awkward and flustered enough without the embodiment of Lust having his hands all over him.

“No can do Fizzarolli. Mammon will complain at me for the next century and have you ever heard that guy bitching and moaning? Nuh-uh, I heard enough of that in the 1100’s.” Ozzie shook his head and gestured broadly with his pointer finger. “I’ll get your measurements at the same time.”

With a snap of his fingers, a folding screen manifested in a puff of blue smoke. “I’ll give you a few to get changed.” Asmodeus left the room, clearly expecting Fizz to go along with his instruction. The imp checked behind the screen and found that a chair with a hospital gown folded on the seat had come into existence at the same time. At least he wasn’t going to be mostly naked around the Sin.

Fizz was attempting to tie the gown at the neckline, arms twisted awkwardly behind him. At least with the prosthetics he could reach every part of his back easily. But he had to think extra hard about what  his fingers were doing when he couldn’t see them. There was a sharp knock as the door reopened. Fizz jumped about a foot in the air in surprise. 

“Whoa! Relax little frog.” Asmodeus chuckled, his deep laugh sounding like plush velvet. “Didn’t mean to startle you. All set?”

Fizz decided to give up on that last knot. “Uh, yeah, ready when you are.” Ozzie came around the screen to find the imp sitting nervously on the chair, dressed in the hospital gown. The rooster-like Sin noticed the loose strings dangling from the gown’s neckline. Before grabbing his tools, Ozzie smoothly fastened them into a bow.

Startled by the fingers brushing the nape of his neck, Fizz jumped slightly in his seat. Asmodeus didn’t seem to realize he was humming cheerfully, his motions in time with the melody he created. Despite trying to stay still, the light touch made Fizz shiver. 

But the Sin was professional. His tray of tools was precisely organized, with everything he needed ready to go. He continued humming as he worked, examining each implant and limb thoroughly. “Doing good on your upkeep Fizzarolli,” he complimented as he finished checking the shoulder connections. “Most aren’t this good about it.” He moved onto Fizz’s legs. He’d barely needed any of the cleaning tools so far.

Fizz shrugged. “Kinda stuck without ‘em. I can’t give a good performance if I don’t move right.”

“Dedication, I like that.” Ozzie finished quickly and instructed Fizz to stand for measurements. “They’re in good shape; keep up your maintenance and you’ll be set for awhile.” As he held up measuring tape to Fizz and made notations, he continued talking. “‘Course, we’ve got a new model coming out next year; extendable limbs. Might be good for your act, froggie.”

The imp clown didn’t even want to think about how much that would cost. While that could enhance his performances, affording an upgrade was more than he could manage right now. “I’ll stick with these; Mammon paid for this set and I can’t ask him to buy four more limbs if these work fine,” he declined politely. 

Ozzie tilted his head to the side. “Mmmm, Mam might if we can incorporate that into the Fizzy–bots. He’s all for fancy features on the stuff he sells. ‘Course, it’s only if you want to Fizzarolli.��� Fizz agreed to think about it as his stomach interrupted with a loud growl. “Sorry, sir, I haven’t eaten today.”

Asmodeus dropped his pencil and measuring tape in shock. “Mam sent you here before letting you eat anything?” He grabbed the runaway pencil and huffed, his mane of hair starting to glow with frustration. “That fucker. Get dressed Fizzarolli, we can take care of the rest after lunch.” After he got his clothes back on, Fizz found himself escorted into Ozzie’s limousine. The Deadly Sin swept him into a restaurant and the staff immediately seated them in a secluded booth. A sampler of appetizers appeared. Ozzie told him to order whatever he liked for lunch. 

The Sin had been grumbling about how Mammon needed to treat his employees better the whole trip. “And you,” he waggled a breadstick at Fizz, “gotta take care of your whole body, not just the fancy robot parts. Doesn’t matter how good your prosthetic upkeep is if ya don’t keep yourself in good condition froggie.”

“R-right, I’ll do better sir.” Asmodeus raised an eyebrow and told Fizz to call him Ozzie like everyone else. Fizz was saved from further replies by their food arriving. Guess that’s one good thing about royalty, getting fast service. Before he was halfway done with his burger though, Mammon started calling him.

“Nuh-uh, put your phone on silent Fizzarolli,” Ozzie said as he pulled out his own smartphone. “I’ll bet you’ve been going nonstop since the contest last night.” Fizz could only nod, his cheeks full of food. “I’ll text Mammon that you’re working on shit with me, so you relax.”

They ended up chatting over an extended lunch. When Fizz headed back to Greed in the midafternoon, Ozzie gave him a business card that he wrote another phone number on. “That’s my private number, if ya need anything. We can even do another maintenance check and business lunch if you need a break.” Asmodeus gave him a smile with the barest hint of sensual promise. “If you want, Fizzarolli.”

—————

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[quietwings-fics]

tight-knit boys (brothers in more than name)

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Gen (Gabriel & Lucifer & Michael & Raphael) Additional Tags: Alternate Season/Series 01, Alternate Universe - Human, Human Michael (Supernatural), Human Gabriel (Supernatural), Human Raphael (Supernatural), Human Lucifer (Supernatural), Role Reversal, Siblings, Road Trips, Good Older Sibling Michael (Supernatural), Angst and Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort Summary:

Finding their Dad is going to involve a lot of driving, and Michael does almost all of it. A snapshot of reverseverse archangels in the car.

“I spy with my li-”

“It’s corn,” Raphael interrupts, “like the last time and the time before that and the-

“Time before that!” Gabriel finishes for him. “Because there’s been nothing for the past three states except for corn!” He flops against the car door on his side. Michael absently makes sure the doors are all locked, even though he never starts driving without checking at least three times, the same way he looks over all of his siblings to see that they’ve put their seatbelts on.

“It hasn’t been states,” Michael tells his little brother. “We’re haven’t left Iowa yet.”

“It’s been hours!”

“Two hours.”

“Can’t you go faster?” Michael rolls his eyes, but he’s used to this. Gabriel might have been able to keep his mouth shut when Dad was driving them across the country, but he’d always gotten squirmy by the time he’d been locked in for an hour. Michael doesn’t mind hearing him complain. If nothing else, it passes the time.

“I’m going 70,” he says. He’d been going slower until thirty minutes ago when the car he’d been matching had pulled off onto an exit and left them alone on the open road. The road is smooth enough under his tires that Raphael can work in the backseat without any trouble. Michael peeks at him in the rearview mirror. His head is bent over one of the newspapers he picked up before they left the last motel. Michael can catch glimpses of his red marker running through different sections.

His hair is getting longer.

Maybe, more accurately, Michael has allowed it to get longer. He hasn’t offered to cut it because he knows Raphael would say yes and refuse to meet his eyes for the next hour when he was done.

He was happier with it growing out, and if their father would have thoughts about that, well… They’d have to find him first to know.

And they were no closer to that then when they started. Michael will admit that to himself, even if he’ll never tell his siblings about it.

“I spy-“ Raphael starts, the first time Michael’s heard him initiate the game this trip.

“Corn,” Gabriel grumbles.

“No,” Raphael says, and if Michael chances another look back, he can confirm that the note he can hear in his voice is a smirk. Gabriel sits up straighter and peers out the window.

“The road?” Raphael shakes his head, letting a sheet of newspaper slide down into the footwell when he’s done with it. “A bird? The sky? …A billboard?”

Lucifer takes that moment to snore, loudly. Michael resists the urge to poke him in the side and startle him awake. As funny as it might be to watch his brother flail and snort as he drags himself up to consciousness, Lucifer needs the rest. He barely sleeps when Michael isn’t driving, but deep down, he’s still the little kid who conked out at the first notes of a Rolling Stones album. Michael knows how to take care of him, even with their years apart existing as a wound they still haven’t completely stitched up.

He reaches across the bench to adjust the blanket he’d draped over Lucifer at the last rest stop. He draws it up to Lucifer’s collar. Sunlight dusts across his whole body, but the tint of the window will keep him from getting burnt if they drive for longer. One of his legs is scrunched up against the seat while the other sprawls onto the floor among half-empty water bottles. He’s got his arms and face smushed up between the door and the glass of the window in a way that’s going to leave him sore when he wakes up, but there aren’t any comfortable ways to sleep in the truck. At least, not with Raphael right behind him blocking his seat from tilting back too far.

Gabriel groans. “You can’t pick him!”

“I can see him,” Raphael argues. Lucifer snores again, unbothered by the bickering he’s the cause of. Michael adjusts his grip on the wheel and smacks his own cheek a few times to wake his brain back up. He should have drunk more coffee that morning. Raphael got to it first. He tries his best to keep his eyes on the road, but between the wavering illusions of false water scattered across the asphalt and the sound of his siblings sniping at each other in his ear, its difficult to keep himself on track. He has no idea how he used to manage this years back when he didn’t have the experience he does now. Dad didn’t let him take the cross-country hauls until he was eighteen.

Eighteen. Michael remembers being eighteen. He had his whole life ahead of him.

He’s twenty-six now. Raphael and Gabriel make him feel old.

He told Lucifer that once, and Lucifer looked at him like he was crazy. He’ll understand in four years. He’ll regret his wasted youth. Or not. Michael’s scattered thoughts briefly coalesce into something more bitter. Lucifer didn’t seem to regret anything he ever did, no matter how much the rest of them got hurt.

“Anything, or anyone, in the car is off-limits. That’s the whole point.” Michael shakes his head and focuses back in on the argument between his youngest brothers. I Spy is the most common game that’s been played in this truck, followed closely by 21 questions (Lucifer is reigning champion of that one) and everyone’s favorite, I Just Saw A Cow.“Pick something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Not Lucifer and not the corn.” Raphael glances out the window just in time to see what Michael swerves in the lane to avoid.

“There’s some roadkill.”

“Your face looks like roadkill,” Gabriel mutters. Raphael glares at him.

“I don’t have to play with you.” All of a sudden, Michael is sixteen again, and holding back a very irate Gabriel from trying to grab Raphael while Lucifer watched with amusement from the passenger seat and their father very pointedly didn’t interfere. Luckily, feuding ten year olds hadn’t been much of a problem to handle for a boy who’d been going on hunts for the past seven years. They might be older, but they still fight the same.

“Calm down, you two,” Michael says in the sternest voice he can manage. He likes to think he sounds like their father. It never seems to have the same effect, though.

“Or what, you’ll turn this car around?” Raphael huffs a tiny laugh at his brother’s words. Michael taps the steering wheel.

“I have plenty of gas, Gabriel. I can survive driving back through farmland for a few hours. Can you?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Raphael, have you found any hunts yet?” Michael asks. Raphael kicks another sheet into the footwell.

“Nothing substantial.” With that, Michael smiles at Gabriel in the rearview mirror. His little brother scowls at him, but he settles back down against the car door.

Finally, peace and the thrum of a familiar tape. Michael breathes easy.

