#shit it's late but I needed to write this down

[inmoonsblood]

lover : percy jackson

book percy jackson. unspecified godly parent!reader. takes place around two years post trials of apollo. both of them are in college. 815 words.

synopsis: "like hell! the only one who can get me away from you right now is my mom." ; ft; late night rain dancing, taylor swift playing, warm towels and a shit ton of kisses from your second favourite person in the whole wide world.

note: repost 1 from my old account! i love this fic so so much, but i need to heavily stress that this (and all my percy fics) are for book percy, (17-18 year old) i don't write for show percy as of now. an old fic written before the show came out, so please, be nice to me, directly reposted from @the-ink-of-roses incase you've read it before!

percy's hands slip around your waist, your back to his chest, as he picks you up and gently sways the two of you to the beat of 'love story' by taylor swift while he hums the lyrics under his breath.

he tugs you closer and presses a kiss to your cheek and jaw, resting his head on your shoulder later. you giggle when he does that, turning your head slightly to kiss his forehead.

the playlist probably ran out ages ago, now you two are staying afloat purely on the will of the spotify lords and their music choice, but as long as it's a song that either you or percy know, it works.

(anything works, to be honest, just as long as percy's here, behind you, holding you like you're the one thing he never wants to lose. as long as you have that, you know you've won. as long as percy jackson holds your hand and kisses your cheeks, gods, you'll take anything.)

new rome is fun, it keeps life interesting in a way that doesn't risk you, him and annabeth going out on quests--and annabeth having to mock throw up every time you two kiss even if you know she's just as terrified as you two.

swords and running from medusa's sisters (or medusa sometimes. yeah aunty em was NOT happy last time you met her, apparently she still remembered the store circus thing even if it was more than seven years ago) were replaced with chasing deadlines and seeing how many energy drinks you guys can stomach.

you're in new york right now, staying at sally's (when she learnt you were going to spend the holidays in new rome, she demanded her son get you home. no way in hell is estelle's favourite person going to stay alone for the holidays), and like the two very smart heroes of olympus you two are, you're out here dancing in the rain.

it's a little silly, yeah, but in your absolute defence, this started out as percy trying to teach you how to skateboard before the rain, and neither of you are going to let that ruin a date for you (by extension let zeus ruin another date for you, even if this isn't aimed at you--probably not aimed at you), so you two made the best of both worlds, thanking the gods the speaker piper got for you is waterproof. (in hindsight, percy is also waterproof, he just likes this better. despite the inevitable cold coming in soon for both of you).

with one last strike of thunder, the rain slowly dies down, leaving you and him in the park as the spotify lords finally give up on you two.

percy drops you suddenly and you have only two seconds to squeal in absolute surprise before you're turned around to face him this time. he's grinning at you with a look of absolute mischief--you're sure connor and travis had the exact same look before they shoved you into the pool last time you guys visited camp half blood. of course, percy was in there but something tells you that was their goal.

he looks so pretty you could cry.

and this pure boy, who smiles secretly to you, looks at you like you're the one at the centre of his universe, the one who holds your heart. this same boy has given you his, asking only for your love in return, something you're more than happy to give him.

before you can ask him what he's up to, percy suddenly shakes his hair, causing all the water to fly everywhere, including on you.

you almost yell in surprise but with a small chuckle bite back. doing the same, as both of you laugh while shaking your heads to have the water droplets go around everywhere.

it's probably a weird sight to watch--two teenagers, drenched in water, shaking their heads like there's no tomorrow while holding each other, but you don't really give four fucks.

once your head starts hurting, you stop and cup percy's face, getting him to stop as well. your other hand slides into his hair, messing it up further as the hand on his face guides him for a kiss.

he lifts you up again and twirls you--no doubt to get another laugh out of you--before setting you down.

percy doesn't let go of your hand either, not when you pick up your stuff and head to sally's (your current favourite person in the world), not while the two of you are lectured by her on colds coughs and fevers in this weather, not even when warm towels are given to the two of you.

not even when you two keep sneezing the next day to no one's surprise.

[ouiouimochi]

Simpmas day 1

pairing/s: jin kamurai x reader

wc: 700

warning/s: no beta we die like zenji, short, characters may be ooc, no thoughts head empty when making this, wonky phone format

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙

On the 1st day of simpmas, my true love gave to me

“Why is my name on this snowman? Tohma, give me your gloves. Whichever half-wit made this has shit for eyes.”

“That would seem unwise, Captain” Tohma voiced, concealing a glint of mirth in his eyes by closing them accompanied by his signature smile.

Jin crossed his arms, waiting for the other male to follow his order until his vice captain eventually slipped off his gloves. The silver haired male wore one glove on his dominant hand before tracing a finger over his name on the snowman, erasing it in the process as well as leaving an awkward looking crevice on the surface of the snowman.

After removing the glove and throwing it back to Tohma, both of them proceeded inside Frostheim without a word.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Crunching of snow accompanied your humming while on the way to the Frostheim house, mood elevated for today. You immediately went for the main entrance, already used to being called over on a certain grumpy man’s whims.

Your eyes then turned to the area of snow you played with Luca and Kaito on, smiling fondly at the fun memory…

Laughter filled the air after a few thrown snowballs. You three eventually settled for making snowmen.

Left to your own devices, you finished yours— it looked like it was frowning. With a giggle, a certain someone immediately came to mind and you start to unconsciously write his name on the body of your work. You stood up with a fond smile, proud of your masterpiece—

You then stopped on your tracks when you noticed something wrong with the cute snowman you made with your friends. Eyebrows scrunched, albeit a little upset.

‘Whoever tampered with my work is quite the busybody’

With your mood a bit flipped over, you walked into the giant castle.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

“Oi, servant. Your mood seems to be more down than usual. It's fucking ruining my tea.”

You gathered up the documents on the coffee table, compiling them together into a neat stack. You sighed.

“Someone ruined a work of mine.” You actually don't know why you answered when he wasn't even asking. Perhaps your ruined mood did the talking for you.

“Hmn? Do you know who did it?” He spoke gruffly. Despite the unbothered tone he put on, you were already quite familiar with the way Jin talked and acted.

He cared— not that he'd admit it— and he'd reason out that no one should bother “his favorite servant”. Although after thinking about it some more, he sometimes went over the top…

You shook your head, waving off his question. Who knew what he'd do to the poor perpetrator if he were to find out. You felt silly now for being upset over a small thing that can't even be called an issue.

“I- Nevermind that, it wasn't that important anyways.”

You took another stack of papers, sifting and scanning through them, before neatly compiling them yet again. Your eyes met his and you found that it was already staring at your form the whole time.

Standing up, you took the papers you needed to hand to Cornelius.

“I believe it's my cue to take my leave now, Jin.” You awaited his response as if asking permission to go out.

