#so here's a snippet of the calm before the storm

[astraystayyh]

han x reader. domestic morning where they also remember snippets of their (enemies) past. they’re very cute and i might write a full fic for their backstory.. stay tuned (also one suggestive joke)

if you wish to request a drabble as well, you can donate to our gaza fundraiser here! there are many writers participating as well hehe <3

10:02 a.m.

“wake up,” you whisper, your nose nuzzling against the slate of han’s neck. his eyes remain closed, but a delicate smile unfurls across his lips. you pretend not to notice.

“come on,” you murmur, your lips brushing his exposed collarbone, your hand slipping around his waist. “i miss you, hannie.”

his arms suddenly envelop you, drawing you into an impossibly tight embrace. “sorry baby, hannie is asleep.”

“is that so?” you giggle, resting your cheek against his bare chest. your face warms as you sense his heart racing unusually fast for a tranquil saturday morning.

“what’s this?” you pout, your fingers grazing the skin that shields the world's most precious organ. “do i still fluster you this much?”

“i literally have the sun in my arms, leave me be,” he grumbles, pulling the covers over you both.

you chuckle, pinching his side gently. “but wasn’t i your volcano?” you ask, referencing the song han wrote about you, for you, to you.

“yaaah,” he drawls out, a gleam of excitement shining in his eyes. “do you remember how we were before i confessed?”

“we hated each other,” you both giggle at the memory, months that now feel like a lifetime ago washing over you. it’s a sweet remembrance, akin to the last ripples of a wave caressing the shore.

“you were the most gorgeous producer I’d ever seen,” he sighs exaggeratedly, “and the most infuriating too.”

“it’s not my fault my genius was too much for you,” you tease, and he leaps away, waving a hand in the air in true han fashion.

“it wasn’t too much, we just had different artistic visions,” his voice grows increasingly high-pitched, “AND you were too prideful to collaborate.”

you shrug nonchalantly, “because you seemed too full of yourself.”

“and yesterday you were too full of m—“ your hand swiftly covers his mouth as raucous giggles erupt from him.

“you’re an actual idiot. i can’t believe I’m dating you now,” you say as his lips meet your forehead tenderly, his hands weaving through your hair as if crafting silent confessions of love.

“how could you resist the world’s best love song, hm?”

memories of listening to han’s Volcano in the rain flood your being. you recall the shiver that overtook your bones, the realization that dawned suddenly upon you, just like a striking bolt— you had never known the line between love and hate was this thin until, you too, experienced it.

“you know, it’s crazy how romantic the lyrics are, yet you never say 'i love you' once in them.”

“but you knew.”

“but i know.”

the smiles that bloom across your faces are serene, peaceful, like the calm that follows a storm, painting the world in hues of stillness.

“hi, baby,” he whispers, and you giggle, cupping his cheek with your palm. “hi, hannie.”

“i’m so happy we moved past the screaming matches.”

“i’m so happy i get to love you.”

“well, I love you more.”

“well, actually, that can’t be true because—“ the rest of your protest is silenced by han’s lips finally pressing atop yours. your words melting like sugar at the tip of your tongue.

[periprose]

Can I have a Logan Howlett x Angel!Fem!Reader where Logan sees the reader in the kitchen having a bit of a meltdown and uncomfortable feeling over holding a knife (for like, cooking reasons or smth) and he calms her down because the reader just doesn’t want to hurt anyone :(? I’d appreciate it thanks! (I’ve seen you wanted more Angel reader, so im here to reciprocate :3)

AHhhh this fits so well Anon (maybe unintentionally so, the previous fic had a little snippet about Angel's mom trying to stab her when she was young...) but I love your brain. I made it a bit longer and added some stuff and it's set before the previous Logan Gains a Guardian Angel fic (LGGA for short) so they're not together yet.

Knives Drip Chocolate (or, Logan Gains a Guardian Angel)

Word Count: 2.9k

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt with comfort, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild traumatic flashback stuff (but no violence)

LGGA Masterlist

Logan is always ready for a late-night snack.

It’s hard for him to feel full, a lot of the time– he didn’t always have the easiest access to food, and he’s known for a while, if there’s a brief period in his immortal-like life where he can just relax about food and supplies, he shouldn’t take that for granted. 

Plus with an accelerated healing factor, sometimes his body starts digesting food too quickly, leading to faster body repair, but nothing to feel satisfied about.

So he’s got tons of cravings. Something that you are constantly bothered about, even now, as Logan knocks on your door, asking yet again if you’d accompany him to the kitchen.

Not that you actually mind. Sometimes you think you’d follow Logan into hell if he asked nicely enough, despite your occasionally evasive attitude keeping him on his toes.

“Angel, please. I’m starving.” Logan’s grumpy complaints are muffled behind your door, and you wonder why a nearly 200 year old man needs you so badly, to be by his side, when he’s spent so long being a loner.

“I’m coming.” You yawn, pulling yourself out of your bed– Storm is your roommate, and she’s passed out, stone cold. You quickly finger comb your hair, and fix your giant t-shirt, so your shoulder isn’t so exposed.

Silly, because you know Logan doesn’t care.

It’s bad. It’s really, really bad, because you don’t want to get attached to Logan, not when he’s sure to toss you aside like he’s done with the rest of them eventually. But you can’t help yourself– Logan is easy to be around, he knows your fears and little quirks, and he has never treated you like you’re so different for being a little quiet, like him. 