At least until Lucifer starts whimpering in his sleep.

Michael nearly swerves into the next lane. That sound is like a gunshot, pure pain and fear strangled out of his brother’s throat. Michael’s been tuned into it since Lucifer was a baby in his arms, and it makes his whole body go cold before he can pull the car back into the right lane and steady his driving out. A quick look in the backseat lets him know that Gabriel — who is not wearing his seatbelt like he should be — took that as an excuse to fall all the way across the seat until his head was in Raphael’s lap, cushioned by newspaper. Raphael doesn’t seem like he’s going to push him away.

Lucifer whimpers again. Michael’s hand shoots out across the bench to shake him awake.

“Lucifer,” he says gently. “Lucifer, shh. You’re alright, brother.”

“Maybe it’s just a wet dream,” Gabriel tries to joke, but his voice is small. He knows what this is. They all do. Michael is dreading what will happen when Lucifer’s eyes open, but he can’t leave his brother trapped in his own dreams. He shakes Lucifer again as the car wobbles to the right of the lane, enough for the wheels to bump along the side loudly and push Michael to fix it.

“Or a nightmare,” Raphael says, as quiet as his brother. He knows that Lucifer has always had his nightmares in dead silence, that fact alone betraying what was happening to him. Lucifer would toss and sniff and grunt in his sleep all unless he was having a bad dream, and then he was like a corpse, cold and still.

Michael shakes him again, and this time, Lucifer jolts and flinches away from Michael’s touch, his hands raising to protect himself from a blow that doesn’t come.

(Michael lifts his hand away, and Lucifer isn’t in the passenger seat but on the ground, eye already bruising and hands up to hide behind, Michael’s knuckles aching from the punch that he already regrets and won’t get a chance to apologize for before Lucifer tears himself out of their lives for years.

All Michael ever asked was for him to stay. Why did he have to fight so hard?

Why did Michael have to fight back?)

“It’s alright,” Michael soothes as the sound of Lucifer’s rapid breathing fills the car. Lucifer squeezes his eyes shut and curls in on himself. He’s trembling, and he would hate that Michael notices that. Once upon a time, it was him being a stubborn kid who wanted to stay up watching horror movies without his older brother bothering him. Then, him in the backseat, furiously scrubbing away tears because he thought that this time, Michael and Dad wouldn’t be coming back. Now, he doesn’t even want to tell Michael when he’s hurt, only take care of all his wounds himself. “What did you see?” Nothing makes Michael’s stomach twist the way that Lucifer’s visions do. They’re wrong in every way that Michael understands. Hunters aren’t supposed to be able to see the future or move things around with their mind when they’re scared or angry enough. If someone else ever found out…

Michael’s known how to hold a gun right since he was nine. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to keep Lucifer safe, even if his brother doesn’t believe that.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He’s sure Lucifer is aiming for standoffish and short, but he just sounds shaken. If Michael wasn’t driving, if Lucifer was someone who could still let him do it, he’d wrap his brother up in a hug and hold on tight until he wasn’t scared anymore.

“You didn’t see someone die again, did-“ Gabriel starts.

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it!” Lucifer snaps, managing to reach something like anger this time but just barely. Gabriel can’t tell the difference like Michael can. He winces and shuts up, turning his head to press his face against Raphael’s stomach. Raphael pats his head automatically. They fit together so well, no one would ever guess they were only half-siblings by blood. Then again, they’ve never really known a world where they weren’t together, not that Michael knows of. They were so little when Dad picked them up. Michael remembers them barely being at his knees.

Lucifer scrubs at his face. He looks up out the window.

“How long was I out?” he asks, taming the tremor in his voice until it’s almost non-existent. “Why is there still corn?”

“You were only asleep for ten minutes,” Raphael lies, the reason why evident in the muffled sound of Gabriel giggling. Apart, they’re fantastic liars. Together, one of them always gives the game away. Lucifer swings his head around to narrow his eyes at them before checking the truck’s internal clock. It’s only fast by about seven minutes. Lucifer huffs and stretches. Michael sees him wince when he pulls his arm the wrong way too quickly, probably yanking on that scar he got during his first hunt. It’s never stopped hurting him.

Lucifer kicks the volume of the cassette deck up a bit. He lets his eyes slide shut as he leans back in his seat, breathing in deeply. He’d almost look like he’s over whatever he saw, but his hand is wrapped so tightly around his own wrist that his knuckles have gone white. His nails dig into his skin, leaving little pink crescents whenever he relaxes them. Michael frowns, but he can’t say anything.

It isn’t until hours later, with the sun a bleeding scratch across the horizon and darkness falling over their sleeping siblings in the backseat, that Lucifer speaks up about it at all. Michael’s feet are almost numb, and his eyes and neck ache. They only stopped for lunch, dinner, and a bathroom break in the woods (that, as usual, devolved into snickering and claims of ‘bet I can shoot farther than you.’ His little brothers were gross. Besides, they could never beat his record.) Michael could have handed the wheel over to Lucifer at any time. He probably should have. He grips the wheel tighter and keeps them on the right road forward.

“You think we’re going to find him?” Lucifer asks. He’s leaning forward against the dashboard, at the edge of his seat with his belt dangling off unused to the side. Michael feels the urge to push him back and buckle him in. The dying sunlight barely lights his face, leaving deep shadows around his eyes that make Michael uncomfortable. He flicks on his headlights. That brightens Lucifer up and scares away the dark red pallor across his features.

“We will,” Michael says, with utmost certainty. “Dad’s out there.”

Lucifer shifts awkwardly. “Right,” he says. He pauses. “I meant the demon.” Michael turns his face to hide the way his mouth twists and only looks back when he’s got his expression back under control.

“We’ll find it, too,” Michael says, “and kill it.” Lucifer digs his nails in against his elbow. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Lucifer says, in a voice that has always meant the exact opposite.

“Lu,” Michael warns. Lucifer curls in on himself more.

“The other… people like me. They get visits from him- from it in their dreams.” Michael’s heart stops. He forces himself to breathe. “It just talks. I know not to listen to what it’s saying, Michael. I’m not stupid.” That last bit comes out sharp, too defensive, like he really thinks Michael would believe he would trust a demon.

“…What does it say?” Lucifer hides his face in his arms and doesn’t respond. Michael swallows.

“You’re going to kill it, right?” Lucifer says.

He sounds small and scared, and Michael can’t do anything else but promise him, “Yes. I’ll give you its head on a platter if you want.” Lucifer breathes out a shaky laugh. When he raises his head again, he keeps it turned away like Michael won’t recognize him wiping his eyes.

There’s a horrible part of him that thinks of Dad’s theories about Lucifer, the ones all scribbled down into his journal that Michael told the rest of them he’d lost. The entries where special turned to cursed, where disobedience and teenage snark became signs of something terrible growing inside his son, where Michael’s actions were dissected down to bone every time he sided with Lucifer. Michael trusts every other scrap of knowledge in that journal. He puts his life, the life of his little siblings, in the hands of the information their Dad gathered over the years.

But he can’t be right about Lucifer. He just can’t be.

Michael tentatively reaches over and touches Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer jumps a little in surprise, but when Michael doesn’t pull back, he relaxes again. Accepts it. Michael presses his thumb into his brother’s shoulder, rubbing up to the corner of it that once used to be small and bony and is now layered well under muscle, and then he lets go again. It’s not much, but the way Lucifer stares at him, wide-eyed, confused, like he would beg for more if his pride would let him, before he swallows all of that down and faces forward again, makes Michael’s chest ache.

“Do you want to drive?” Michael asks.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[goodsology]

Mental Health Wednesday

Hello! Time for another Mental Health Wednesday!

I want to share another fanfic with you guys. It's called "The Reason I Became An Idol". I wrote this one for Father's day of this year. Its a One Piece songfic about Uta and Shanks building their relationship.

Unlike the other fic I shared, this is not fandom blind. You have to Watch One Piece Film Red since the fic takes place after that. Plus, you need to listen to "You'll Be In My Heart" by Phil Collins (preferably both the English and Japanese versions, but at least the English version).

Also note: this fic is quite long (about 5,000 words and 2 chapters)

However, you can find another fandom blind fic I wrote here. I will share it again in another post, but if you can't read this fic, I highly recommend the second one. It's called "Ready, Set, Rock" and another fandom blind Fire Force fic.

Hope you enjoy it and I hope you have a great Wednesday! :)

Chapter 1

The storm wouldn't let up, and neither would the thunderstorms outside. Within an hour, there were 10 thunderstorms, one so close it almost hit the boat. After about the second strike, little Uta dashed to her father's room, eyes puffy and shaking.     

Uta, who was only four years old, couldn't understand the raging storms that Shanks and his crew were accustomed to. If anything, the heavy rain and constant thunder rattled her enough to keep her awake and have her crying and huddling up to her father.     

The man in question did his best to calm Uta, assuring her that the noises would stop soon, but it wasn't enough. While he didn't mind her crying, his crew, especially Uta, needed their sleep. He needed some way to calm her down and help her sleep through this terrible weather.     

And that's when he remembered something. He always ran to Roger's room on nights like this with the same puffy eyes and shaken form. Yet, it seemed he was doing everything Roger used to.     

Soothe her? Check. Blankets to keep her warm? Check. Keep her close? Check. A song?       

Right, a song. Roger wasn't a musician but often sang to Shanks and Buggy, especially when they were scared.     

How does it go again?     

 .......Oh, right!   

"Come stop your crying. It will be alright~" Shanks stared down at Uta, wiping her tears as she looked up at him. Other than a sniffle, the music got her attention.     

"Just take my hand. Hold it tight~" Shanks held out his left hand. Uta didn't hesitate, listening to her father's words and holding onto his hand with all her strength. After a moment, she puffed out her cheeks, focusing on her father's hand and holding it as tight as possible. He barely felt any pressure from her hands, much less pain, but appreciated her efforts.     

He continued singing, wiping away the rest of her tears.     

"For one so small, you seem so strong~" He let go of her hand for a second, holding his left hand and pretending he was in pain. Uta chuckled at her father's antics, clapping her hands and bouncing on the bed. Shanks continued his song to keep her entertained, pulling her into a warm embrace and rubbing her hair.     

"I will be here. Don't you cry~"     

It's incredible how a song could change considerably, from one amateur singing to his daughter to a professional singer with her background instruments and roaring fans cheering her on. He was lucky to be behind the curtains rather than the audience, or everyone would see a tall man in his thirties holding back his tears. However, he doubted anyone would blame him.    

It was his daughter on stage, after all.     

"Why can't they understand the way we feel? They don't trust what they can't explain~" He didn't realize how relatable this was until he remembered his days with Roger. Maybe it was the difference in hair color, that Roger was a pirate or both, but they would often get weird looks from civilians. Sometimes, he'd have people coming up to him and asking where his parents were or if he was okay. If he had any cuts and bruises from battles, the questions and concerns would double, some outright believing Roger caused them.     