He clicks his tongue and takes a whiff out of a cigarette. With a puff of smoke and slouching into the sofa, he finally spoke.

“Do what you want.”

You smiled at him, doing a small bow before turning on your heels.

“Please do take care, it has started becoming colder as of late.”

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

“Tohma, you damned rat. You knew all along and didn't fucking stop me.” Jin’s eyebrows were deeply furrowed, his mouth into a scowl.

“I believe I did warn you that it was unwise, Captain.” Tohma's annoyingly matter-of-fact voice reached the silver-haired male’s ears

After summoning the busy vice captain to his quarters in order to investigate what got you so down, Jin was only met with the other ghoul’s irritating snicker as he revealed that the Captain himself was the one involved in the said incident.

He pinches his nose, clicking his tongue again.

“Go fucking send her this then.”

“Should I include in the letter that you're sorry for calling her a half-wit with shit for eyes?��

“You got a damned death wish?”

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Later that evening, you received a package containing a delicate snow globe that had a polar bear and brown cat inside.

You had an inkling of an idea who sent it— perhaps you'd have to mentally apologize for calling him a busybody.

'Maybe the snowman was actually ugly'

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙

note/s: soo I'm participating in the simpmas event, courtesy of @justwinginglife , where I post a fic for a diff character (that I simp for) each day until the 25th. Hopefully I'll be able to commit to finishing the event— I cannot promise that the ones I post are gonna be complete either. Do expect short fics instead of the fleshed out ones. I do apologize for my inactivity, uni has absolutely been destroying me

lastly, even though it was jin's fault for erasing his name on that snowman i made for him— I'd 100% agree with him and say it isn't his fault character apologist anything could be his fault but I'd gaslight everyone to think it was their fault instead

taglist: @ryescapades , @minasfwoopyponytail + anyone else who wants to be added!

[badkitty3000]

Will you do Five ruining his siblings' dates? Not like actual restaurant dates but like Viktor has a girl over and Five appears out of thin air and is being himself. Just a funny fic.

This is so funny and I can totally picture him doing this. 😂 I don't know if I can write a full fic about it, but here is a little drabble I guess.

Viktor is sitting on the couch with his latest date, a girl he had met and hit it off with earlier in the evening. He was really hoping to seal the deal by bringing her back to the academy. As he is leaning in for a kiss, his arm around the girl, there is a sudden flash of light and Five appears directly in front of them. The date screams and Viktor pulls away. Giving Five a scowl, he throws his arms in the air.

"Five, what the hell?"

But Five is already on his way to the kitchen, either oblivious to his interruption, or just not giving a shit. "Coffee," he says, as way of an explanation, not looking back.

"Why didn't you blink into the kitchen then?" Viktor calls after him.

"Miscalculation!" Five yells back.

With a roll of his eyes, Viktor turns back to his date. "Sorry. That's just my idiot brother. Don't pay him any attention." He leans in for a kiss again. "Now where were we?"

Suddenly, coming from the kitchen, they hear loud clanging of cups and utensils as Five is rummaging around in the cabinets, then a sharp “Fuck!” when something drops on the floor with a resounding bang. Soon after, there is the distinct whir of coffee beans being ground. Five starts humming “The Gambler” to himself while continuing to unintentionally cock block his brother in the other room.

"For fucks sake..." Viktor groans before telling his date he'll be right back. He enters the kitchen and finds Five at the table, still humming while flipping through a newspaper, waiting for his coffee to brew.

"What are you doing?" Viktor asks, leaning towards Five with his hands on the table.

Five looks up from his paper. "Making coffee."

Viktor sighs. "Yeah, I got that. But why are you doing it now?"

Five's eyebrows crease together. "Because I want to drink it. Why the fuck else would I be making it?"

"Well, can you at least be quieter? You nearly gave my date a heart attack by blinking in here and now you're killing the mood!"

Five rolls his eyes. "What's the mood? Gothic family trauma? Why don't you give her a tour of Dad's animal head collection? Really spice things up."

"Five!" Viktor yells, slamming his hands on the table.

"Fine...Jesus...I'll be quieter," Five mumbles, going back to his paper.

"Thank you," Viktor says before stalking back out to the living room.

A few minutes later, while Viktor and his date are mid-make out, Five comes waltzing in again, carrying his mug of freshly hot coffee and nonchalantly standing in front of them until his brother looks up with a murderous glare.

"What now?"

"Are you sitting on the remote?" Five asks.

"What...the...what the fuck are you talking about?" Viktor stammers through clenched teeth as his date look around for an easy exit.

"The remote. I need it to watch Jeopardy. It's the tournament of champions."

"Five!" Viktor yells again.

"You know what...I think I'm going to go. It's getting late," his date says, standing up and moving gingerly past Five. "Thanks for a great time...I'll...um...call you."

Once the girl heads to the door, Five looks down where she had been sitting. "See? You were sitting on it." He picks up the remote and casually sits down in the same spot Viktor's date had been occupying. Viktor is still staring at him in complete awe as Five switches on the TV and take a sip of coffee.

Viktor's mouth drops open to say something, but what is there to say? It's Five being Five. And maybe that date wasn't so hot after all. So instead, he just settles back with his arms crossed over his chest to watch Jeopardy with his old man brother.

"Twenty bucks says I smoke you in the Endangered Species category," Viktor challenges.

Five looks over with a smirk. "You're on."

[redux-iterum]

Sometimes I just have to reread and reread and take in how you’ve written Fireheart because it’s just so…

He’s just so good. So genuinely and unceasingly good. He cares so much and more than that he’s wise. Sometimes a character will say something and I go ‘there’s no way to comfort someone about this’ and then five minutes after that Fireheart says something wise that makes me rethink some shit that I, a real life human, am doing. Which is hard! This is harder to write convincingly than a strong character, because a character like Fireheart whose greatest strength is his heart HAS to follow through. And he has to be genuinely emotionally intelligent in a way that can’t just be, like, told. It has to be shown. And you manage to show that to us flawlessly, constantly, and consistently.

Like, man. No wonder everyone loves this guy. I love this guy. Absolute favorite version of Fireheart that I have EVER read.

Also, follow-up, Cloudpaw’s situation. You managed to make it not kind of infuriating, you found a reason for what he was doing that honestly broke my heart, and you did it all so naturally I’m still reeling over it. And then you managed to have Fireheart make an argument so convincing without contradicting the beliefs that he already has (ie: he’s not a xenophobe) and it just. Man. I hadn’t even thought of come of that stuff. I’ll be honest, I remember reading the original series and thinking it was morally neutral for Cloudpaw to go eat kittypet food, and now I’m rethinking it!