You know everyone has noticed. When you open your bedroom door, and Logan stares at you for a moment– an unreadable, soft glance in his eyes, one that you could choose to ignore, but don’t, as you stare back at him– you know all the other X-Men see it. Some silly crush you have on him, that clearly confuses Logan himself as he shakes his head, and pulls you by the arm out of your room, your PJs and hair askew.

Logan himself looks good, you have to admit– wearing lazy sweatpants and a white tank-top, his arm muscles looking especially defined tonight– and you pull your arm away, embarrassed that you give into these feelings so easily.

He’s only ever going to be your best friend. Even now, there’s nothing romantic about the way Logan asks if you want a ham and cheddar sandwich, too. He’s just looking out for you. 

Jean, Scott, and Storm have literally asked you, more than once, if you and Logan had maybe slept together, or kissed, or anything that would be a culmination of some supposed lust, in which case you always laugh awkwardly and deny everything. 

Your excuse is that it’s deeper than that, and it’s one-sided. What would be the point of bringing it up if it would just end in heartbreak?

“Earth to Angel.” Logan shakes your arm, breaking your stride. “Hey, that’s kind of funny, isn’t it? You’re always up in Heaven. Daydreaming about who the hell knows what.”

“Haha, Logan.” You mockingly say in a deadpan voice. “What is it?”

“Your wings are flexing a little bit, again, like they’re about to open. They’re kind of pulsing.” He says it in a soft tone, ushering in some concern he has, and you find yourself wishing that you were someone normal, someone that Logan didn’t have to care so much about. 

It’s not that you’re not happy to have his concern, it’s just that you don’t know what to do with it. Thank him for it? You have never been used to people looking out for you.

“It’s fine. Sometimes I get muscle spasms, it’s nothing to worry about.” You mutter, knowing it has to do with anxiety, but Logan looks a bit unconvinced.

“Okay. But if you keep having weird tremors, I’m taking you to the hospital wing so you can get diagnosed.” Logan states, and you open your mouth to argue, but he tuts. “No arguing about this. Last thing we need is for you to die from stress or cancer or something.”

Your heartbeat quickens, not at the mention of cancer, but because Logan used we and now you’re just thinking about how you’re always together.

Not like that, though.

“Okay, Logan. I get it.” You shake your head. “I won’t die.” 

“Not yet. We got snacks to eat.” Logan agrees, as he leads you into the kitchen.

/

Logan’s got you working on making hot chocolate as he makes the sandwiches, pan-frying them till the cheese is hot and melty. 

It’s not really a common mix, you think, but you’re just happy to be helping.

“Careful. Milk boils over fast.” Logan comments from next to you, mostly focused on his own side of the stove, and you roll your eyes.

“I know that.” You retort, but as you look away from the stove for one second, the pot of milk nearly does boil over, and you swear, reducing the heat quickly.

Logan starts laughing. “Told you.”

You shove him lightly, and he has a stupid grin on his face, one where you know Logan takes such joy in teasing you at times. Like this is one of the greatest pleasures in life.

You move the milk over to the counter, to let it cool, and then remember something semi-important. 

“Logan? Don’t forget, Scott wanted extra ham for the Hawaiian pizza they’re making tomorrow–” As you’re reminding him, Logan wordlessly shows you the empty ham package, telling you that he used all of it for the sandwiches.

“You snooze, you lose.” Logan shrugs, and you close your eyes in partial defeat, trying not to laugh at his antics.

“I guess, but you never seem to lose, and Scott’s always chewing me out for your ‘mistakes.’” You point at yourself, tongue poking through the side of your mouth, and Logan raises his eyebrows. “Tell me: Am I snoozing, or are you just lucky that I take the blame?”

“Ah, Angel… you’re obviously asleep.” Logan smirks, and you scoff at his audacity, having expected a semi-apology from him. “No one ever said you had to take the blame for my snacks. You could’ve just told him it was Jean, and he wouldn’t have asked any questions.”

You blink at him. “Lying to our team’s leader aside, why Jean?”

“C’mon. Scott’s crazy over her, they’ve been together for however long, and he can never say no to her. It’s the perfect excuse– he wouldn’t even ask her about missing food, so not to offend his sweetheart.” Logan pauses, a thoughtful look taking over his features, and he scratches his chin. “I guess love really is blind.”

“Wow. You had that takeaway based on gaslighting both Scott and Jean? You really are an unfeeling old man.” You giggle, and Logan glances over at you, his face heating up at your laugh, a sweet sound that always pushes a warmth into his chest.

If Logan was honest, he understands Scott perfectly. Sure, he could play the part of the curmudgeonly old man, and lie to you– but in truth, he was doing that because he likes you.

Just like Scott. Logan likes you so much, that he would honestly lie to you just to protect your relationship– whether that be about missing food, or if you talk about some other dude someday, and he has to pretend he’s all ecstatic for you, as he often worries about. 

He knows it’s bad. And he doesn’t like it, either. Logan insists to himself, in pure self denial, that this love he has for you doesn’t exist, because he would rather be given even a little bit of your presence as a friend, than to be entirely shut out by you upon imminent rejection.

But even he knows he protests too much. Of course he loves you, how could he not?