Shanks hated all this and responded coldly to these questions, but Roger was unfazed.     

It was only when he adopted Uta that he finally understood. Anyone who was a pirate was seen as a criminal, they would hurt people, including children, to get what they wanted. This is why he would pay it no mind when people approach Uta to ask the same questions. Rare is it for adoption to occur on a pirate ship, except for slaves belonging to the pirates or intended for sale to celestial dragons.   

Still, he wished the world would mind their own business. 

Meanwhile, Uta's mind drifted to the same thing. Each lyric dug up a part of her past she wanted to forget. Growing up, Uta could never understand why strangers were concerned for her, even one nosy mother whisking her off to a cozy but unknown abode. It took Shanks disguising himself as a regular civilian to rescue Uta and finally get the mother off their backs.     

Despite learning that pirates were awful and being abandoned at Elegia, she couldn't comprehend why it was wrong for a pirate to have a child. Her grandfather had not just Shanks but Buggy and, later on, Ace.    

Still, maybe people thought pirates only saw children as slaves.  She heard rumors from the townsfolk, that pirates kidnapped children to sell them as slaves or force them to work on their boats. Even stranger rumors popped up over the years she spent with the Red Haired Pirates, such as pirates using children for ‘emergency rations’. While dark, it made her laugh at how ridiculous adults were sometimes. Even Shanks entertained the idea and joked about chopping her up and putting her into his dinner. Or, depending on how well-behaved she was, he would joke about eating her for dessert. Of course, he only said these things around Uta and his crew.    

Though it took time for her to get here, she wished the world would stop discriminating against pirates.      

"Just look over your shoulders~" Uta always loved this part. She begged Shanks to sing this part repeatedly to hear it. It wasn't long before he noticed and repeated this part until she either fell asleep or his voice gave out on him. Sometimes, he didn't even have to sing the whole thing; just these few lines repeated multiple times was enough to put her to sleep or calm her down.     

Uta remembered her father singing this one line for her, over and over again, as they were out in the rain. Shanks still had both arms back then, so he held an umbrella in one hand and another, keeping Uta on his back.     

"Just look over your shoulders~" As she finished the last few lyrics, Uta eyed the crowd for her father, but he was nowhere in sight. A wave of fear washed over her, a memory of Shanks leaving her at Elegia. While she now understood his actions, the thoughts of her young self not being with him anymore, not having him sing to her or take care of her, just feeling it again opened up old wounds she couldn't fully recover from.     

She held back tears as she tried burying the past, knowing Shanks would never abandon her again. He was here. She knew he was here.     

He was always there.     

Even when she was in Elegia, his thoughts drifted to her. It didn't matter whether he was partying with his crew, drinking, exploring the sea, or even fighting. In his free time, he would look in the direction of Elegia.   

As the song ended, Uta found her father approaching the platform. Any applause from the audience turned into whispers and worried comments, but that would not stop Uta from giving her speech.  

"Thank you, everyone," Uta started, "as you all know, Shanks is my father." She was silent for a moment, turning to her father and getting a nod of encouragement, "But, the truth is we're not related by blood. He found me in a treasure chest and took me in as his own. Since then, Shanks has been not only my captain but also my father. He took care of me whenever I was sick. He protected me against anyone who would do me harm. And, more importantly, he sang to me as often as he could. I wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for him," She held up her hands, "so let's hear it for Shanks of the Red-Haired Pirates!" Everyone in the crowd cheered. Even those who still hated pirates for looting their villagers and hurting their loved ones clapped their hands at the pirate captain on stage.     

Uta handed her father the mic, urging him to say a few words for the crowd. Despite his speech at Marineford, he wasn't prepared for this. Still, he couldn't refuse and let his daughter down. He had to be the cool father, after all.    

"Thank you for coming here and supporting my daughter. I can't thank all of you enough. But I do not deserve all the praise. I know nothing about music and would sing to her like my father did."     

He made sure to leave out his father's name, of course.     

"But Uta would've never come this far without her singing instructor and guardian, Gordon." he motioned his hand to the front row where Gordon was sitting. The lights above shined over as the crowd gave him a standing ovation. Gordon was taken aback by this but slightly waved.     

"Over a decade ago, something happened. Uta was involved in that incident," and he didn't say it was her fault. Because it wasn't. He would argue and even fight anyone who would say otherwise.     

"But at the time, I and my crew took the blame for everything, even lying to Uta and leaving her with Gordon. At the first, I believed it was for the best, that I was only trying to protect her, but I wasn't thinking of how she felt. I caused her so much unnecessary pain and failed as her father."     

"W-wait, you don't have to-" Uta preferred a private apology more than a public one. She didn't care how this would affect her future concerts, but she did care how this would look for Shanks. He was not just the emperor of the sea, but had many allies who looked up to him. They barely knew about his alleged attack on Elegia, but after learning the truth, would they still love him? Would this ruin any relationships he's made over his pirate career? 

"It was my job as your father to protect and take care of you. However, I failed to do both." Shanks continued, facing his daughter. He didn't care about the consequences: what mattered was giving her a long, overdue apology for the pain and suffering he caused, "It was the worst thing I've ever done, and I wouldn't blame you if you never forgave me."  

After a month of traveling with the Red Hair Pirates again, Uta chose to go back to Elegia. She worked to repair her own reputation, going back to her online performances to her first concert since everything with tot Musica. She set up this concert on Father's Day. She made sure to invite Shanks and his crew, making it known on their personalized invitation that she wanted them, especially her father, to be there. Uta, with Gordon's assistance, reached out to Shanks. She cheerfully told him about the concert, acting like nothing ever happened. A month couldn't fix their relationship and only put a wedge between them, both too focused on their own guilt to move forward.  

Now, while Uta worked on herself and moved past her guilt, Shanks couldn't do the same. He spent years regretting his actions, wishing we could go back, but knew there was nothing else he could do besides apologize. A part of him wanted to be in her life, but doubted that Uta would've wanted the same, especially after returning to Elegia.  

"D-dad…" she clutched Shanks's shirt, her face buried into his chest. The tears she was holding back came flowing out, staining his shirt. "I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago."  

He felt grateful hearing her words, but he didn't deserve it. Her forgiveness couldn't justify their broken relationship. Still, it was Uta's choice to give him another chance, and he was more than willing to take it. The first step was dealing with the awkward situation. Uta was in no condition to sing, and her fans watched, exchanging concerned looks, and wondering if the concert was over. It would be a shame if everyone came here for one song and had to leave early....  

Probably the only time he thought an extra hand was necessary. Luckily, Beckman sprinted onto the stage with a mic handle. He gave his captain a salute and left the stage.    

Thank goodness for a pirate crew…    

After setting the mic close enough and adjusting to his height, he turned back to Uta, who was just as confused as the crowd.     

"Come stop your crying. It will be alright~" Like all those years ago, Shanks wiped the tears from her face. Uta smiled as it seemed the song caught her attention again.     

"Just take my hand. Hold it tight~" he held out his right hand, regretting losing his left for a second. But, he would have to make do. He could use haki for an arm but feared it would freak out the crowd. Besides, what father would have his daughter touch a fake hand and not his real one?   

Uta held his hand, puffing up her cheeks just like before. Only this time, he felt more than pressure from his hands. All that haki training he did for her worked wonders. She must've continued her training in between her music lessons.     

"For one so small, you seem so strong~" His pain was real this time, his eyes squinting and fanning his hand in pain. But he congratulated not only her strength but how far she'd come. She went from that tiny baby in a treasure chest to a beautiful, strong, talented young woman.     

She could tell she lacked strength every time she held his hand, but Shanks congratulated her for her efforts. He was a kind man who always acknowledged her, but she wanted more than anything to prove herself: to know it would one day bear fruit. When that day finally came, tears came out of her once again.    

The audience laughed. How could an emperor of all people be so weak? But they figured it was for their entertainment, and he was faking it.     

He held his daughter closer, mic in hand, as he continued singing. He closed his eyes, letting the words flow out of him while Uta cried in his arms. It was a sight that brought most people to tears, even the Strawhat pirates. Zoro fought back tears as he remembered Koushiro, his only father figure. Sanji thought fondly of Jeff, Dr. Hiriluk for Chopper, Clover for Robin, Tom for Franky. Nami thought of Genzo, wishing to see him after their journey. Brook, even after so long, remembered his dad's mustache and how he taught him how to get a woman to show her panties. Usopp and Yasopp, both a crying mess, held each other, Yasopp whispering apologies for the lost time. Usopp kept forgiving him but also whispered out his own frustrations about Yasopp leaving him and his ill mother. Garp and Shanks came to Luffy's mind as he fought back tears, gently gripping his Strawhat. He also wanted nothing more than to sing with his role model, but he knew not to interfere in their moment.    

The crowd thought of their own families, their parents, and the love they shared. Those without thought of their friends and parental figures. There wasn't a single dry eye in the area and outside of the concert hall.    

The world received a broadcast of the concert, from the New World islands to the small port villages across the four blues.    

Makino wiped her eyes as her husband held her and their newborn. The mayor and Dadan embraced each other, fighting back the tears.    

Kaido stopped drinking, listening intently. Even his crew listened with wet eyes. Kaido himself thought fondly of Whitebeard, feeling slight guilt for planning to go to Marineford and slay him. Shanks's song made him think of the times that Whitebeard was there for him. In a way, he was the closest thing he had to a father. Kaido did not cry, he was too proud for that, but his eyes sweat immensely.    

"Dammit Red Hair..." Garp grumbled, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was in his office, blowing his nose and trying not to break down.    

The Cross Guild had the exact same atmosphere. Tears from Crocodile to Mihawk, with Buggy crying, grumbling Shanks's name over and over. How dare Shanks remind Buggy of not just their old lullaby, or of Roger, but Rayleigh.  

Blackbeard and his men were also listening, on their ship once partying but now were all crying. They sat around their den den mushi, each thinking about their fathers. Blackbeard thought of Whitebeard. For a second, he regretted his actions at Marineford. Could things have been different? What if he didn't kill Thatch? What if he didn't turn in Ace? What if he apologized to Whitebeard instead of killing him? It was too little too late to ask these questions, but he couldn't help but envy what Uta had. In a way, it was what he lost. Even as he was now, deep in his heart, he wanted the same thing Whitebeard was striving for: a family.    

Somehow, there was a den den mushi in Impel Down, echoing Shanks's voice throughout the prison. Prisoners picked up that it was an Emperor, but that didn't matter. They were also enchanted, crying and thinking about their parents. Even Doflamingo shed a single tear, remembering his father.  