It IS rude to steal food. It IS rude to feed yourself in a way you can’t share with the people you love who are in constant threat of starvation. I always thought of it as a practical way to feed himself that didn’t take from his clanmates but…it isn’t fair, is it? It’s not fair at all for him to do that. Most of the argument in the original series felt like ‘OTHER CULTURE BAD AND WRONG AND YOU WRONG FOR PART IN IT’ and it made me kind of side with Cloudpaw out of sheer spite. But this is so much better! Actual arguments! And REASONS! That make sense for why these kitty people are doing what they do and thinking how they think!

We always say the Erins were two steps to the left of greatness with these battlecats. I think they were actually two miles away, because they have never provided the characterization they need. I think they were two miles away because the premise is great, sure, and they can handle plot but they are incapable of making these cats feel like the people they are. The Warriors Clans in the original never felt like a community because every individual never felt like a living person and I think that’s a problem much farther than two steps away from greatness.

Anyways, all of this is to say: You’re doing great work and thank you for this latest update! I’ve been trying to comment more lately :D Share thoughts and stuff.

I absolutely adore these long, analytical asks. Thank you for this, and for so many compliments!

Fireheart is such a fun little guy to write specifically for his goodness, and how everyone around him interacts with that. It's not often that I get to handle a character as dedicated to compassion and love as him. His entire being is based around "I care" - that's something even his mother doesn't have, and she's the matriarch. There are a couple unique challenges to this that'll come along in the future, so I won't say anything here, but I am very interested to see how you feel about one of the last chapters in this book.

As for Cloudpaw, thank GOD I avoided the annoying aspect of it. His behavior and subplot in the books aggravated me to no end for a variety of reasons that I won't get into here, so I put a lot of work into justifying why he would do that in this version. With Fireheart's explanation of why stealing kittypet food is wrong, as well, I remember sitting down for a long moment with myself and slowly knitting together exactly why Fireheart would not approve of humoring kittypet stuff like that, when he's got the most understanding of that life out of anyone in the Clans. The fairness struck me, and that was his reason. The Clans definitely refuse wet food out of pride and discrimination first and foremost, and don't bother explaining it to kits beyond that, but if someone overheard Fireheart talking to Cloudpaw, they'd snap their fingers, point at him and go, "Exactly! Yes! That!" He managed to put into words a concept that the Clans subconsciously understand but don't really analyze to themselves.

For the Erins: honestly, yes, I agree. I could go on for YEARS about the characterizations and lack thereof in the books (someone remind me to rant about that at some point), and how much of the story could be so much greater and more natural if everyone had a consistent, present personality. And, honestly, that's what was the most wrong about the original Redux - no personalities for anyone. I spend a LOT of time stewing over the characters of everyone written in Iterum to make up for that. It brings me great joy to hear that my work has paid off!

[fanaticsnail]

Hey Snail, I was curious. Who's your favorite OP character? I always assumed it was Law and I'm not exactly sure why?? Hope you're feeling ok today! :)

I'm not stressed about this question at all. Nuh uh. Who me? No way. There are so many ways I can answer this and I'm just screaming.

The short answer:

Rosinante Corazon / Heat are tied for an equal first. (There are more, but these two stuck out this morning)

The long, lord of the rings extended edition unstoppable marathon answer:

I love the complexities of Law as a character, which is primarily why I made my original character a Heart Pirate. He's just a little shit, and watching Dressrosa, and even in Sabaody when I first met him as a character, he just seems like the right amount of serious mixed with fun that I love. Law is a Wednesday Adams to Tobiuo's Pugsley or Enid - just friends that would die for one another. He needed her, I think. Their friendship is weapon (Tobiuo) x wielder (Law) and she is more loyal to him than he probably knows. This is likely why you assumed he was my favourite, which he is up there and I love writing for him. The heart pirates too. I should write for Jean Bart one day - love that man.

Then there are the Kid Pirates. I love these guys. A crew of over thirty, surviving in a lawless upbringing, their undying loyalty to their feral captain, the really cool devil fruit power - and there's Heat. There is no explanation for his powers other than he has them. It's not a devil fruit, it's just something he can do. Sullen and sunken features, scarred lips, the fact he is a little kinder than the majority of them - and that he was a rival gang leader who chose to serve Kid to help him raise retribution for his beloved Victoria. I love the rapport, the ship design, the silliness between them and the other two Supanovas - they just make me really happy.

And then there's the tall, undercover marine, spy, double agent, silent, lanky, painted, clown-man in a burgundy hat. Between Rosinante and Doflamingo, it's hard to choose who I love more. I adore Doflamingo as an enemy. His rich past and complex history makes me all heart-clenched because I see so much pain in such a small person. Everything was ripped away from him, so he clawed tooth and nail to get back what he believed was rightfully taken.

But Rosinante had the same past. He could've gone with Doflamingo back then, but he didn't. He could've chosen a life of cruelty to get back on the people who wronged him, but he didn't. He could've chosen to live out a simple life as a civilian fisherman if he wanted, but he didn't. He became a marine, hellbent on ensuring his brother didn't get too out of hand and to take down criminal empires from the inside. And Law changed so much for him. In Doflamingo, he saw death. In a poor, sickly child on the same path as his brother - he saw a second chance to refute the repetition of history. I love him as a character, and he is just gorgeous.

Hoboy, wasn't that a long answer.

I could've gone longer and longer, but I decided to stop myself. These are all just my opinions and personal analysis of the characters. I love them all - but these are ethe two that roll in my head like two stones in the bottom of a sock.

I love this question, thank you so much, Merry. I adore you 🖤🖤🖤. And I am doing wonderfully - just chipping away rather slowly at fics lately due to the season of gift giving being upon us. That, and the chicks are yet to hatch and I'm getting all giddy at baby chickens at Christmas.

[never-enough-books-ever]

Mine and only

Avery x Jameson

A/n: I will tell you guys beforehand that I'm writing after a veryyyy long time and I have never written between charecters so this is gonna be absolute shit so heed all warnings. I had this idea for god knows how long and today was finally my day off so I wanted to get it down with🙏🙏

ALL COMMENTS, REBLOGS AND LIKES ARE APPRECIATED

Guys pls tell me what you think I'm scared

Tags: im just tagging random people I accidentally deleted my taglist so if you want to be removed or added pls let me know

@x-liv25-jamieswife @f4iry-bell @wish-i-were-heather @lanterns-and-daydreams @reminiscentreader @lyra-kane @jkriordanverse @shuhuaspookie @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable @nonerrata-myarchives @thelov3lybookworm

Avery pov

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Jameson asked suddenly, breaking me out of my thought process. I was looking at him like that because I was realising how much in love I was with him but he didn't need to know that. It would inflate his ego far too much

“Nothing. I just spaced out” I tell him. We were planning the riddles and the next games of the grandest game together when I just spaced out. I was thinking of a way to surprise him because he had been too restless lately, more so than usual.