Logan thinks of you as his personal guardian Angel. It’s silly, of course– but you’re the one who helps him make better choices, doing the right thing more often than not. He’s an idiot– you’re a beautiful genius of a woman, and it bothers him so deeply that you keep to yourself.

He looks over at you. You’re chopping up a bar of dark chocolate, and your gaze is intensely focused– Logan has seen the same expression on you when you’re beating up a bad guy. You’re thinking, murmuring something to yourself, probably thinking about hot chocolate.

Your eyes turn wide, glassy, and you inhale sharply.

Logan immediately comes to your side. “Angel?”

Logan’s voice doesn’t fully register to you.

The knife gleams in the low lighting of the kitchen, as you turn it over and over in your hand, dark brown chocolate smudging the blade, and then you look down to your palms.

Where your hands are covered in dark, melted chocolate, after you’ve been holding the chocolate bar to chop it up– the liquid is almost amber in hue. 

“...blood.” You whisper something unintelligible, but Logan catches the last word.

You retch to yourself, hyperventilating over the counter, back hunched over, the knife still clenched in your palm.

“Angel, hey–” Logan squeezes his way between the counter and your right arm, where your hand is holding the knife, and he firmly pulls it away from you, grabbing it blade-first without even thinking about it, and you gasp, shouting at him to get away.

Logan stops, at a loss for words. You’re trembling, you’re no longer holding the knife, but you can’t stop looking at your hands.

He grabs your arms a bit more gently, turning you towards him, and you’re lost in some train of thought that Logan can’t stop.

Mom sliced up one of my hands once… it’s been years, but it looked just like this.

Then I got her back, by accident… it was an accident, Angel.

“What’s wrong?” Logan looks down at you in fear, worry that something may actually be very wrong, and you haven’t told him a thing.

He thinks he shouldn’t have assumed you were always alright. He knows you aren’t– he just finds it difficult to surpass your avoidant attitude. He’s never seen you have a full blown panic attack like this before.

Your wings are subtly twitching again, folded against your back, but threatening to open up to full expanse, and you shake your head, lip quivering, as you look down at the floor.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” You utter so softly, so heartbreakingly tiny, and Logan feels himself turning cold at your words, wondering if you’d really done something that terrible.

With a kitchen knife, of all things. He wants to hug you firmly now.

He knows even if it was true– there’s no way that was your fault, no way Logan wouldn’t have sussed that out based on instinct. 

“It isn’t…” Logan starts, wanting to say it wasn’t your fault, but he doesn’t know how that will go over with you. “You’re not going to hurt anyone. Where is that coming from?”

“Just a bad memory.” You say with a shaky breath, the most information you’re willing to give him at this moment, and you know– you know– Logan is never going to be satisfied with that answer.

You don’t want to scare him off. This is the first time you could even say you have a best friend, and you don’t want Logan to pity you or feel like you were incapable of taking care of yourself. You don’t want him to see you like your mother did.

Logan frowns. Then, instead of asking you a question, he traces the back of your wings, which causes a shiver in your body.

You close your eyes, expecting to feel tense, scared, and horrified, but instead you feel calm, almost placid. Being touched by Logan makes you feel like everything is going to be alright.

Your wings stop shaking, and Logan hands you a wet paper towel. You wipe your chocolatey hands, which puts you at ease, seeing your clean hands again. 

“Sorry. I don’t mean to make you my caretaker.” You whisper, always worried about others’ perception of you, and Logan shakes his head.

“I don’t mind, Angel. As long as you’re alright.” Logan has a tentative look on his face, and you’re almost embarrassed, that you like being taken care of so badly, and he hugs you tightly, arms wrapped around your back, a near bone crushing hug that has you nestled in his chest, fit under his jaw as he places his head on top of yours.

Your heartbeat slows down. You’re not panicking any more, but it seems like Logan, too, is reaping some sort of benefit by being so close to you. He inhales deeply, and the sigh rumbles through his chest into you.

You could almost cry. You spent so much of your childhood never being close to anyone, and being held is cathartic in a way you can’t even describe.

Logan doesn’t let go until you do. Then he has the audacity to look a little sheepish, like he had done something un-Logan and uncool, and you almost feel pained, like you should push him away, and go to sleep on your own.

It’s such an odd feeling, to both want his concern, and to wish you never needed to do so.

You stare up at him, and Logan smiles, a soft smile that he hopes reads as comforting rather than a snarl, and you can’t help yourself for what you ask next.

“Could I sleep in your room?” You ask, biting back the immediate disclaimers of it’s okay if you don’t want to. “I’m just better when I’m around you.”

There’s also the thing of waking up Storm if you enter back in now, and explaining that you had yet another panic attack. She’ll be mad.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.” Logan murmurs, wondering if you meant to make that sound so devotedly sweet, something that causes his insides to seize a little.

He feels better around you, too.

You’re usually good at hiding this side of yourself from him– it’s another step deeper, another step too far into your relationship to take back– and now you worry you’ll never really be able to separate.

Logan ruffles your hair, and all is right again.

/

He makes you eat at least a bite of the sandwich, and sip a little hot chocolate– the rest is placed in the fridge for some other mutant to eat.

Logan won’t let you go to sleep without a meal, or in this case a few nibbles, if he can help it.

“Moods are worse on an empty stomach.” Logan grins, and you smile, feeling a little more at ease.

“You’re not you when you’re hungry.” You joke, and Logan rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, save that for when we’re pilfering Kurt’s Snickers bars.” He snorts. 