It even brought the Gorosei to tears. Despite living for centuries, they remembered their fathers. Saturn reminisced about a telescope his father bought for him. Mars was the first brought to tears, feeling his once small frame resting on his guardian's lap as they sat in the meadow under the bright stars. Warcury gripped his arm, watching his papa on top of another adult, punching them relentlessly for breaking his arm. Warcury was falsely accused of stealing a farmer's crops, causing the farmer to go after him, but his papa took his side without hesitation.  

Nusjuro relished in those peaceful days when he helped his dad work. They were impoverished merchants, with no stable home and barely sold enough to get by, but he was happy. Peter, the last one to finally break down, still felt the taste of roasted potatoes, along with the reward from hard work and a parent's love. That was the first potato he ever grew. He could still smell the potato on the fire as he and his father planted more crops together. 

Chapter 2

As the final notes of the song echoed through the stadium, Shanks's voice lingered in the air. The crowd erupted in applause, tears of joy streaming down everyone's faces.    

Before Shanks could respond, he noticed his daughter's sleepy form below him. He tightened his grip around her, making sure she didn't fall. It wasn't long after that Beckman came back on stage, taking the mic from his captain and ushering him backstage. With a gentle smile, Shanks whispered his gratitude to his first mate and exited the stage, Uta still cradled in his arm.    

Backstage, the crowd's applause slowly faded into a gentle hum, listening to Beckman's speech concluding the special Father's Day concert and adding a cliché about the bonds between a father and daughter. He even said, 'If possible, let us all strive for a relationship like what we've been shown today. Though not related by blood, Shanks and Uta have transcended the father-daughter bond.'    

He couldn't wait to bully Benny boy over his little speech. For now, though, Shanks wanted nothing more than to stay with Uta. He rested her head on his lap, smiling as she snoozed under him.    

'To think you did all of this for me. Thank you, Uta.' Shanks thought, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead. He then took off his cloak and used it as a makeshift blanket for her, as it was fairly chilly backstage.    

He missed these small moments, those days of her resting on his lap on the deck of their ship, watching her sleep peacefully as the crisp, ocean air filled his nostrils. He didn't know why, but his mind went back to where it all began: at 18, on a small ship with his small crew in the middle of the ocean and after robbing a bunch of pirates. He and Beckman expected gold and jewels, but a crying baby? That was new, but not unheard of, as Shanks himself was found in a chest.    

After the initial shock, he chuckled at the situation, eagerly taking on this new addition to his crew, much to Beckman's reluctance. While he wasn't trying to be cruel, his first mate thought of other options, like finding the village the pirates robbed in the hopes of locating her parents or other relatives, dropping her off at a clinic, or even leaving her at a random doorstep and praying the random civilian raises her well. Actually, that was Roux's suggestion, but even Beckman agreed with it. Luckily, Shanks kept his word, knowing how the baby could change the dynamic of the crew and change how they could work as pirates.    

During Uta's early years, Shanks and Beckman took turns raising her, often staying on the ship to watch her. Soon, the rest of the crew took a more active role in raising Uta. At first, Shanks didn't blame them for opting out of the role, even Yasopp, who felt a tinge of guilt raising another child while abandoning his own, but they all volunteered while doing their normal work around the ship. Roux offered to cook for her, Gab made different toys she could play with, Yasopp offered to play with her whenever she was bored around the ship, Hongo taught her basic survival skills, various types of edible plants, how to make a fire, fish, etc., Bonk played her music (oddly it could never stop Uta from crying), and Building Snake taught her how to swim.    

Of course, after eating a Devil Fruit, Shanks bought her a whistle to use just in case she ever falls into the water. Uta would often walk along the end of the ship, gradually learning to balance herself and worrying everyone, including Shanks. It was one of many behaviors that he simply had to accept with Uta. While he made sure she wasn't causing trouble for others, her somewhat adventurous and reckless actions couldn't be completely erased.    

He remembered Roger buying him and Buggy all kinds of sweets and toys. Once he heard Rayleigh scolding Roger for his reckless spending and 'spoiling the kids'. They sounded like a married couple. Still, the cycle repeated itself, only with Shanks scolded by his first mate for buying too many clothes and accessories for his daughter.    

Shanks couldn't help it. Uta looked adorable in anything she wore. And the more she gleefully accepted sweets or other gifts, the more he wanted to give her. Hell, he would give her the moon if it made her smile. But, Beckman helped keep him in check. Being the responsible one, he took charge of the ship's finances, giving Shanks a 'parental allowance', not including any jewelry or gold obtained from treasure chests. The number of pirate ships ransacked just to please his precious daughter would probably give someone a heart attack, but since they were pirates, Beckman took no issue with this.    

The years came and went, with Uta becoming who she is today. Shanks didn't know when, but he felt warm tears streaming down his face and onto his cloak. There were days when he struggled as a parent, even days he questioned if he was raising her right, but he never regretted his decision to keep her. He never regretted finding her in a chest. To him, it was the best thing that ever happened to him.    

Uta had done so much for him, and yet, what did he give her in return? He stripped all of the love and support he provided for her in one night.   

What if he never abandoned her that night? What if he at least gave Gordon his vivre card or kept something for Uta to communicate with him and their crew? What if he took her with him and still took the blame? What if something happened to her on Elegia? What if Gordon wasn't the nice person he thought he was and harmed Uta?   

Time passed, and Uta stirred in his arms, slowly waking up. Her father's cries became more clear as she woke up. They were controlled so she wouldn't be disturbed. However, he kept his eyes closed with his hand covering half his face.   

She knew her concert was over, but an idol's work was never done. Or, was it a daughter's work?   

"Come stop your crying, it'll be alright~" she started singing, wiping the tears from his eyes. She kept her voice slow, but gentle, making sure to copy the same voice and movements as her father. Shanks opened his eyes to face Uta. Unlike most of the time, he seemed unsure. She correctly guessed that this guilt ran deeper than she thought. She knew her performance wasn't enough to repair their relationship, but that's why she had a backup plan.   

"Uta, I don't-"   

"Just take my hand. Hold it tight.~" She sat up, forming a gentle smile as she held out her left hand. After a moment, he slowly took her hand. At first, he tried not to grip too hard, but after she refused to sing until he obeyed her instructions, he gripped with all his might. To his surprise, it didn't harm Uta at all. She had more than enough armament haki to handle his grip.   

She continued her song, placing her head beside Shanks as he felt a familiar feeling of exhaustion.   

After closing his eyes, there were two things he noticed. For one thing, he had both of his arms. And, he still had his strawhat.  

"We're in your dream world?" Shanks asked.   

Uta shook her head, "not exactly. It's in a dream, but I managed to connect a part of your memories with my dreams." She frowned, noticing her now child body. "Thanks to that, I'm a kid again."   

"I can tell." He wasted no time in embracing her, rubbing their cheeks together, "you should do this more often!"   

She grumbled, letting him have his fun before he finally let go. Once he did, she cleared her throat. "Apparently, this is why you'll never accept my forgiveness." She sighed, sitting on the railing, looking out on the town of Elegia. "I don't get it. Why here of all places?"   

"When I asked if you would rather stay here, you made your decision very clear," he paused, "painfully clear, but, after what happened, I never gave it a second thought."  

She remembered this moment and the feelings she felt at the time. She loved music, but she was a musician of the Red Hair Pirates. That's where she wanted to be and just the thought of leaving Shanks and everyone else behind frightened her. She would've never thought that her fears would become a reality.   

"Is that it?" She was oddly apathetic to it, making Shanks chuckle.   

"What do you mean that's it? It's the whole reason I'm the world's worst father!"   

"Maybe the world's most absentee father, but not the worst." Uta continued, "Shanks." Her passionate and defiant tone caught Shanks's attention, "I miss you and being a part of your crew. The only reason I left was to work on myself and my career as an idol. But even then, I wanted to do something special, something to get you to let me in!" She stomped her foot, fighting back tears as she resembled her old self.  

It was at this moment that Shanks knew: he messed up. At least, he realized how much of a fool he was. A part of him forgot that Uta wasn't a child anymore. She wasn't the child he left at Elegia, but a grown woman who was trying to reach out to him. She even had to look into his memories with her devil fruit. How she managed to do that he'll never know, but she must've worked hard practicing her singing and her devil fruit powers.  

He bent down, pulling her into a hug, "I'm sorry Uta. I was so worried about hurting you again that I only ended up making another mistake."   

They embraced tightly, the bond between them stronger than ever. Shanks felt the weight of his guilt finally lift.  

As they held each other, the dream world seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was just the two of them, a father and his daughter, united by love and forgiveness. The two were finally ready to move on from the past, ready to face whatever the future held, together.   

Just some bonus stuff I wanted to add at the end. Feel free to skip or read it!  

Shanks: U-T-A! UTA!!!!   

Uta: Dad, what the hell are you wearing???  

Shanks: All of your merch. What's wrong with that? (he's wearing the same thing Bepo wore in Film Red)  

Uta: Don't tell me you're gonna wear that during my performance...

Shanks: Yes! Why?  

Uta: Take it off (glaring at him)  

Shanks: NO! (pouting)  

Uta: WHY???!!  

Shanks: Because I love you!   

Uta: More like you love embarrassing me! Take that stuff off!  

Shanks: No, and you can't make me- (Beckman, Yasopp, and Roux grab him) what are you guys doing? Let go of me!  

Uta: You guys are a lifesaver!  

Beckman: Don't mention it.  

Yasopp: Sorry cap, but today, we gotta look after Uta.   

Shanks: Guys let me go n-(Roux covers his mouth. They ignore his screams and cusses as they take him back to the ship to change)  

[newtonskeeper]

(From X) 

Theo had been back in the city for all of twelve hours, having literally stepped off a plane at 4am, crashed on Aven’s couch for a few hours, and then been prodded awake and herded toward the shower by his cranky twin sister. Even with her help, he’d almost missed his own showcase. Maybe, in his own way, he was even trying to a little bit, since he’d always preferred to be behind a camera rather than in front of an audience.

He didn’t give a shit about the accolades, never had, but he did care about the political and social issues he gravitated toward with his camera. This particular showcase would highlight the humanitarian situation in Yemen that he’d been covering for the past eight months or so. He wasn’t strictly a war photographer, but his work often brought him close to it.

He could admit they also made the paychecks a bit nicer, and this event probably played a role in landing his next job. The magazine hired a different photographer every year to showcase various sides of New York City. They’d send him out to cover certain events or local issues, but the rest was up to him. He’d been traveling long enough to be glad to settle for a while, and he knew Aven was too, but Theo also knew the urge to wander would probably catch up with him before the year was out. For now, it was just nice to be home.

He’d been headed toward the doors, on his own schedule as always, when he saw a familiar figure and broke off in her direction instead. "Your Theo.” He was grinning widely by the time he was in earshot. It had all happened fast, and his signal was always spotty overseas, so there hadn’t been time to let Feyre know he was back in the city.