Jameson had been tapping a pen against the table, a rhythm too quick to be casual, his restless energy filling the room. He didn’t notice when Nash strolled in, humming Lover under his breath, but I did. It was an innocent enough moment—Nash probably didn’t realize he’d just handed me the perfect idea.

Jameson needed a distraction, something out of the ordinary, and I had just the idea.

“Back in five,” I told him, standing abruptly.

Jameson tilted his head, his sharp green eyes narrowing in curiosity. “And here I thought we were deep in the throes of game planning.”

“We are,” I said, grabbing my phone as I walked out. “I just had an epiphany.”

I didn’t give him a chance to ask more questions, slipping into the hallway and shooting a quick message to Xander:

Need your help. Candlelight dinner. Karaoke. Don’t ask. Just be discreet

The reply came almost instantly:

I live for this level of chaos. Consider me in. Do we need fire extinguishers?

Hopefully not. But, knowing us, maybe bring one.

Xander: I’ll bring 2:)

With Xander on board, I got to work. The kitchen staff didn’t bat an eye when I asked for their help setting up a private candlelit dinner in one of Hawthorne House’s more intimate dining rooms.

By the time everything was ready, the dining room glowed with a golden light, candles flickering across the pristine tablecloth. The theater room, just down the hall, waited for its big moment.

Now came the tricky part: getting Jameson there without ruining the surprise.

I found him exactly where I’d left him, still flipping through a notebook of potential riddles for the Grandest Game. His knee was bouncing slightly—a telltale sign of his restlessness.

“Come with me,” I said, leaning against the doorframe.

He glanced up, his brow quirking in suspicion. “Where to?”

“You’ll see.”

“Do I need to solve a puzzle first?” he asked, his grin teasing but curious.

“Not this time,” I replied, offering him my hand. “Just trust me.”

He stood, his gaze flickering with intrigue, and took my hand without hesitation. I led him through the hallways, my heart pounding with equal parts excitement and nerves. Jameson was a master at unraveling surprises—would he figure it out before we even got there?

The moment we entered the candlelit dining room, he stopped short. His eyes swept over the table, the soft glow of the candles reflected in his pupils.

“Avery,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent. “What is this?”

“A distraction,” I admitted. “You’ve been restless lately, and I thought…” I trailed off, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze.

He turned to me, his expression unreadable. “You thought what?”

“That you could use a break,” I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “A little fun. No riddles, no games. Just… this, us.”

“It’s perfect,” he said softly, while smiling.

Dinner was a quiet affair, filled with easy conversation and the occasional teasing remark from Jameson, but there was an undercurrent of anticipation. He didn’t know about the next part yet, and I couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

After the last of the dishes had been cleared, I stood and offered him my hand again. “We’re not done.”

“There’s more?” His grin was back, sharp and eager. “You’re spoiling me, Heiress.”

I led him down the hall to the theater room, pushing the door open with a flourish. The soft glow of the LED stars greeted us, and Jameson’s eyes lit up as he took in the karaoke setup.

“Karaoke?” he said, his tone somewhere between surprise and delight. “Avery Kylie Grambs, You’re full of surprises tonight.”

“Not just any karaoke,” I clarified, motioning for him to sit on the oversized couch positioned perfectly in front of the makeshift stage. “This one’s for you.”

Before he could process what I meant, I grabbed the microphone, queued up the song, and stepped into the spotlight.

The piano intro to Taylor Swift’s “London Boy” began to play. Jameson leaned forward, his lips parting in disbelief as my voice filled the room.

“I love my London boy…”

I couldn’t help but grin at his reaction. He looked equal parts amused and astonished, his trademark smirk softening into something warmer, something unguarded.

As I sang, I poured everything into the performance—every playful tease, every bit of affection I couldn’t quite put into words. I twirled, I gestured, and I even managed a wink that made Jameson chuckle out loud.

“Oh, I fancy you…”

As the song went on, I felt myself relax, reveling in the way Jameson watched me, his gaze never wavering. When the final line faded into silence, I let the microphone drop to my side, my heart pounding.

Jameson stood and crossed the room in a few swift strides. “That,” he said, his voice low and filled with something I couldn’t quite place, “was the most ridiculous, over-the-top, utterly perfect thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Even better than your puzzles?” I teased, trying to mask my nerves.

He didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he stepped closer, his hand brushing mine. “Thank you,” he said, his tone soft and sincere. “For knowing exactly what I needed, even when I didn’t.”

I smiled up at him, feeling a warmth spread through me. “You’re welcome, Hawthorne. Now, are you going to sing, or am I the only one embarrassing myself tonight?”

“Oh, Heiress.” His grin returned, mischievous and full of life. “You should know by now—I never back down from a challenge.”

And just like that, Jameson Winchester Hawthorne grabbed the microphone, ready to turn the night into a duet of chaos and laughter.

[helplessautomaton]

its you, youre all i see

y!daisuke x reader

wc, 853

writing this as i eat my beef bone broth ramen and listening to Queen

going off my word vomits, somewhat soft? everyone is mentioned

~

it'd been a week. yet the frustration and tiredness was setting in more heavily now. you tapped along whatever surface was available to you, something that wasnt so interruptive. daisuke wasnt here in the medical room with you, where you actually were needed. you were anya's intern but as of late you felt more like swansea's instead. you genuinely felt so bad for the woman, constantly being whisked off to a department you had little to none experience in. there's only so much of a branch she could offer towards your situation before getting fed up with it.

not to mention curly's frustrations with the situation at hand. god forbid if jimmy ever saw you, the man always managed to show up in the wrong place at the wrong time. getting more and more pissed off with you, to the point he almost put his hands on you. by some horrible place of giving credit where its due, you couldnt find yourself to blame him. before the extent of the situation got to be more, everyone thought your relationship with daisuke was cute. as long as it didnt interrupt work- now it feels thats all you ever did. you didnt want to pity yourself while proceeding not to do anything. obviously not wanting to be seen as a burden who stayed near only one person and couldnt do anything.

daisuke was so attached to your person, his million dollar smile refusing to extinguish when his arms were around your waist. you had your own little ray of sunshine by the hip, but eventually it began to burn. the two of you were getting constantly scolded by someone, even if you tried to explain to daisuke— you really needed to be helping anya right now. yet daisuke managed to make you stay just a bit longer and the cycle would repeat. there were times where you two were properly doing your separated tasks and the overall mood would lighten, apart from swansea complaining about daisuke. anya would relax and smile more towards you, curly looked like he didnt have a headache for most of the day, jimmy- jimmy was himself, couldnt have given less than a shit about him. these were times you didnt mind when daisuke stole you away, after shift when you both were doing your job separately.