Logan leads you to his room, oddly silent the entire time. It’s not that Logan isn’t typically quiet, it’s that it feels more tense. He’s keeping to himself, and he doesn’t seem to have anything against you– he has only a kind expression for you, when you meet his eyes.

Finally, you both arrive to his bedroom door. Logan is lucky– he doesn’t have to room with anyone– and you’ve been in here plenty of times.

Still, that doesn’t explain why it takes him a second to enter in the room, as you follow him in.

It’s sparsely decorated in here– one poster of the Calgary Flames is on Logan’s wall, and there’s a mug with random, assorted pens on his desk. His bed has never been filled with loads of stuffed animals and pillows like other X-Men (read: Jubilee) would have. There’s a pile of assorted flannels, jackets, and scarves hanging off a coat rack.

It’s comforting, though. Logan is a simple man, and you like being close enough to understand him, to see the small remnants of things he likes.

“Well. The bed’s there, if you’d like. Don’t let me stop you.” Logan points to the bed, and he starts walking towards the leather recliner next to the window.

“Logan. Stop.” You grab him by the arm, and he pauses, slightly scared, mostly enthused by what you’ll say next. “It’s okay with me if we sleep next to each other.”

“...Okay.” Logan watches as you climb into his bed, hoping it’s comfortable, and doing a weird thing of personally memorizing the way you lay and snuggle down, in case you never do this again.

You’re next to the wall, so Logan stays on his side, lying down close to the edge of the bed. And you’re keeping your distance– so is he.

You turn, and Logan is already looking at you. He glances away.

“Good night, Angel.” Logan utters softly, and with that, you turn to your side, to fall asleep.

/

When Logan wakes up, he freezes, so not to move you. Somehow, through out the night, you ended up snuggled around him, sprawled against his chest, your arms lightly wrapping around him.

He loves it. He’s glad to see he’s been useful for once– he gave you a good night’s sleep.

[ducktoo]

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

21. Su-su-su-su

Note: this is my fav dance from them lol. Might as well have fun with it.

Masterlist here

"Su-su-su-supernova"

The comeback had finally arrived. After months of preparation, long rehearsals, endless adjustments, and an unexpected tension between the team behind them, "Supernova" was officially out.

Aespa’s comeback had been released to the world, and it took the world by storm.

Y/n stood in the living room, watching as the girls scrolled through their phones, monitoring the reactions online. The buzz was already huge—fans were flooding social media with posts, comments, and reactions to the new track. The music video had hit millions of views within the first few hours, and Supernova was trending worldwide.

“Look at all these fan edits already,” Karina said, her eyes glued to her phone as she scrolled through fan-made clips. "They’re so fast."

Ningning chuckled from her spot on the couch. "We have some seriously talented fans. Some of these edits look better than the original!"

Giselle nodded in agreement, casually flipping through TikTok videos of the "Supernova" dance challenge that had already taken off. “It’s wild how quick people jump on these trends.”

"Even the clips we took with other groups popped up as well." Karina acknowledged.

The group had been recording short-form content all day to promote the comeback, from TikTok dance challenges to behind-the-scenes snippets. Their fans loved it, and the girls seemed energized by the response.

Y/n stood off to the side, observing the whirlwind of excitement around him. The comeback had been a success so far, but in the quiet moments, he felt a familiar itch—a reminder of his trainee days when he used to dance in the practice rooms late at night, dreaming of his own debut.

Now, as a manager, those dreams were behind him, but sometimes, the urge to move to the music still caught him off guard.

The song’s dance break had been stuck in his head all day…to the point that it's more than drugs. Every time he watched the girls perform it, his hand waved along instinctively. Finally, after everyone had recorded their content and things started to calm down, Y/n found himself alone in the living room, "Supernova" still playing on repeat in the background.

He glanced around, making sure no one was around. The girls were in their rooms, probably checking more reactions or resting from the hectic day. He had a few minutes to himself, and before he could talk himself out of it, Y/n stood up and stretched, cracking his knuckles.

"Why the heck not," he muttered, replaying the dance break in his head. It was muscle memory at this point—he’d watched the dance break more than enough times to know the moves by heart.

“Don’t forget my name…!”

He pulled up the music on his phone and set it to play. A moment of silence until…

"Su-su-su-supernova!"

The beat dropped, and before he knew it, Y/n was in the middle of the living room, executing the sharp moves of the dance break with surprising precision. It felt good to move again, to lose himself in the rhythm. For a moment, he was back in those practice rooms, a trainee with everything to prove.

Suddenly, a loud snort broke the silence. He froze mid-dance, turning slowly to see Ningning leaning against the doorframe, her phone pointed directly at him. She was recording.

“Y/n-oppa,” Ningning began, eyes gleaming with mischief, “what in the world are you doing?”

Y/n’s face turned crimson as he scrambled to turn off the music. “N-Nothing! I was, uh, just… stretching.”

“Stretching?” Ningning smirked, walking closer. “Right. Stretching your ability to dance, maybe.”

Y/n’s face flushed deeper. “I was just messing around. You know, for fun.”

“Oh, this is too good,” Ningning teased, still recording. “You know I have to show the girls, right?”

“Ning, no! Please!” Y/n lunged to grab her phone, but she dodged easily, laughing.

“Sorry, Y/n, but this is content.” She grinned, already typing something on her phone. “They’re gonna love this.”