Feyres heart squeezed as the cool call of a familiar voice answered her question. The small brunette whipped around, her smile already bright and welcoming if not a little bashful. “Did I say something weird already?” She laughed , her free hand reaching to give his arm a gentle squeeze in greeting. “That must be a new record for me, huh?”  In truth, Feyre was not a toucher nor did she typically like to be touched. There were however, a select few she made not only an acceptation for but actively sought out their comfort ; and Theo just so happened to be one half of the two people in this world she held with such regard. He and His sister both were her ‘people’. All through her childhood they had both always managed to look out for her, include her, and truly make what would have been a bleak upbringing something that was memorable and full of the laughter and summer drunk comfort that every youth should consist of.  ““You know what I meant. You're like- my Theo in the way that i am Your Feyre. Like if you were to go to a coffee shop and someone were to call my name but someone completely different were to show up and grab that cappuccino then you'd be like ‘ OH that's not my Feyre.”

While she may have overdone her explanation somewhat, It hadn't been far from your typical Feyre explanation. Usually a long winded story set with a hypothetical scenario that to most would have simply added to the confusion they felt rather than aiding in it.  “SOO- mister Big shot photographer. Are you suddenly too cool to call your friends when you get home or was did you set this all up to announce your return?” 

[cookie-nom-nom]

Spirituality is supposed to be hard. So often it’s taught as believe xyz and don’t question it, but that’s obviously unhealthy and authoritarian. From my experience spiritually should be this wrestling with ideas, asking questions and staring dead on at the parts that don’t make sense. A lot of the reason why Christian rock sucks is because it’s just playing it safe, which is an insult to both aspects but specifically rock? You took rock and wanted to make it easily palatable? Seriously?

(Don’t mind me, just going to ramble a bit.) Anyway, I think one of my favorite lines in a contemporary Christian song is “God, are you awake at night?” It comes at a quiet part, almost a plea but also a challenge. And it’s such a human thing, staring at the walls for hours trying to fall asleep, wrestling with thoughts and feeling completely alone. And a lot of the song deals with isolation, so it could be read as reaching out spiritually to try and not feel alone. But I hear it a little different. “God, are you awake at night, too?” And suddenly it’s asking not for protection but for connection. It’s asking if God, too, has doubts and anxiety and feels alone sometimes, if God knows what it’s like to be overwhelmed by your own thoughts. It almost feels like the singer is asking if God can actually be a relatable human. And in general churches try to say yes, of course, Jesus was both divinity and man. But they don’t mean God is actually human, they mean he’s ideally human. He’s not human in all the messy, real ways. And that to me erases the point. Because, yes, Jesus did lie awake at night, wrestling with doubt and fear, praying to God and begging for a way out of his upcoming death. God knows what that fundamentally human experience feels like. It’s less a simple answer of ‘God is there silly so stop being stressed’ and more ‘God has been there too.’ Sympathy v empathy, a deeper connection because it’s relatable, it’s actual kinship. Asking questions maybe isn’t evil and can deepen faith?? Who’d have guess actually analyzing something is good for you. There should be questions in faith. Challenges to both you and your god(s). And that’s why fundamentally most Christian contemporary music isn’t good, because it doesn’t want to ask questions or rock the boat out of fear of losing its audience and money. It wants to be as palatable as possible, distilled down for the sake of profit. Which is a problem with a lot of art designed to have broad appeal, but it gets especially bad in Christian media because it has a basically guaranteed large audience no matter how generic. Which, honestly, is disrespectful both to art and God.

Yall ever heard white church music? Christian rock is one of the most gratingly generic and repetitive genres of music out there by a mile. It sucks so fucking bad. I am talking about this now because someone is sitting in front of the hospital and blaring “how great? Is our god?” As loud as the speakers in his truck can handle

[celestialpotat0]

Memories 2023 Part 1

Jan: i ring in the new year counting down to midnight at work. i try various new hip hop classes with different instructors, terrified i'll show up and be the only student. there were times i've shown up, been one of two students, and was told "this is gonna be an improv class" and im like fuuuuuuuc---- and i end up just having to improv and of course looking like a dying cockroach every time. i leave hip hop class dripping in sweat and feeling alive. reminded me of the days (long ago) id walk around all day in baggy sweaters and baggy sweats over my leotards/tights/leggings and never cared about how i looked like a slob because i felt so fulfilled emotionally and physically fit and was so assured of my happiness

Feb: pouring rain again after many weeks of heavy rains. sit down to an exquisite Cal-Indian meal with people who are also passionate about food. we all make enough money now that we can order way more than we would've been able to as students, which is when we first met. the flavors, richness, textures, temperatures of the various dishes, all topped off with a cocktail. we earned this and we are eating well and i realize that i can have experiences now that were so out of reach to me growing up. i never got to experience fine dining growing up.

Mar: late at night wandering by myself on the cruise, stumble upon singers and musicians performing at the pub. i'm completely sober, plop down by myself at a table in the front and center, sip on my water. there are only a few people in the audience; i feel sorry for the performers about the low turnout. everyone else still awake at that hour is at the raunchy adult-themed game show or casino instead. but i am so damn glad im at this humble, small, low-key performance; i get the sense that the others who also chose to stay here are kindred spirits who want to feel music. my senses are heightened, though maybe that's because i'm nervous, self-conscious, exhilarated, out of my comfort zone. the talent is so genuine, artists who work hard. music is one of the simplest joys, part of what makes life worth living. fully immersed in the sounds, i sing along to covers of janis joplin, prince, eagles, etc. until the show is over. my family's asleep, nobody can reach me because i have no reception out at sea. nobody knows where i am, so it is just me and the music and a small group of individuals who chose to be there of all activities on the ship. starting to think maybe i shouldnt drink at all for more events, because i feel like my memory is crystal clear and sharp and i was able to soak every sense into my memory more because i didn’t drink at all

Apr: watch bats fly out as day turns to night

May: wore a heart rhythm monitor for 14 days that my physician prescribed, distinctly remember an episode of the palpitations being particularly bad. when the report was published it was cool to see episode of SVT measured and graphed on the report and HR 179 bpm even though I was just sitting at the time and hadn't been exercising before that. in awe of technology and all of the knowledge accumulated and passed on for humans to invent that

June: solitary walk from tent to roaring river at sunrise

[bell-arina271]

Day 8 of Building Elsa’s Ice Palace

I’m so frustrated. I’m sleeping too much but not enough. Since I can’t get the uninterrupted 7-8 hours of sleep, I sleep for longer and will conk out for almost 12 hours. But it’s not full “sleep”, just like a bunch of naps strung together, so I’m still tired and don’t feel refreshed or anything. It’s really frustrating and I hope I can get some answers soon.

I scheduled a home inspection for next week, hopefully that will be good enough as far as time goes. You need to get everything done within a certain time period according to the contract and for everything to close properly. Will put it down in my planner just in case.

I had to gulp down a shot of coffee to try to keep myself awake for this. I just need a homeowners insurance quote, then I should have all my stuff in order for the house. After that it will be a case of just biding my time and trying not to buy anything until the sale closes lol.

Whoops, wait, spoke too soon, I have the official documents I need to send to my lender. Pic of my driver’s license, and then my pay stubs. Got a lot to do before I relax lol.

Thankfully they don’t really take too long, just a few minutes. Answering all the questions for the home insurance quote takes longer. I’ll hear back from the people by tomorrow at least.

For now I can jut finish up a couple chores and supervise the pups. They’re warming up to people, so look like our socialization strategies are working.

I spent the day finishing up chores, and shopping for tableware and dinner sets online. I have a good theme going if I want to stick with the Elsa Ice Palace theme, but I’ll need something different if I end up going with the “white royal” theme. I need to appeal to a wider audience for this particular venture, right? Plus it needs to be something that looks good year round. Maybe I need something “neutral”, furniture and accessories that kind of work for both ideas.

I found the absolute perfect table set that works for both ideas- but it’s almost $2000 and I can’t make any major purchases before the close of the house. I wouldn’t mind, but there’s a limited quantity and only a few left. I’ll just have to keep my fingers crossed and hope they’ll still be there by next month.

Today I spent hours shopping and bookmarking. I’m so picky for what I want and it’s hard to find the exact taste and style I’m looking for. But I found the major things I want for the main floor of the house- bed frame, the dining table and chairs, a couch and a TV stand. I haven’t even looked at washing and drying machines and fridges yet.

I can’t buy all the furniture I want right away, because furniture is expensive, but I can at least get the limited quantity ones- or those that are on sale or clearance, before they sell out. Stuff that will make the house GORGEOUS and make people WANT to stay there, you know?

But of course, that’s only assuming people will be traveling to my area anyway. It’s not a super popular city, and travel is expensive nowadays. Maybe I’m too late to cash in on the hospitality hype lol.

Well, at least my house will be pretty and I can take nice pictures. That’ll count for something, I’m sure.

[strangeswift]

Chopping up my many WIPs into ficlets and posting them here because I'm probably never ever gonna finish these WIPs anyway!

Mike Monologue. (Mike visits Max in the hospital while she's in her coma and talks about his feelings for Will.)

Mike enters the hospital room to see Lucas slumped over on the chair next to Max’s bed. At first Mike thinks he’s sleeping, but he blinks and raises his head to look up at Mike.

“Hey,” Mike says quietly.

“Hey,” Lucas says with a small, strained smile.

“Um… no change?” Mike asks.

Lucas looks pained and Mike’s sorry he asked. “Nah, no change,” Lucas says.

Mike glances at Max.

“You came alone?” Lucas asks.

Mike’s been to see Max twice, both times with El.

“I uh- El said you’ve been sleeping here, and you wouldn’t leave. And I wanted to come see if you wanted me to sit with her for a while. So you could go home and get some sleep, or at least take a shower or something," Mike says awkwardly.

“That’s… really nice, Mike. But I don’t wanna-” Lucas starts.

“Look man, I get it. If it was Wi- El in here, I wouldn’t want to leave either. But I think you need a break. I swear I’ll call you if anything changes, but she’s stable, right?” Mike asks.

Lucas hesitates, then nods. “She’s stable,” he admits.

“So go home,” Mike says.

“Yeah… okay. For a few hours.” Lucas says, still sounding unconvinced, but standing from his chair.

He takes a long look at Max before approaching Mike.

“Just- call me if…” he starts but trails off.

“I will,” Mike says firmly.

Lucas nods and pats Mike’s shoulder before exiting the room.

Mike settles himself in the chair Lucas was in, staring at Max.

He sits in silence for a while, before he finally glances toward the doorway, checking to see if there’s anyone in the hallway, and then he speaks.

“Um… hey, Max. It’s Mike. I don’t… the doctors said they don’t know if you can hear us or not. El says she can’t find you when she tries to… so maybe that means you’re not even in there anymore. But… I was just thinking that maybe, if you are still there, that you might be lonely… or- or bored.” he says.