yet, daisuke couldnt let you go for long, he'd start whining then run off to find you if swansea didnt force him to stick by his side. besides those moments, when hes with you he still feels the same as he was when you two first met. just always a little closer, letting you play with his hair or anything he was allowed to bring with. those were the times of normalcy where it didnt feel like everyone was on the edge of snapping at you two. both of you laughing at each other's jokes and getting along swimmingly. never failing to catch the stars in daisukes eyes whenever you were just there, in proximity to him. never mattered where you stood or sat, his eyes were wide open. somehow they only got wider when you praised him- even by a little bit. his too good smile radiating over to you as he held your hands in his.

daisuke always noticed your tiredness to some degree. genuinely concerned for you, slowing down to match your mood. he needed to be the one to cheer you up, in his mind no one else could do it as well as he did. you were aware of his inability to hand you over, even to your captain who might have needed you for something. in the back of your head, you understood why, he enjoyed your company like no else and he didnt want it to suddenly be cut off.

he always managed to some extent cheer you up, he made it hard to say no. some part of your brain was happy about that, he was your best friend after all. even if all the tension was caused by his need for you to be by him. his love was vibrant even if you thought he wasnt really in touch with it. he was just all over you and there was truth to say it was overwhelming but some part of you didnt mind. yet you had to stay reasonable and not let it consume you, you had a job to do.

you were quickly pulled away from your thoughts by anya, completely forgetting where you were. she gave you a concerned smile before stating that she had no idea you were in here waiting for her. giving a nervous laugh you apologized for being in your own head and not coming to find her first. just at this point hoping you get to stay doing your intended task and spending time bonding with someone different. hopefully you could find a balance with daisuke so this could all work out in some capacity.

[lea-sbian]

Currently no context but I have a vision and I must create

[randomwriteronline]

Bionicle and Plato's Cave: Mata Nui help us Random has been thinking again

HI. MY BRAIN HAS ONCE AGAIN BEEN SCRAMBLED. WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING.

A thing about stories is that there aren't really fully, one-hundred percent original ones. This is not a bad thing, it just happens.

Stories keep repeating one another whether we like it or not, maintaining their own identities through a variety of changes, and Bionicle repeats many, many stories within itself: you've got Polynesian mythos, fantasy epics, dystopian fiction, cosmic horrors, torahic and/or biblical episodes, a subversion of Pinocchio, an Odissey cut short... The works. I'm half certain one would manage to fit some parts of the Divine Comedy in there, probably.

But speaking of deeply allegorical works, the Organic Annal is that too - specifically bearing a resemblance to one of Greek philosopher Plato's most famous allegorical myths, that of the cave.

For those who do not know it, please have a simplistic bastardized version of its first half, which is the most relevant in this case:

A group of men have been, since birth, shackled within the deepest recesses of a cave. They are sat facing a wall upon which a fire casts the shadows of figurines (a tree, a donkey, a vase, etc) placed before it: this is all they've ever known, what they perceive to be reality. Imagine, then, that one of these prisoners manages to free themself from their restraints, and for the first time looks back. Thus they discover the figurines, the fire, and the lie they thought was truth; and though it would be easy to consider these new idols the "true" reality, the prisoner looks past them and sees that the cave stretches forward. As such they crawl through it until they reach the outside world: the sunlight forces their eyes down as they are not used to it yet, and their first taste of this new environment is a reflection in a puddle, or maybe a lake, wobbly and not quite clear. Only when they've accustomed to the Sun they can raise their head and properly discover the real world.

The myth of the cave is an allegory for the philosopher's quest in search of true knowledge, which resides not in the imperfect physical world, but in the perfect metaphysical realm of ideas.

This is not, necessarily, the allegory I believe the Innard Scoresheet represents.

The Biological Chronicle is, to me, a story about stories. About making stories, about being swept in the flow of a story, about recreating ourselves in stories over and over and over again.

I promise it will probably make more sense later.

But back to the point: the myth and the Flesh Record follow a similar structure and have a similar message. That is the thesis of this post until I inevitably get derailed again. Let's look at that.

In applying the steps (shadow, copy, reflection, reality) of the philosopher's journey towards enlightenment to the Meat Diaries, I'll do what Plato would bludgeon my head with a stick for and take them much more literally: the places described are physical ones, and the characters actively move between them. This is not because of any personal wish to specifically spite some dead Athenian fuck, but because that is literally what happens in the Entrail Annotations, whether through actual movement or changes of perspective.

The island of Mata Nui is of course the first step: shadows cast upon a cave wall.

There is a certain irony in this. Mata Nui shares the same allegorical location as the cave, yet physically is its complete opposite - an open space signaling the end of an enormous interconnected system of caves. The journey starts from the end. Great job everybody, we've found reality! This philosophy shit is easy.

But the island is still very much the cave. It looks prettier and livelier than the cave, but it's still a prison in which the Matoran have been confined with no chance of escaping; it's still cut off from the world at large, be it beneath it ir around it; it's still a place where beings who do not know any better blindly believe what is told to them. Only seven people know the truth (or what they believe to be the truth) and spin it in tales of shadow puppets: simplistic retellings full of gaps to fill with magic and terror and prophecies. The Turaga mean no harm - they had no way to know when or if they would have ever returned to Metru Nui, and it made no sense reminding the Matoran of a place they may end up agonizing to see without being able to - but it remains that Mata Nui is a cave, a prison of ignorance.

Things change after Mask of Light: shackles broken and door opened, the silver sea stretches before the Matoran and offers them a sight familiar yet different, more defined.

Metru Nui is the figurine, the copy held in front of the fire. It's the first introduction to the Matoran Universe proper, the first step towards the cave's exit. Here we see how the Matoran are supposed to work, how this sort of society is meant to function, and it... well, it sort of sucks the joy out of it, doesn't it? The soft edges of the figurine's shadow have been replaced by hard protodermis sides that leave no room to the imagination, letting us see the craftmanship clearly. And it's... it's kind of unpleasant. Kind of dull and mean and so... unmagical. I'd like the shadows again please. Those were nicer.

(Plato describes this exact happenstance in the philosopher's journey - upon seeing something closer to the truth one might feel repelled and want to return to simpler times. But we persevere. We must.)

Or perhaps this step is not Metru Nui itself, but the Turaga's recollection of it. The city they knew is now gone, abandoned to itself and rotting miserably alone for a thousand years, and yet they still cling to that pristine image their minds have sculpted for it, forgetting details, crafting imperfect copies of its reality: their own stories place it in a time before time, turn it as they say in a "city of legends", of great minds and a great hero and a strange tension pervading it that they might not consciously recognize. This is their basis for the stories they told, and they believe it to be the truth. It is not. The truth is deeper behind them.