Moments later, Karina, Winter, and Giselle rushed into the living room, clearly intrigued by the string of notifications from the group chat.

“What’s going on?” Karina asked, looking between Ningning and Y/n suspiciously.

Ningning held up her phone triumphantly, playing the video she just recorded. “Caught our manager in the act. He’s out here trying to join the dance line.”

The room exploded with laughter. Y/n groaned, burying his face in his hands as the girls crowded around Ningning’s phone, watching the video over and over.

Winter’s laugh was the loudest as she flopped onto the couch beside Y/n. “Ya idiot, you’ve been holding out on us! It’s been too long since we’ve seen you popping off!”

Karina, still chuckling, shook her head. “I mean, should we be worried? You’re looking a little too comfortable with that choreo.”

Y/n waved them off, trying to recover from his embarrassment. “It’s just muscle memory! I’ve seen you guys rehearse it a thousand times.”

Giselle smirked. “Right. You were just stretching, huh? Looked like a full-on performance to me.”

Before Y/n could defend himself, Karina raised a hand dramatically. “Wait, I have an idea. What if…” she paused for effect,

"Rina, don-"

“we challenge him to record an actual dance challenge with us?”

Y/n’s eyes widened in horror. “No, absolutely not. I’m not getting dragged into this!”

Ningning grinned wickedly. “Too late. You already danced for us once—you might as well go all the way.”

Winter, always ready to stir the pot, added, “Come on, Y/n! What’s the worst that could happen? Mys will love it.”

“Yeah, they’ll love it alright. Me, not so much,” Y/n muttered, shaking his head.

Karina crossed her arms, leaning in teasingly. “Are you saying you can’t handle it, manager-nim?”

“Ya, don’t pull that reverse psychology on me, Karina.”

The teasing was relentless, and before Y/n knew it, he was standing in the middle of the living room again, the girls huddled around him with their phones ready to record. He sighed in defeat as the familiar beat of Supernova started playing.

“Alright, fine,” Y/n grumbled, “but if this ends up online, I’m quitting.”

The girls burst out laughing, their phones already aimed at him. As the music hit the dance break, Y/n moved through the choreography again, this time with the girls cheering him on and recording every second.

When the music ended, the girls erupted into applause, and Y/n collapsed onto the couch, his face flushed from both exertion and embarrassment.

“I can’t believe I let you guys talk me into that,” he groaned. "I should go bury myself to the couch."

Winter patted his shoulder with a grin. “You did great! You might even go viral.”

Y/n groaned even louder. “Please, no.”

But despite his protests, he couldn’t help but laugh along with them. Moments like these were rare—where the stress of the job faded, and they could all just have fun, like the group of friends they’d become.

Ningning smirked, her phone still in hand. “I think this is the best comeback content we’ve made yet. MYs are gonna love it.”

Y/n sighed dramatically, but deep down, he didn’t really mind. This was their comeback era, and he was just glad to be part of it—even if it meant embarrassing himself along the way.

“Well,” Karina said with a playful smirk, “you did say you wanted to be more involved in this comeback, right? Looks like you got your wish.”

Y/n threw a pillow at her, laughing. “This is not what I meant!”

-

A few days had passed since Y/n’s impromptu dance break to Supernova. The girls had their fun teasing him, and he thought that would be the end of it. He went back to his usual routine—managing schedules, overseeing rehearsals, and making sure everything was running smoothly for Aespa’s comeback.

However, fate had other plans.

It started with a ping on his phone. Y/n glanced down at the notification—just another mention on social media. Ever since the video of his dance break had been recorded, Ningning had been sharing bits of it in their group chat for laughs, but surely none of that had left the circle, right?

Another ping.

Then another.

Y/n’s brow furrowed as more notifications poured in. He opened his phone to see a flood of new followers and likes on his social media accounts. Confused, he quickly opened his notifications to see a name that sent a chill down his spine: TikTok.

“Oh, sht…” he muttered, clicking the app. "Those girls did not…"

Sure enough, there it was: the video of him dancing to Supernova, uploaded by one of the girls, had gone viral. Thousands of comments, likes, and shares. People were remixing it, dueting it, and even tagging Y/n in their own versions of the dance challenge, comparing his moves to the professionals.

The caption was innocent enough: “Our manager getting in on the #Supernova 🔥”. But the video had blown up. Millions of views, thousands of comments, and even some fans speculating on his trainee days.

“What the—” Y/n muttered as he scrolled through the comments.

“Wait, is their manager an ex-trainee?? No wonder he’s so good!”

"Pretty sure he's also the knife-blocking manager back then as well. Damn, I'm in love."

“This is actually smooth though, not gonna lie.”

“Petition for Y/n to debut with Aespa. We need a fifth member!”

“Manager-nim, when’s your solo debut?”

“Can we get a full version?!”

He groaned, slumping back into his chair. Woooow, the heck?!

As if on cue, the dorm erupted in laughter as the girls rushed into the living room, phones in hand, giggling uncontrollably.

“Y/n-oppa!” Ningning was the first to speak, barely able to contain herself. “You went viral! You’re a star! Even more than last time!”

Winter, following close behind, was practically in tears from laughing. “Idiot, you might need to start your own fan club at this rate. Paboya should be the name.”

Karina smirked, holding up her phone to show the video. “Looks like the fans want more content from you. What do you say?”