She, obviously, lies motionless. Mike listens to the steady beeping of the moniters before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“And honestly, I wanted to talk to you because I have some things I need to get off my chest. Things I’ve never told anyone. I wouldn’t tell you either, if you were awake. But you’re not awake, so I guess you’re sort of my captive audience.

And anyway, I think the reason we’ve always fought is because we’re just really similar in a lot of ways. So I guess I feel like… maybe you’d understand more than anyone else.”

He shifts in the chair, trying and failing to get comfortable.

“Um… so I guess I’ll start off with what just happened today. El broke up with me. For real this time. Funny enough, it was your fault, just like last time. Um… that was a joke, sorry.

But uh- she said she’d been thinking a lot, about her and I. And she said she’d been thinking about something you’d taught her. She said you taught her the difference between ‘friend-love’ and ‘boyfriend-love’. And she said that she thinks we ‘friend-love’ each other.”

He laughs.

“So even from a coma, you’re still messing with my love life! Except… El’s right. I do love her, but I’m not in love with her. And when she told me she feels the same way, I was relieved. But, I was also scared.

Because um… because being with El kinda let me hide from some feelings I’ve started having. Feelings about uh- Like… Feelings that I’m not really supposed to have, I guess. Like about me, and um… and other boys. But um mainly… one other boy."

Despite everything, Mike scans her face for any change in facial expression. He half expects her to wake up and start laughing at him, or look disgusted. But she lies still.

“I um… I’ve never said it out loud before. But I’ve felt this way for a while. I think maybe forever, but I didn’t always know what it was.

Because like- with Will, when we were younger, I felt differently about him than I did Lucas or Dustin. More protective, maybe? Like, sometimes I’d hold his hand, and it was just innocent, like we were little kids, but I’d never do that with Dustin or Lucas. And I’d never do it in front of them either, so some part of me must have known it was significant.

But then Will was gone, and I met El. And I really cared about her, but I really cared about Will, too. And then I lost her, and when I got her back, I realized it was just easier with her. Because… there was no shame. If I wanted to hold her hand or kiss her, that was okay. So I thought- this is what love is.

But uh- I didn’t stop thinking about Will. And sometimes when I was kissing her I would close my eyes and pretend that… Well, you get the picture."

Max remains quiet and motionless.

Mike wonders how she'd react to all of this if she was awake. The loudest, ugliest part of him is telling him that she'd be disgusted. She'd call him names, or laugh at him.

But the quieter, more rational part of him tells him she wouldn't. She'd understand. She'd… she'd understand.

"I uh-" He starts, "I'm sorry I've been talking about me this whole time. I know you have bigger problems than my… whole thing. Um. Lucas hasn't left your side, I'm sure you know that. El comes to visit. A lot. And everyone else… well they really miss you. Dustin and- and Will.

Oh! You want to hear something funny? This might cheer you up. Remember when you first wanted to join our party, and I was being a total asshole?

Well it was mostly because I thought Will had a crush on you. Dustin and Lucas did, so I just assumed. Plus he was so ready to accept you into the party, I thought he must like you. But... he was just a sweet kid. He's just… yeah. Shit, I'm talking about Will again.

See, that's the problem, Max. I try to think about something else and my mind just circles right back to him. Because he's just... him. He's just so good. So good, and so sweet, and so selfless, and when I look at him it gets hard to breathe because I just lo- I just like him so much.

...No, you know what? Screw it. I've already told you all this. I love him, Max. I love Will Byers. I'm in love with him. I want him to hold me and kiss me and tell me he loves me too. And I want it to be forever. I don’t know if that's even something people like me get, 'forever' or 'love'. But I think if Will would just let me have him, even if it's just friends, if he'll just have me however he wants me, whatever that means to him... I think maybe I could be happy.

But I don't know for sure because I don't really remember the last time I was happy, like really happy. Except when I'm with him. When it's just me and him. When I get to pretend we're more than we are. Because he makes it so easy to pretend, Max. He lets me get so close, lets me touch him. Lets me stare at him, and acts like he doesn't notice. Because that's how good he is.

Sometimes I think maybe I should stop, but I can't really help it. And he doesn't seem to mind, which makes me think that maybe… maybe he could feel the same way.

See, there's this painting.

It's a beautiful painting, and he painted it for me. And when he showed me this painting I think I just fell more in love with him, if that was even possible.

But then he told me that El commissioned it, that it was from her. And he gave me this whole speech about how I'm the heart of the party, and El needs me and she always will, and sometimes she feels like a mistake but I make her feel like she's not a mistake.

But when El broke up with me today, I asked her, 'Well what about the painting? What about needing me?'

And she had no idea what I was talking about, Max.

And I realized, El said I made her feel like a monster. If anything I made her feel worse about herself when we were together. So it just made me wonder… if the painting wasn't from her, if it was really from Will, just Will… maybe the speech was too.

Maybe Will needs me. And I'm sure he doesn't mean it in the way I want him to, but it's still something.

But if the speech was from him, then that means Will feels like a mistake. And I can't… I can't handle that. Because he's not. He's not. Maybe I am, for feeling like this. I thought that, for a long time.

But lately I've been thinking, how could that be true? How could loving Will be a mistake or- or be wrong or disgusting? It's not, it can't be.

Because loving Will is everything that I am, Max. Without that, without him, I'm nothing, I just fade away. He thinks I'm the heart of the party? He's wrong. He's the heart. He's my heart. I'd die without him.

Which is why… I can't tell him any of this.

Because what if I lose him? What if this makes me lose him? I can't do that.

I won't risk that."

He falls silent. Watching Max. Watching her heartbeat on the monitor.

It keeps going. Up and down.

She's alive. She's still here. She could wake up.

She could wake up someday and they could talk, really talk. He wants her to talk.

He wants her to say something, anything.

She doesn't. And she won't.

-

This monolgue was taken from one of my many Byler WIPs that will probably never see the light of day. If I can find any more semi-coherent bits of this particular WIP I'll probably post them. Though I haven't edited any of it and I don't WANT TO, so we'll see.

P.S. if there was errors in this no there wasn't what are you talking about are you feeling okay you probably just imagined it babe

[julemmaes]

The One Good Thing

Rowaelin Month, Day Two

A/N: again, I'm gonna fail all my exams because of this stupid app, I'm sure. Also, I miss the off campus boys so much I kinda made Fenrys one of them and I love the idea of the tog men as hockey players so yeah, enjoy;)

Word count: 2,581

Aelin would have killed for a second of silence.

She daydreamed of that almost noisy quiet that makes you feel every deepest thought hidden in your brain that exists only at 3 a.m., when every soul is resting and cars can't drive around the campus. And there are no children screaming at the top of their lungs or parties going on all night long.

That was what she had been promised, the flyers she'd been handed during the open days, when she had come to visit the college.

That was how it was supposed to be.

Aelin had tried so many times to ask her upstairs flatmate to hold his Twitch live streams strictly in the afternoons or mornings when she wouldn't be home, but when Fenrys Moonbeam had first opened the door to his place, the girl had known immediately that she wouldn't be able to change his mind even by paying him.

Especially since his live streams were followed by such a large audience that Aelin couldn't even begin to understand how he had managed to build an empire so big in just under a month. Surely it had something to do with the long blond hair, different from her own but just as beautiful, and the arms covered in tattoos so colourful they blind you. They had their own charm. Add to the pile the fact that he was the goalie on the hockey team, and he was the perfect mix for the guy to marry.

From what their common friends had told her, he was already earning enough to afford an off-campus home, but that he liked the comfort the college dorm gave.

A comfort that Aelin, after three years in those filthy rooms and shared bathrooms, had yet to find.

When yet another howl of celebration at yet another victory that everyone expected pierced through his floor and her ceiling, nearly drilling her eardrums, Aelin gritted her teeth so hard that for a moment she feared they might shatter.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to whisper, "Shut," failed miserably to keep her tone under control and shrieked the second word, "up!"

A booming laugh rang out upstairs and a millisecond later a message lit up her phone screen.

From Lys: Girl, maybe you should take a chill pill, I heard you on the live stream. Are you still studying?

She tossed the phone to the side, pulling her hair up and pinning it back with a pencil.

"Fuck off." she muttered under her breath.

Lysandra was one of the few in their group of friends who never missed a Fenrys broadcast. Whether it was at eleven at night or five in the morning, she was always one of the first to join in.

Aelin often wondered if she was just doing it because Fenrys was helping her sponsor her YouTube channel, but then she remembered that Lysandra would do the same for all her friends.

She got out of bed, taking all her books and notes in her arms, pen in her mouth and holding her phone between her pinky and ring fingers. She threw open the door to her room and found herself facing a wall of muscle, slamming into her roommate's chest.

Rowan's hands snapped forward and kept her from falling backwards and when Aelin looked up at his face, she almost lost her balance again.

His face was sleepy, only one eye open as he suppressed a yawn. The imprint of the pillowcase on his cheek just another sign that he had already been sleeping.

"Are you okay?" he asked her in a hoarse voice, stepping back and letting her through, "I heard you screaming. I was coming to check on you."

Aelin grimaced, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

He shook his head, moving a hand in mid-air, "Don't worry about it." then his gaze snapped to the ceiling as another laugh from Fenrys cut through the thin material dividing their quarters. He frowned, lowering his gaze back to her, and it was at that moment that he noticed the books in her arms.

If possible, his frown deepened even more.

He closed his eyes, gently grabbing her wrist and leaning against the wall behind him, pulling her towards him.

Aelin let herself be tugged, arranging the books so that they didn't poke at either her or him in that uncomfortable hug, but she positioned her head against his chest, letting his fingers expertly massage the nape of her neck.

"Baby." he sighed into her hair. Her toes curled.

It had only been a few weeks since they had decided to start dating, a few weeks since Rowan had confessed to having feelings for her. They had exchanged a few kisses in secret from their friends, wanting to enjoy that first phase of their very fresh relationship in privacy. They hadn't done anything too steamy yet, and Aelin had more than agreed with his decision to take it slow, but one thing Rowan hadn't held back in the slightest from the first second she'd agreed to go out with him had been the pet names he'd given her whenever they were in the safety of their dorms.

Baby was definitely her favourite.

His hands slid lower, down her back, and she looked up, resting her chin on his chest and fixing her eyes in his. His gaze softened, still clouded with sleep. "You shouldn't be studying at this hour."

Aelin grunted, smacking her forehead against his chest, "But I have a test tomorrow."

Rowan sighed again, pushing her away and taking the books from her arms. "Precisely why you should be sleeping." He walked towards the common room, speaking softly and hoping Lorcan wouldn't hear them. They both knew their roommate suspected something, but he didn't have enough worries in the world for him to actually give a shit about their possible relationship, and they also knew he would never say anything to anyone. Maybe to Elide, but neither of them would bet on it. "I left you alone tonight because you needed to rest, not stay up until morning melting your brain."