The Matoran Universe as a whole is a reflection in the water. We've gotten out of that cave, but it's still too bright and our eyes can't adapt quickly enough: this will have to do for now.

But what is it a reflection of? A body? That's a given, since the whole thing is housed inside one. Yet this body does not behave like a body, its organs don't act like organs. They are landmarks and settlements, and there are species and parties involved in their own more or less treacherous businesses, and death is everywhere and seldom spares anybody, and evil isn't a singular incomprehensible thing but many perfectly identical pieces, and everything is happening all the time and I would like a break. Please. I can't handle all of this. It's too close to how everything already is. Let's go back to the figurines. They were worse than the shadows, but not to this extent. Please. I just don't want to see the bad guys win. I just don't want to see my friends die.

(Upon seeing something closer to the truth one might feel repelled and want to return to simpler times. But we persevere. We must.)

The Matoran Universe is a terrible place, but it's still far away. The edges are wobbly when the surface shifts: the stakes are universal in size, the rivalries are exaggerated, the situations are fantastical, the evil so terrible and terribly simple. It does what it does because it simply does it, and after all why else should it do it? In its increasing complexity it's still simple and sometimes a bit silly. It's still dolls that you can hold in your hand to make fly around.

As @sepublic mentions briefly here, Bara Magna is by contrast just so human. Before the big bombastic Rock-Em-Sock-Em Jumbo Edition ending and peeling away the sci-fi elements, these are stories of people trying to live. This is reality.

People are sleazy. People have priorities that not always include the well-being of other being put first. People are evil for reasons beyond just "power" or "money" or "why not". Strakk is a massive selfish bastard and also he is the one motherfucker who gets me because to be very honest I too would not want to wade through a desert crawling with quicksand and huge bat winged serpents and raptor riding marauders and spartans so bloodthirsty they don't even name their children until they make a new body count record without being paid well enough. Mata Nui's idealized honor makes him a complete anomaly because nobody is a prince in shining armor here. They're all covered in bones and doing their best not to start a war again.

Even his quest, despite what it entails and how solemnly he presents it and the information we as readers have (his identity as a usurped god exiled from his own body), is surprisingly real - in fact, his struggle is actually the same as Kiina's: both of them are strangers to the region suddenly separated from their people during a time of great strife and desperately wanting to reunite with them. The difference being that while Kiina had no chance to do such a thing, Mata Nui was built to fix both of their problems.

This is what the Matoran Universe is made in the image of. And while it very much deviated across time, the core of it remained the same: elemental tribes and variegated species caught in a dance of death, biting each other's tails endlessly.

This is the world the MU beings find once fully free. It's rough, but they've been through something like this before.

They'll handle it.

They always have.

That is the will of the Non-Mineral Journal.

Of Bionicle, the story-that-ended.

BUT.

Not necessarily of Bionicle, the story-that-does-not-end.

Now we are getting into "Random Experiences Getting The Brain Scrubbed By The Hard Back Of A Sponge And Makes It The Problem Of Everybody Listening To The Inane Yelling" territory. I'm talking walking into headcanon if not straight up just fanfiction territory. Possibly also sensible speculation but I don't know how to tell. Please do come smack me if you feel it is needed.

It's wild that Bionicle has managed to endure for what now (2024) are 23 years. The endless rebuildable possibilities intrinsic to being a LEGO product have certainly helped, but at the same time I really do feel like it wouldn't have held this strongly without its story.

I will admit I'm not a building kind of person. I had some ancient LEGO bricks when I was little and what I usually did with them was stacking them in a really tall line and try to keep it upright until they fell and scattered like lemmings booking it for a cliff. Getting into Bionicle would have never been possible for me had my dear beautiful friend @cantankerouscanuck not innocently dropped me links to Legends of Metru Nui, Web of Shadows, and the Crosswired Geeks website asking if I could have please considered skimming through it. This was back in september 2023. These pieces of plastic have been irreversibly fucking up my brain for nine months, and it was only possible because the plot and characters were written in a way that actively sunk its teeth into my skull and did an alligator death spin so potent that I'm still reeling from it, thinking about it.

I do think that's one of the main reasons why it's still going, why people still talk about it. It lives on through fans who still look at all the enormous potential left by the gaps and holes in the story and work on them, analyze them, make their own versions of them. So this second section is about that part of Bionicle, the story that just does not end, carried on by others.

So back to the point, what actually kickstarted this entire line of thought (the Squishy Note and the allegory of the cave are sort of the same lol) was a headcanon I have about the characters that have been actually missing from this analysis: the Great Beings.

You Know.

The Guys Who Kickstarted Every Single Thing, And Notably Continuously Did All Of It Wrong.

From my own prior knowledge I had understood that they are all Glatorian, and I just learned that they also were, apparently, given their incredible weird fucked up mental powers that made them into godly creatures by a space octopus.

I am going to take both pieces of information and discard them.

There is nothing necessarily wrong with them, except maybe coming from the leftest field available like a sack of granite to the face, but I feel like this kind of explanation for who and what they are isn't really satisfactory to me specifically. It does fit with the allegory of the cave still, technically - they are part of the real world, the ones who created every layer of detachment from it on purpose (somebody must have shackled those prisoners at the bottom of the cave, after all) and have managed to get to a higher level of reality still, following the platonic quest for knowledge into something that resembles the iperuranium, the perfect metaphysical world in which ideas reside.

But also... I'd like for there to be a limit to how higher we can go, you know? Into the cosmic horror? Because everything is cosmic horror in the Doctor's Report already. We live on a god's face. We live in a god's body. We are a god's cells. Our universe is a tiny manmade action figure in a larger universe. Our god is just a synthetic soul. The real older gods made it and sent it around to do their bidding. Also they're all gonna kill us when we figure out our universe is fake. Cosmic horror. Cosmic horror for miles. These are fucking LEGOs. Why is there so much existentialism in them.

So yeah, at the cost of sounding boring the psychic octopus from outer space might be a little bit too far for my personal tastes.

This does not mean I am immune to adding onto the cosmic horror.

Because my personal interpretation of who/what they are still adds onto the cosmic horror.

It just doesn't also include "giant aquatic fauna with psychic powers" in the already very large salad of sentient sapient species who have stakes in this universe, because I think we have enough of those.

So what is my platonic ideal form for them?

The Great Beings are human beings. Straight up just people. They're the readers, the players, the writers, the designers, the creators and tellers of the chronicle itself - they have this immense dominion over everything around them because they are the origin of everything around them in a sense, but their constant failings make sense because for all the influence and power they are still human, and that makes them very, very fallible. I mean, mr Greg "I will rewire your brain chemistry forever with some of the best stuff you'll read as a kid, and also for undiscernible reasons doors aren't canon" Farshtey would be one of them. Things make a lot of sense.