“I say I’m gonna hide under a rock for the next year,” Y/n muttered, trying to process the fact that his dance video had somehow made him the center of attention. “How did that even past the door to the editing room in the first place?”

Ningning crossed her arms, pretending to look hurt. “Come on, you knew this was going to happen eventually. You’re too good to stay in the background!”

Giselle gave him a pat on the back. “Besides, now that you’re famous, you’re basically one of us. Get ready for more filming.”

Y/n groaned. “No, no, no. This is you guys' comeback. I’m just the manager—behind the scenes. You know, managing.”

"Oh? Those that mean you want your own song?" Giselle raised her eyebrow, clearly amused.

"Don't twist my word, Uchinaga-"

But it was too late. Karina was already scrolling through their schedule. “Well, there’s a content shoot tomorrow. You might as well join in! You’ve got fans now too, after all.”

“I am not joining—” Y/n began, but Winter cut him off.

“You are,” she said firmly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “And you know what? I think we should make this official. TikTok content, dance challenges, behind-the-scenes videos—Y/n, you’re part of the comeback promo now.”

He was about to protest, but the excitement in their eyes was too much. Y/n sighed, knowing he was defeated. “You guys are really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope!” they all chimed in unison, laughing.

Before he could fully resign himself to his fate, Karina had an idea. “Okay, since you’re already going viral, let’s make it a real series. Each of us will teach you a dance from Supernova, and we’ll film the whole thing. The fans will love it.”

Winter leaned closer to him, her grin pure chaos. “Starting with the hardest part of the choreo.”

Y/n buried his face in his hands. “I’m never going to hear the end of this…”

-

As the evening began to wind down, Y/n found a rare moment of peace at the practice room. He had just survived another TikTok shoot with the girls, and despite the whirlwind of attention his viral dance break had stirred up, he finally felt like he could catch his breath while the girls are busy practicing.

That is, until his phone buzzed again.

He hesitated, half-expecting it to be another fan comment or notification. But instead, the name that flashed on the screen sent an entirely different wave of panic through him: Minji

“Ah sh- here we go again…”

Before he could even think about answering, the door to the dorm flung open, and in walked Minji, followed closely by Jihoon and Joon. All three had identical sht-eating grins plastered on their faces—grins that spelled trouble.

"Y/n!" Minji sang out dramatically, echoing the way the girls had teased him earlier. "Or should we say… new soloist?"

Y/n groaned, burying his face in a nearby pillow. "Please, no. Not you guys too."

Jihoon chuckled as he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Oh, you bet we’re here for this. Do you have any idea how many fans have been tagging our groups in aespa's videos? You’ve blown up more than some idols, man."

Joon, not one to miss out on a good teasing opportunity, added, "I thought we were managers, not content creators. Looks like you’re breaking all the rules now."

Y/n sat up, glaring playfully at the three of them. "You guys are supposed to have my back, not pile on."

Minji smirked and gave him a light nudge. "Oh, we have your back, alright. That’s why we’re here—to support you in your new career as a viral sensation."

"Yeah, and by ‘support,’ we mean teasing you relentlessly," Jihoon chimed in, grinning.

Before Y/n could even think of a comeback, the aespa members joined in, gathering around the group with wide, mischievous smiles.

"Y/n really thought he could escape the teasing," Giselle laughed.

"Not a chance," Winter added, grinning from ear to ear.

"Guess what, oppa," Ningning said, eyes twinkling. "We’ve been thinking… should we make a new TikTok featuring all of us? You, Minji, Jihoon, and Joon can join too! A special ‘managers edition’ of the Supernova challenge."

Y/n’s eyes widened in mock horror as Minji raised an eyebrow. "Oh, now that’s something I’d pay to see," she said, clearly enjoying the idea. "I’m down."

Jihoon and Joon exchanged amused glances before nodding enthusiastically.

"Absolutely. What better way to support our fellow viral manager than to get in on the action?" Joon said, already pulling out his phone as if ready to record right then and there.

Y/n stood up, hands raised in protest. "Wait, hold on. Let’s not get carried away, okay? I’m already deep enough in this TikTok rabbit hole."

"And let's send it to Seulgi as well"

"Minji-noona, don't you dare-"

Minji crossed her arms, a playful glint in her eyes. "Too late. You’re already a star. Might as well ride the wave."

The girls, clearly delighted by the chaos they had started, egged the managers on even further.

"I think you’d all be great," Karina said with a teasing smile. "We could choreograph something simple."

Giselle nodded, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Y/n’s already mastered the hard parts, so you guys will be fine."

Y/n glanced between his fellow managers and the girls, realizing there was no escaping this. They had all teamed up against him, and as much as he wanted to complain, he couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Fine," he sighed dramatically. "But when this goes viral, I expect bonuses"

Ningning, never one to miss a beat, gave him a sly grin. "Deal. Now let’s make some good content."

And so, with the cameras rolling and the teasing in full swing, Y/n—alongside Minji, Jihoon, and Joon—joined aespa in a new round of TikTok chaos, proving once and for all that no one, not even managers, were safe from the Supernova challenge.

…."Su-su-su-supernova!"

[leoneliterary]

Happy belated Father’s Day to Amatus! Hope he’s doing well in his (temporary) nursing home lol

Ahh I'm late, but here is a belated Father's Day snippet from Amatus's rest home!