She followed him like a lost dog, dragging her feet on the ground, finally feeling that visceral fatigue get the better of her.

"I can't leave the study half done."

Rowan dropped the books on the table, turning around just in time to block her before she bumped into him again and slipped the pencil out of her mass of hair, letting it fall around her shoulders.

"You're not leaving the study half done," he told her as he rubbed her arms to keep her warm, "you've spent the last five weeks studying this stuff and I'm sure you know it like the abc. You need a break." he told her.

Aelin looked up at him from under her lashes, a little annoyed that that was true, but completely distracted by the lines his fingers were drawing on her arms. She took a deep breath through her nose, puffing out her chest and thrusting out her breasts, catching the attentive gaze of her almost-boyfriend for a nanosecond.

He smiled wearily at her, "Are you sleeping in my bed tonight?"

Aelin just nodded and took both of his hands, pulling him down onto her. Rowan squinted his eyes and placed his lips on hers in a quick, chaste kiss. She hummed in satisfaction as his hands slid under her bottom and wrapped around her thighs, pulling her up. She tied her legs around his hips and rested her head on his shoulder as Rowan made his way into their tiny flat.

He lowered her onto the bed, pulling the blankets out from under her body and laying down beside her before covering them both. Aelin moved as close to him as she could, pressing her back against his chest and her butt against his crotch, tangling their legs together.

Rowan's arm wrapped around her waist as the other slipped under her head and his hand found hers under the pillow.

The second they were settled, every bit of their bodies touching, Rowan left a soft kiss on her shoulder, pulling her even tighter against him.

She smiled weakly, in a drawling tone, "Thank you."

He hummed against her skin, "That's what I'm here for."

"Don't let me die around finals time?" she asked in a teasing tone.

Rowan chuckled softly, making her back shake, "Exactly."

Aelin tried to turn towards him, wanting to trace the pale freckles that were starting to sprout on his nose now that the days were getting longer and the sun kissed his cheek every afternoon, but his arms blocked her.

"No, it's not fair for you to be the big spoon every night. I'm fucking sick of it, I want to hold you today." he muttered, the chains of sleep already dragging him towards that blissful unconsciousness.

She huffed, stopping struggling against his grip, relaxing and feeling her muscles scream with pleasure after being tense for hours on end while she studied.

She hadn't realised she'd stayed up so long, but she was terrified of failing this last exam. If she failed it she would have to wait months before she could retake it and the idea of it was getting her down more than perhaps it should have.

She started thinking about the various questions the professors might ask her the next day, repeating the answers in her mind, closing her eyes as she thought.

"Baby," Rowan grumbled, "you're talking out loud."

She hadn't realised she was biting the cuticles around her nails until his hand came to rest on her arm, pulling her hand away from her mouth. He took a deep breath, helping her turn to face him.

When she looked up at him from under her lashes, she saw the way he was fighting sleep. And she felt terribly guilty. If she was having trouble sleeping the day before an exam, that didn't mean he had to stay awake for her too.

She was about to speak, tell him to close his eyes again and let her go into the living room so she could finish going over the last few pages and then return to his room, but he put his hand on her cheek and in a soft voice asked, "What's bothering you?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, shaking her head, "Nothing."

He tried to hold back a yawn again, but couldn't this time and Aelin's guilt grew immensely inside her. "If you tell me right now what's wrong, I could help you fix it sooner. And we could get at least three hours of sleep before we have to go to class." he pointed out in an exhausted tone.

She blinked once, twice, searching for the right words.

"It's Fen. If he'd stop playing so late every night-"

Rowan quickly cut her off, closing his eyes, almost as if he could no longer physically stay awake. "Ace, Fenrys never really bothered you. You've always managed to study and ignore it. What is it that's bothering you?"

Aelin let go of a shaky breath, "It's nothing, really. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

He only opened one eye, watching her carefully as she hid her face against his chest and wrapped her thin arms around his torso.

His hand began to slowly massage her back, "If we don't talk about this now I'll be up all night worrying."

She huffed, knowing full well how true those words were. For the love of the other, she began to ramble on about the real reason she hadn't been able to focus on the textbooks.

"I don't want to tell anyone we're together yet," she confessed under her breath.

Rowan opened both eyes then, fixing them on her and giving a small nod with his chin to keep her going.

"It's not that I don't want to tell the others," she said, referring to their closest friends, "but the second they find out, the news will become public knowledge and there are some people I really don't want to let that information get to."

He nodded, understanding perfectly who she was talking about.

"We don't have to tell anyone," he kissed her forehead, continuing to talk in that position, his lips brushing against her skin with every word he spoke, "it'll be our little secret for some time more, until we figure out how to get all the puck bunnies off our backs."

Aelin smiled, lifting her chin and kissing him.

Being the captain of the hockey team, Rowan didn't exactly go unnoticed on campus. Not many people approached him during the day, especially when Lorcan was at his side, knowing full well that they would receive nothing but a rude invitation to leave, but their friend couldn't spend his life attached to Rowan's hip, and the few times the two of them had gone out alone it had happened that a horde of fans had overwhelmed them. After those afternoons, Aelin had found herself the victim of not so nice threats from unknown numbers, as had happened to Lysandra when she had first started dating Aedion.

With Manon's help they had managed to track down the senders and Rowan had been unpleasantly surprised to discover that it was one of the girls he always partied with after the games. A girl he'd always considered a friend.

Rowan had taken all the blame, feeling responsible for those attacks on Aelin and it had taken months to convince him that he had no part in the insanity of others.

They'd started limiting the dates they went on as a pair, even when they were just friends, to prevent similar things from happening again, but Aelin felt trapped.

And she knew it was the same for Rowan.

She wished she could get a place off campus, where she could retreat with him, away from the prying eyes of the world, but it didn't seem right to bring up the topic of 'let's move in together' after not even three months of dating.

Rowan rested a hand on her cheek, moving a strand of hair behind her ear, "It'll be fine. And if anyone finds out and the threats come back, we'll do something about it."

She nodded, not entirely convinced and not at all reassured.

He knew instantly, "Aelin, whatever happens, I don't care what others think. I've waited years to finally have you. I've been on the sidelines all this time, watching you go on date after date with everyone and never with me-"

"You never asked," she mumbled in annoyance.

Rowan continued as if she hadn't spoken, "I would have preferred not to be the talk of the town all the time, but I'm not going to let public opinion take away the one good thing in my life."

She opened her mouth wide, "What about hockey?"

He shrugged, looking at her, "Hockey is just a sport."

"If Lorcan could hear you right now..." she shook her head.

"But Lorcan's not here. And you won't tell him," he made her silently promise.

They exchanged another brief kiss, before they carried on talking about all the worries she had and every word that came out of his lips acted as a sedative for her fears, killing one at a time, until she fell asleep in his arms, lulled by his soft breathing on her neck.

tog tag list (if you wanna be added or removed just dm me or send me an ask)

@maastrash @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sleeping-and-books @hellasblessed @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @letstakethedawn @terrible-and-proud @post-it-notes33 @booksstorm @nalgenewhore @queen-of-demons-and-hell @lanyjoy-13 @vasudharaghavan @cupcakey00 @bri-loves-sunflowers @queen-of-glass @thewayshedreamed @the-regal-warrior @fangirlprincess09 @januarystears @rowaelinismyotp @starbornsinger @bookstantrash @thegreyj

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2022-10-31

Last Monday Of The Month, a week with a peculiarly high concentration of media so it's a long one:

Listening: Went to a live show on Friday, here's a pull song from each set:

Superloser, with Neon City Dream, the opening act

The Painted Flowers, who were dressed as tennis players because this was ostensibly a Halloween deal, with River Song

The Tazers, probably the most well known band at the show, who have a new album out but I'm going to take an older song, A Bomb & A Bill

and lastly, Ruff Majik, who when told they only had time left for one song did a song that was like ten minutes long. This is not that song.

Watching: Went to a performance of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" for the first time, I've read *about* the play but never actually read it, because I basically only read plays if I can strut around my room acting out the parts because what's the goddamn point otherwise.

I am a huge fan of devastating tragedy so I of course found this incredible. Great portrayals from everyone, especially Honey and Nick who were extremely good at carrying on their responses in the background.

My brother came along and he has an extremely unfortunate taste in media so he did not have the best time.

Reading: Dispatches From The Rap Wars was a fascinating article about the intersection of rap music and gangs in modern cities, which is of course a fascinating pile of hyperlocal culture.

Playing: Butterfly Soup 2 is out, and I have done nothing but think about Butterfly Soup 2 for two days. I've got like four half-written drafts about different parts of this game. It was very emotionally affecting because it is a lot to see words that could have been taken directly from your brain or from whiny forum posts you made when you were 14 written by someone else. Validation, of a kind.

Representation is not a terminal good but it is a kind of good and it can be extremely important in how you respond to a piece of media. Butterfly Soup 1 already has a certain level of care and knowledge that (if you are in the target audience) tells you that the author on the other side of the words has an understanding of you and how you grew up and live and how that affects you to this day.

BS2 is a lot blunter, and while there is plenty of gay stuff, I know I'm gay, that was easy, it was not the affecting part, I solved the question of Being Gay when I was 14; demonstrating an intimate understanding of the kind of complex family relationships you develop when you grow up with very little contact with your extended family or even family friends has, on the other hand, kept me awake for literal hours last night.

Man was that paragraph one sentence. You can tell I have it bad here.

The Asian Diaspora part is. Okay I don't know how essential it is because I'm already aligned with it, but you could probably find a few kernels of concept to relate to even if you are not. I mentioned that at times it can feel like I'm getting hit with Barnum Phrases because so much of this feels like the universal experience of growing up, but I know other humans and I know that their relationships to their cultures and parents are wildly different along a ton of different axes that are not expressed here. I don't know. Play it if you want that or if you want a twee ass gay story about some lesbian teens.

Fundamentally similar to a lot of aspirational queer media which must imagine a less hostile, less risky world where you can say the things that the reader has only thought, and do the things the reader has only dreamed.

I have thoughts on why the racism and gender segment felt a little off but that's a post that's half written so maybe you'll see that eventually. That's more of a fun historical piece.

I also played Inscryption but I'm still playing that so I'll reserve it for next week. Still haven't beaten the cabin but I got close last time.

Making: Participating in extending the arm of western hegemony, by which I mean the neighbourhood parents organized a pseudo-halloween thing and I got dragged into it. Did a jack-o-lantern out of a blue food pumpkin for their thing yesterday, today we cut that up and I made soup and fritters out of it. So at least I didn't waste a pumpkin.

Tools and Equipment: Alcohol, specifically for cleaning. I keep a bottle or two of isopropanol or ethanol around my desk and it always comes in handy. 90-ish percent alcohol is fantastic for non-polar dirt, and has just enough water left to handle polar dirt too. Just this past week I've used that for everything from cleaning small wounds to dissolving ink to getting goo off my knife.