(this is impossible in Stone Cold Canon by the way and I am aware, because if we got to properly see the Great Beings they would have needed to be products to sell, but this is not a matter of probability it's a matter of Vision. like can you imagine how fucking cool would have been a Bonkle movie where the characters finally meet the Great Beings face to face and when it happens the style just completely shifts from 3D animation to a stop-motion and live-action combo with the Great Beings played by people and the characters portrayed by their actual sets with all of the lack of expression and stiff hands and all. do you see it. im about to blow up)

And so, we return to the allegory.

What are the shadows on the wall? Are they still the Turaga's tales? Then shouldn't they be their memories, as well? Everything that comes out of their mouth is hazy either with nostalgia or simplification, and none of it can be real. Yet they present it as such, because to them it is. Their ignorance is the same as the Matoran's, but they do not grasp it because they can't. Mata Nui to them is not the cave, it's the reflection in a lake: an imperfect mirror of reality. They cannot see the fire nor the figurines.

They are the figurines. Man-made creations confined under artificial light in a vast underground system, as large as a whole galaxy and yet so small, so isolated, so far back into the cave they are never meant to know anything other than. The shadows were their own but they can't realize that, and they can't realize they themselves are copies. The Matoran Universe is a puppet show that Teridax shuts down as he takes its reigns: he banishes its fire, Mata Nui (who is a gnostic Demiurge, a god made by gods demanding worship despite its falsehood - another copy not fully aware of being a copy) and shuts the entrance, plunging it all into darkness. No more knowledge. It is not something dolls need, after all.

Bara Magna is not the last step. It is not yet reality, not yet the truth. It's closer, much closer, but it's not: it's the lake, the puddle, the reflection that distorts when something is thrown into it. The stakes are more realistic, the characters and motivations, but not yet real. There is still a layer of separation: the elemental powers, the alien setting, the strange beasts, the supernatural history, the secrets pointing to things much bigger and more fantastical than anything reality could be, the way it is cut short by no fault of its own. What does it reflect? It's not the Matoran Universe, since that is a model based on Bara/Spherus Magna. It's not Mata Nui, because that is an attempt at recreating what the Matoran Universe was, at least in part. So... Is it the real world? Our, world?

It must be.

The Great Beings (us, the players and readers and writers and artists) shaped all of this. This universe is their creation, their work, and it is based on what they know, on their reality, because all stories are.

Maybe it was a story as close to real as possible that turned fantastic and wild until it became mythical, or maybe it was a simple story that grew so complex and grounded that it became life-like. It doesn't matter. It's a long story, a really, really long one, and maybe they're tired of it, or maybe they don't know what to do with it, or maybe they just think it has run its course, or maybe... Maybe they don't know how to tell it again. Tell it like this again.

So... I guess the thing to do is clean up.

Full tabula rasa.

And once we're done we can take these figurines we still have left, the last proof of all this immense work, this spiraling dive into who and what we are, how we function, how we create, how we imitate and recreate ourselves in fictional worlds that are our own and yet completely alien over and over, and make new ones. Distorted reflections that become imperfect copies to place before a fire so that their shadows can play out a new story upon a cave wall, for those same dolls to believe they are real.

God I got sidetracked severely

[introspectivememories]

if you're writing a charles fic, it must have some aspect of boyking. he must lean a little on the childgod side. he has to be revered a little bit, adored even. if people aren't talking about him like they wouldn't wash his feet and adorn it with perfume like mary magdalene washed and adorned jesus' feet, you're doing it wrong.

[foreverxdaydreaming]

x

[becauseplot]

Touching Base

Just a little Roommates/Cellmates AU oneshot because they live in my head like how Cell lives in Felps' apartment: rent-free. (Also because I am procrastinating on bigger projects rn.) (What who said that.)

Takes place a couple years after the events of Miss Me? and Shared Living Space. Cell has officially started going by Cellbit, a relatively recent development. He still sleeps on the couch, but that's mainly because the second "bedroom" in the apartment is used for Felps' storage and both of them dread having to clear it out. He has a job and puts most of that money towards groceries, new clothes, and therapy. Felps---finally working at a station where his superiors don't hate his guts---covers pretty much everything else.

(TWs: discussions of killing/murder, light allusions to suicide in a joking manner (they're fine, someone's just being dramatic). they are having a conversation that is oh so very normal for two friends to have yesyes. tbh this was supposed to be way more light hearted but then the angst. the angst...)

Key ring dangling from his finger, Cellbit shoulders his way through the apartment door, juggling a box of redstone bulbs, a stack of spam mail, and the library book that doesn’t quite fit in his over-full messenger bag. “Felps?”

There's no verbal answer, but over the back of the couch, Cellbit sees a tired hand rise and wave. There’s a dull whump when it drops back down.

Cellbit, taking this and the fact that the TV isn't even on, raises an eyebrow. "Long day?" There's a muffled groan in response, and that's all Cellbit needs to hear to get the gist of it. He wiggles his keychain off his finger and into the dish before shutting the door behind him with his foot and heading to the table, where he dumps off his things. Hands free, he slips his bag off his shoulder and sits down to take off his work boots. Once he's got them off, he takes a moment to slump back in the chair, relief washing over his aching back and shoulder, before he picks himself up and heads over to see what the situation is.

The situation, it seems, is as follows: Felps is lying on his back on the couch, still wearing his uniform, with a pillow pressed into his face like he's trying very, very hard to smother himself with it.

Cellbit sits himself down on the floor with his side against the foot of the couch, right by Felps. He plants an elbow on the cushions and drops his chin into the heel of his hand. "So. Who do I need to kill?"

Felps groans again and shifts the pillow off his face just enough to free his mouth. "Me. Kill me, please. Kill me. Literally just kill me."

"Ehhh," Cellbit says. "You know, I did that once, and you didn't like me very much after that."

"Cellbit I am begging you. You'd be doing me a favor."

"Mm, no. I don't think so." He pokes one of the fingers Felps has dug into the cushion. "Now come on—a name, an address. Give me something to work with here, Felps."

Felps sighs and finally yanks the pillow off his face, flipping his hands around and throwing it into his lap. His hair is a complete, frazzled mess, though Cellbit supposes that's the least of his worries. "No one's getting killed. This isn't a problem you can fix by killing someone."

"Except for you?"

"Except for me."

"Okay. So what happened?"

Felps makes a pained noise and digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. At least he's not suffocating this time. "Davi," he mumbles.

Cellbit blinks. Usually, he has a hard time keeping all of the names of Felps' coworkers, friends, and acquaintances straight in his head since there's so many of them, but this one registers immediately. He takes this in, looks at Felps agonizing on the couch, thinks back onto what Felps told him the other day, does some rapid mental math, and comes to the conclusion that maybe the situation actually could be fixed by killing someone. Potentially.