"And you've come all the way to the city, but haven't had the chance to request leave to see your mother?!"

Merikh could hear Amatus's distraught voice through the wall and couldn't contain his irritation. For a man that was supposed to have been at death's door, he was full of vigor. And conversation. So much conversation.

Everytime Merikh entered the study, he could hear Amatus talking to any and everyone. The servants that brought him food, the soldiers that were supposed to be guarding him. Fires of creation, even Yemoja's aunt had started visiting him!

Merikh slammed down his ink brush, knocking his chair over as he stood up. Stalking over to the hidden entrance, he stormed in.

"What is going on in here? Why do I have to remind you not to associate with-Levon are you...crying?"

In the room he saw Amatus, calm as ever, patting one of his soldiers, Levon on the back. The young soldier sat up quickly, wiping his eyes and sniffling.

"Sorry Merikh, I was just-"

"Go back to your post," Merikh said, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

After Levon left he turned his attention back to Amatus, who looked at him with a lazy stare. Like he was a cat sunning instead of a prisoner and patient.

"What game are you playing, thief?" Merikh finally asked and Amatus chuckled.

"Do you know what goes on around this time of year? In this part of Hashind people celebrate Tulath's Harvest. Legend says that Tulath and his family were so honorable that a spirit granted them a boon and created a river so that they would be able to grow food, even in the desert. Now it's a holiday that celebrates family and farming,"

"I didn't come in here for culturally enrichment. I came in here to understand what you're up to," Merikh said, barely restraining himself from yelling.

He didn't understand this man, nor your connection with him, nor the odd hold he seemed to have on people.

"Your soldier is still just a boy who misses his family around this time of year. I know you do too. I can see it underneath the anger. Maybe not on days like today, but on some days, when you look up and see the stars are in the right place, I know you think about whatever people you have. Or had,"

If Merikh didn't need this man to keep you, he would have strangled him. Now he understood why Levon was crying.

"How dare you? If you think I'll fall for your mind games-" Merikh's rage was beginning to pick up momentum before Amatus's sorrowful tone stopped him short.

"I miss my kids. I hadn't missed anyone in years. I had let everyone and everything go, and then I met those kids. I taught them how to climb, how to have the softest footsteps and the quickest hands, but they taught me to care again. Just when I had given up. My ducklings,"

Merikh suddenly didn't feel angry. A shiver of something too close to guilt clung to him.

He raised an accusatory finger at Amatus but dropped it when he saw the man wasn't even looking at him.

"Stop...talking to my men," Merikh finally settled on and turned to leave, hoping to outrun the uncomfortable feelings in the room.

"It's alright to be sad, young lord. It doesn't have to be anger," Amatus calls out as he closes the door. "From one bastard to another, it isn't your fault that not all fathers deserve the sons they're blessed with,"

Merikh doesn't look back as he slams the door.

[k9effect]

Hangster as exes haunts my mind often, I forgot I wrote this snippet so I'm posting it on here, enjoy <3

Jake tried to breathe through the tight chested panic and residual fury he was feeling as he pushed the front door back open. He hadn't even been here for a full ten minutes.

Jake couldn't be around him. Not after everything.

He had made eye contact with Bradley from across the room right after he arrived. Bradley had stared him down like Jake was a deer and he was on a hunting trip. It had immediately set off every alarm in Jake's brain.

So he left.

The few party goers in the front yard didn't spare him a glance as he stormed off, letting the door close quietly behind him. He didn't want to make a scene. He was uncomfortable already, he was leaving quietly. That's all that was happening.

He didn't think much of it when he heard the door slam open. He didn't think much of the thundering footsteps. He was almost down the block when he heard someone call his name.

"Jake!"

He frowned as he turned around, having recognised the voice immediately.

Bradley was charging at him like a bull seeing red. Nostrils flaring, obviously drunk and pissed.

"So what, you can't even be around me? Is that what it is?" Bradley growled.

"What I feel is no longer any of your business, Rooster." Jake tried to keep his voice calm despite the way his heart was thundering against his chest.

"You turned tail the moment you saw me! You're a fucking coward who can't even exist in the same space as his ex!" Bradley jabbed a finger at him accusingly.

"Don't you dare call me a coward." Jake hissed, "I'm not the one who got scared and ran off when it got too real between us. I'm not the one who cut off his boyfriend and ghosted him for weeks without explanation. I'm not the one who brought up his boyfriend's shitty family life as an excuse to break it off!" Jake roared, everything bubbling up and boiling over.

Bradley's breathing was quick and heated. Jake had struck a nerve.

"I did what I had to do-"

"What? Because you wanted out? You could have just said that!" Jake threw his hands up, turning around a few steps then pacing back. "You fucking hurt me, Bradley. More than you realise." He snapped.

They stared at each other. The heated fury Jake had been feeling was dying down to coals and embers. He was back to that resigned numbness he had been drowning in since the break up.

"I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, Bradley." Jake's voice was uncharacteristically calm and quiet, shrouded in numbness. "I really, truly loved you."

He turned and left before Bradley could get another word in. He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and tried to not let the tears fall.

[starlight-library]

So American | LN4 & MV1

pairing: lando norris x oc x max verstappen

summary: Snippets of times that Storm, an up and coming American figure skater, being Lando and Max's favorite American soon to he partner friend

warning: fluff! some mad thirsting from Storm. but really just fluff!