[imjusttpeachy]

the early bird gets the panini (c.h.)

well this is quite the change of pace isn’t it. lmao i figured u guys needed a break from the crying so here’s... whatever this is

thank u all new followers!! u jus made a big mistake💞🦋

u guys should search up “my very real collab with 50 cent” by corpse if you haven’t heard it yet, i ascended the first time i listened lmaoooo

playlist

the wombats - greek tragedy

aminé - heebiejeebies

free nationals - beauty and essex

the marías- let my baby stay

summary: Corpse interrupts the reader’s morning livestream after she left him alone in bed that morning. Fluff and fuckery ensues.

word count: 2, 326

WARNINGS: she/her pronouns, coarse language

>>>

“Okay, Tom Nook is the most bitch-ass motherfucker I’ve ever met. I could fold him like a panini with a slap I swear to god.”

Mornings were definitely one of your favourite times to stream. Of course, you loved staying up into the early hours of the morning only kept awake by the energy drinks running through your veins and the screaming of your friends over your headset, but nothing could beat the sweet simplicity of waking up with your watchers. It was always so calm, your anxiety levels at a low with the small audience building up slowly as more of them woke up. Reading those good morning messages saying that you helped to start their day off on a good foot— nothing would beat that.

The only downside to these scheduled morning streams was having to tear yourself away from the cozy warmth of your bed, especially if there was a certain someone blanketed over you silently persuading you to stay there forever. It was always a rare sight, bruised eyes sealed shut, long eyelashes kissing pale cheeks as small snores escaped from slightly parted lips. Glancing down at the messy black mop that rested on top of your chest, you sighed softly. You knew he’d only been asleep for a few hours, if that, thinking back to the night before where you crawled into bed alone after kissing him goodnight before leaving him to finish editing for his latest video. He worked too hard, but despite you reminding him this every single time he stayed up into the dark hours of the night to finish his work, he always never seemed to be satisfied. Most of the time you were able to coax him from the stuffy confines of his gaming office, bribing him with sweet kisses and promises of cuddles; when he was in the zone, though, nothing could steer his sore eyes away from the monitor. So with a sweet kiss goodnight, you’d make your way to the bedroom, falling asleep to the faint click-clacks of his keyboard.

It was funny how different you were in that aspect. You always loved mornings, the sun shining through the blinds always brought a smile to your face holding the promise of a bright day ahead. It felt good to never be in a rush, to enjoy the still air, and watch the world around you wake up as people settled into their daily routines. The day’s chaos always seemed to leak through into the dark of the night, but in the morning everything felt new and refreshed; the perfect new beginning to another chapter in the story of your life. Though, allowing yourself the guilty pleasure of staying in bed tangled together with your favourite person every so often wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Okay, maybe it was almost every day.

But who could say no when those strong arms encased you so perfectly, holding you so close you couldn’t figure out where you ended and where he started? Who could say no to his warm skin pressed against your own, the weight of his body grounding you as you pulled yourself from the darkness of sleep? Who could say no to being able to study his face up close, running your fingertip ever so lightly along the curve of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the apples of his cheekbones, watching his eyelids flutter as he stirred softly in his sleep? Who could say no to the pillow talk you shared once those pretty eyes opened, the deep grumble of his morning voice that prickled goosebumps over your skin as he muttered those 3 sweet little words?

Definitely not you.

Well, not often anyway.

Reluctantly pulling your gaze away from the sweet face resting on your chest, you glanced over to the alarm clock on the nightstand. Red numbers reading 9:37 AM that seemed to be glaring back at you pushed any thought of indulging in your morning pleasures straight from your mind. You’d need to be live in 20 minutes. Puffing another sigh from your lips you slowly worked your way out from underneath your personal weighted blanket, trying your best to maneuver him softly onto the pillows to not wake him. Of course, you’d never be that lucky. Hissing through your teeth as your feet hit the icy top of the hardwood floor, you whipped your head around as a warm hand encased your wrist in a loose grip. Beneath messy bed head that could barely be seen from underneath the comforter that you had pulled back on top of him, you see the glimpse of tired eyes clouded with confusion peering out from underneath.

“Angel?” The deep grumble muttered underneath his breath almost made you throw all your plans to the wind and crawl right back into the fluffy clouds you longed to once again get lost in. Huffing out a sigh you slowly turned around, pulling your hand from his grasp only to bury it in the dark locks buried among the pillows. You leaned down softly, pushing your hands through his hair to reveal soft pleading eyes staring back at you, doing nothing but making your heart ache for having to leave so soon. Trancing your thumb along his eyebrow to try and smooth the small furrow that had made its home between them, you sighed softly.

“It’s Thursday, gotta stream puppy.” You watched as a small flash of recognition passed across his bleary eyes, a puff escaping his lips from under the comforter as you watched his chest fall slightly. Pulling his head up from the comforter, you smiled as you felt chapped lips press a small kiss to the inside of your wrist in understanding. Allowing yourself a bit of fun you leaned down pressing your lips to his briefly, giggling softly as a whine escaped his mouth as you pulled away. “Promise I won’t be long, I’ll be back before you even have time to miss me.”

“Too late for that.”

>>>

Smiling as you glanced up at your monitor that held your live chat, you watched as your viewers lost it with your threat to an animated shopkeeper. Times like this are what remind you of how grateful you are to your subscribers, they were practically family at this point and you felt you couldn’t be luckier to have such genuine, warm-hearted people that wanted to watch; even when you were cussing out characters that did nothing to you. You were laughing as you read some of the chat replies out loud when you saw your phone light up with a text from where it was sitting on your desk. Excusing yourself for a moment from the stream you grabbed your phone seeing a message from Corpse. 

Corpsie💞💞: did you order coffee? someone knocked on the door and there’s a paper bag on the step

Cursing to yourself quietly for forgetting, you answered him quickly saying that you just needed to cut to a break on stream and you’d be out in a minute to grab it. He was wary of even opening the front door these days, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him. The last time you had driven out to pick up whatever was sent into his P.O. Box, there were people waiting outside the building. When you went inside to grab everything, you asked the teller what exactly they were waiting for, to which he told you that they were hoping to catch a glimpse of this faceless internet star as this is where he’d go to get his mail. You don’t think you’ve ever walked faster to your car— trying your best to not grab their attention though your body was shaking with adrenaline, knowing they might’ve seen him while he was waiting there for you. Practically throwing open the driver's door, you tossed everything haphazardly into the back seat, telling Corpse to pull up his hood and mask as you started the car and peeled out of there. That was the last time he left the house.

You sighed, dropping your phone back on your desk as well as the switch that had been sitting in your lap, beginning to explain that you needed a quick break to get your coffee and starting to click through the settings to set up your break screen when you saw your phone light up again.

Corpsie💞💞: nah don’t worry i got it

You barely had time to sit back in your chair as you stared at your phone in disbelief before there was a soft knocking on your office door. 

“Just kidding guys, apparently we have a kind guest who’s bringing it to me instead.”

Corpse hearing your voice from behind the door, it swung open to reveal your mop-headed lover sporting his cute plaid pyjama pants and yesterday’s hoodie as he held your coffees and bag in his hand. You grinned to yourself, moving out of the frame of the webcam as you reached out to grab everything, placing it on your desk before turning back to him with a wide smile. Reaching back for his hand, you pulled it down toward you, his body following as your other hand reached up to bury itself in his bedhead. You leaned forward and pressed a small peck onto his lips, mumbling a soft thank you against them as you kissed him once more. While this may have looked like the most simple gesture you knew how difficult it must have been for him, almost wanting to cry at how sweet he was to go to those lengths to do something a little special for you. As you pulled away, you smiled as his face mirrored yours, those soft rosy lips pulled into the sweetest grin you’d ever seen. Resting his forehead against yours, he mumbled back a small “anything for you princess,” the deep rumble of his morning voice sending a chill up your spine as you leaned forward again to steal another sweet kiss. Finally pulling away from you he stood up to his full height, a yawn escaping his mouth; though as he looked back toward the door you could sense his hesitation and grinned widely up at him.

“Do you wanna sit with me for a bit? I can just turn off the camera.” Giggling softly, you watched his head practically whip back toward you nodding a yes as he squeezed your hand, still intertwined with his. Reluctantly pulling it from his grasp, you pulled yourself back toward your monitors as you began to click through your stream settings. 

“Well, your favourite guest has decided to grace us with his presence for a little so I’m gonna have to turn off face-cam, but I don’t think you guys will have a problem with that.” You laughed out, watching as your chat began to surge with messages about him. Making sure there was no way you could accidentally turn on the webcam again, you gestured him over to you starting to stand from your chair to grab the other one sitting in the corner of the office when a hand grasped yours, a strong tug pulling you completely off it with; a small yelp escaped your lips as you fell clumsily into your boyfriend's chest. You could hear his laugh from above you as he maneuvered you around in his arms before falling back onto your chair and pulling you into his lap, his face burying itself into the crook of your neck where you could feel that smug grin that was surely painted on his face. With his arms wrapped around you completely, holding you securely to his chest you knew you weren’t going anywhere. Looking up at the chat a laugh was pulled from your lips as your watchers conspired against you, message after message accusing you of doing something unspeakable behind the camera as being the reason you turned it off.

“Guys, literally nothing is happening.” You laughed out, watching as the chat passed so fast you couldn’t even read a full sentence. “Corpse just decided he wanted to share a chair instead of getting his own.”

“Yeah, my bad.” With no trace of any remorse in his monotone answer, another laugh escaped from your lips. Leaning forward to grab your switch and actually start playing again, you settled back into Corpse’s lap knowing this is exactly where you wanted to be. You were only a few minutes back into the game, Corpse and you occasionally reading out some live chat comments excited about his surprise appearance as viewers slowly climbed— his own watchers joining to watch the stream, when he inevitably started to fuck with you. A chill snaked up your spine as you began to feel small kisses trailing up your neck, you should’ve known this was one of the reasons he wanted to have you in his lap— it was easier to get your attention this way. You could feel that smug little smile drift back onto his face as he heard your voice start to shake slightly; at those moments he’d pull away and start replying to messages before turning back and starting all over again. It was the fourth time he began to press those soft lips to the base of your throat when you shrugged him off and shoved the breakfast sandwich you were snacking on into his face.

“Okay, if you want to share a chair you’re gonna have to behave.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry baby, sorry.” Corpse laughed out, voice muffled from behind the sandwich; taking a bite of it and placing it back in front of you, his chest still shaking with laughter. Deciding to hook his chin over your shoulder instead, he went back to watching the live chat, chatting and answering questions— that is before he came across a certain comment that had him furrowing his brows in confusion.

“What’s this about you folding Tom Nook like a panini?”

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