But before that thought can properly start, Felps flicks him against the temple. "Hey, no plotting. I'm serious."

"Plotting?" Cellbit echoes, oh-so-perplexed. "I wasn't plotting. Who said anything about plotting?"

"Cellbit."

"Who said anything about plotting the murder of the hot guy at the train station who rejected your friend after he spent two weeks working up the courage to ask him out? I sure didn't."

"Cellbit," Felps says, insistent. Cellbit stops, but only because Felps wants him to, and only because he’s joking. Really. "It's fine. It's my fault anyway. I totally fucked it up. I got the timing all wrong, and—" Felps breaks off into another horrified sound, dragging his hands down his face. "God, it was so bad. I don't want to talk about it."

"Alright. Anything I can do? That doesn't involve killing you?"

Felps pauses. He peeks at Cellbit from behind his hands. "...Grab the remote for me?"

Cellbit snorts. "Sure." He gets up (swallows a grunt; fuck, his shoulder's being funny) and grabs the remote off the TV stand. When he comes back, Felps has managed to get his-wallowing-self into an upright position so Cellbit can collapse back into the sofa beside him.

Cellbit clicks on the TV. "What're we feeling?"

"Pain."

"I mean what do you feel like watching, dumbass."

"Literally anything," Felps says with a wave of his hand.

"Right… So if I put on Blood on the Taiga—"

"Parkour tag."

"Okay, parkour tag it is."

They start to chat a little as Cellbit flicks through the minigame channels, looking for one that's broadcasting parkour tag: ("How was work at the station?" "Were the docks busy today?" "Did that warrant finally get processed?" "Is your shoulder still bothering you?" "You should probably change out of your uniform." "You should probably take a shower." "In a bit, my back has to unbreak itself first.")

It doesn't take him long to find a channel, so they end up talking through part of the first round, swapping the work updates they usually provide each other. After that, they settle in, feet up on the coffee table, shoulders pressed together. Cellbit watches the teams trade off "runners" and "hunters." Felps usually roots for the team in the blue and green jerseys, but it doesn't seem like they're playing today. Still, these teams aren't half-bad. The tall one on the red-orange team is a good hunter, Cellbit idly notes. She's light on her feet.

It's at the start of the third round that Felps speaks up again.

"So. Hypothetical question for you."

Cellbit watches the good-hunter spring off a piston-platform. "Alright."

"And this is completely hypothetical. One hundred percent, utterly hypothetical."

"Okay."

"I'd never genuinely ask this of you."

"Sure."

The good-hunter drops down a ladder, missing a tag on a runner by a hair's breadth. The squeak of her sneakers echoes through the arena.

"...If I told you I needed you to kill someone for me, would you actually do it?"

Cellbit tilts his head. The good-hunter whirls around a corner and swings herself up onto another platform. "Yeah."

He feels more than sees Felps startle beside him. "...R...Really?"

"Yeah."

"Just like that?"

"Well, like I said earlier, I'd need, like, a name. An address if you can get it. At least a general location—"

"No, no, I mean..."

Felps falters, and Cellbit takes his eyes away from the game to look up at him. Felps is staring right back, a furrow in his brow.

"...You wouldn't even question it? Or hesitate?"

Ohhh. Cellbit understands now. The morals. He was asking about the morals. "Well," starts Cellbit. He pauses. Then, he drags his feet over to the edge of the couch, legs curled up, in front of his chest. The position makes his back ache, but the rest of him feels better this way. He hangs his arms over his knees. He stares at the TV, but he's not really sure who's hunting and who's running anymore.

He sighs. "...The way I see it—you would never ask me to kill someone unless they actually deserved it. I think it would take a lot for you to decide someone needs to die, then a lot more to tell me to kill them because...you know me. I'll get it done. And I won't half-ass it either."

And if they hurt you, Cellbit thinks, with a sudden, rising fury, I'll kill them dead. I'll make it hurt. Carve their throat out with my teeth. They'll be begging for the Void long before I'm through with them.

But he lets that one go on an exhale, lets it pass wordlessly between his lips, before it can get too far. He flexes his hands, loosening them. "But..." he continues, scraping together the courage to say the rest. "You also know I'm trying not to— You know I'm better about that now. Past it. Moving past it. And you're—" He falters. His tongue darts over his lip. He bites it. "You're generally helpful in that regard, so..."

"...You don't think I'd ask you to do something that would ruin your progress unless it was serious," Felps finishes.

"Yeah." Cellbit tilts his head to either side, cracking his neck, and flexes his hands again. God, his therapist would be so fucking proud of him.

"Okay." Felps clears his throat. "Sorry if that made you uncomfortable, I just—the thought wouldn't leave me alone, and..."

"No, no, it's—it's fine. It's a good question to ask. Making sure we're on the same page, and all that. Touching base. Getting caught up. Just like we always do."

"Right," Felps says. "Just like we always do."

A beat.

"But I wouldn't. Ask that of you, I mean. I'd never ask you to kill someone for me."

"I know," Cellbit replies easily. "I heard you the first time."

(And Cellbit trusts Felps to stick to his word. Honestly, he does. But the issue—or perhaps the best part, depending on how much he wants to disappoint his therapist—is that Felps wouldn't even have to ask. In no universe would Felps ever have to ask.)

"...Oh. Okay."

"Okay."

The conversation hangs in the air, gradually dissipating. Slowly, Cellbit manages to recenter his attention on the game of parkour tag. Round four. She's hunting again, though this is her last hunting round. After that, she'll be stuck as a runner for the rest of the tournament. Felps rests his head on Cellbit's shoulder as the alarm blares and the competitors are released from their chambers. Cellbit nestles his cheek in Felps' curls. The final hunt has begun.

[edgydroned]

what's with the hate for uzi's dad

do i really have to spell it out

[novadorks]

finally finished orv after two years . . . what do i do with my life now

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

[pericky; a look into ricky's head during their meeting.]

---

"I'm glad you came, I wasn't sure you would." The wine pours, the sound of it drowning out the missing word in that sentence: back.

Of course, is the response, and the part of Ricky that's spent twenty years tearing itself apart to understand why vibrates with relief. It doesn't matter anymore. Of course, of course, he thinks giddily along with the words. He never needed to wonder why Pericles wasn't coming back in the first place; he was always going to.

I'm happy you invited me, and of course he thinks again. A lifetime of pretending he wasn't always going to either falls away. However harsh and lonely the world has been, all's right with it again; and the shy voice of the boy inside him that he's tried so hard to kill says, so quietly, I missed you.

[byanyan]

mkay i wrote two more good chunks (bringing us up to exactly 4k fucking words...........) of byan's bio but i'm just starting to touch on the actual lowest, darkest point of their life and it's not really helping the already shit place i'm in mentally, so. think i'm done for the night lmao