FC: @/simimoonlight on instagram!

WC: 4.7K

a/n: Storm is genderfluid uses all pronouns fluently so the pronoun shifts are intentional, to showcase how they're presenting! yes! it is based off of 'So American' by Olivia Rodrigo! Yes, i did added the lyrics in! No, i do not own the song and all rights to her!! also, i blame @norrisleclercf1 for getting me on the norstappen train!!! so enjoy my first attempt at this!!

Drivin' on the right-side road. He says I'm pretty wearin' his clothes.

“Surprise!” Storm beams a bright smile at the older McLaren driver, arms stretched out wide for a hug while standing outside his hotel room. She almost cackles at the surprised expressions Lando is currently sporting before he rushes over, laughing and smiling as Lando pulls Storm into a tight hug, spinning her around before putting her down in shock. Storm is trying so hard to stay focused on Lando words as he rambles about them being here for Silverstone and all the things they’ll have to do before he stops, glances down, and laughs.

“Is this my hoodie?”

Glancing down at themselves, Storm feels her face suddenly on fire from being called out but she keeps her cool as she looks up at the Brit, “yeah. You left it at my place so now it’s mine. If you want it back, you’ll have to fight me for it and Max already took his back.”

Lando laughs as he shakes his head, “Calm down. As much as I love this hoodie, it looks much better on you. Max only took it back because Sassy loves to hide in his hoodies but I think I can part with this one if you promise to wear it often,” he beams that stupid heart stopping smile with a wink, “did you drive here?”

“Yes Lando, I drove here from the airport” making a face, “I don’t need someone to drive me around, Lando.”

“Booooooooooooooo! Return the car! I’ll drive you around while you’re here.”

“I think you just want an excuse to make fun of my driving and show me how to “properly drive” as you claim.”

“Am I wrong?”

Storm gasps and smacks Lando’s arm who is not fast enough to avoid it but he’s laughing. “Asshole!” Storm claims, “so the answer will be no.”

Crossing their arms over their chest, Storm studies Lando. She can’t help the small smile that appears on her face as Lando whines and complains that there’s no reason for Storm to drive when Lando is right here to be her personal chauffeur, especially at his home race. Storm shakes their head refusing to budge on the subject as Lando starts to coax them to put their things down so they can get drinks in the lobby.

And he's got hands that make hell seem cold.

“Jesus,” Lando hisses as his hand brushes against Storm’s hand as he takes his drink from her, “why are your hands freezing?”

“Maybe it’s because you run extremely hot all the time?” Storm counters.

“No no—put that down.”

Storm does and she blinks when Lando takes her hands into his. His hands are gigantic, completely engulfing her own, and they’re so “Lando, what the fu—”

“Storm, you're freezing. How are you okay with running this cold? And spare me the ‘I’m an ice skater’ bullshit. I know they’re all thermal so you don’t freeze.”

“How do you know that?”

“Common sense,” Lando states before speaking after a beat, “also cause I know you mentioned your tights ripping and money was a bit tight—”

“You bought me tights? Lando you didn’t have to do that. I have to pay you back—”

“No. Just take them. No strings attached. Really. Also stop distracting me from the fact you run way too cold—”

Storm laughs softly and shakes her head. They’ll die before admitting aloud that she has low iron and that she’s been taking iron pills but had forgotten to take one while traveling all the way out to the UK. Instead, she shrugs softly, “maybe it’s just the UK I’m allergic to,” she jokes with a grin.

Feet on the dashboard, he's like a poem I wish I wrote…I wish I wrote.

“Put your feet down!”

“No way!” Lando laughs as he shifts in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dashboard, “you refused to let me drive you around so now I get to play passenger princess! They do this all the time, why can’t I?”

“Cause god forbid I break short or something and then boom! Broken legs or worse, amputated legs,” Storm glances at the Brit trying her hardest to not cave and break this facade she’s put on, “I’ll buy you—fucking ice cream or something and won’t tell your trainer if you take your feet off the dashboard so I’m less stressed.”

Lando tilts his head from side to side before finally moving his legs off the dashboard, sighing dramatically as if Storm banned him from having fun. Storm laughs at the dramatic antics from the Brit but keeps driving as she steals a glance. Lando’s scrolling through his phone for something, maybe a song, but Storm can’t help but watch how his curls blow in the wind or how he’s got this glint in his eye when he focused or how sometimes he’ll end up making a duck face in thought and somehow make it work. Forcing her gaze away Storm continues driving and pushes the feelings down.

When he laughs at all my jokes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, it's just not fair of him to make me feel this much.

The days leading up to Silverstone felt like a dream that Storm did not want to wake up from. From the late night chats to the gaming to the shopping to the exploring, Storm can’t really pinpoint the last time she’s had this much fun, even if it’s just lounging around in his hotel room, Storm high out of her mind while Lando is basically giving her a fashion show for an outfit for media day.

“Your tolerance must be shit,” Storm says while sprawled out on the bed.

“It is,” Lando glances at her from the mirror while buttoning his shirt. Sea green eyes meet brown and Storm smiles and is thankful he looks away to finish getting dressed, “I’ll have some time during summer break but not much. Might have to stick to carts until the season ends.”

“One hit and you’ll be seeing god.”

“It’s better than the American on my bed,” Lando smirks in the mirror.

I'll go anywhere he goes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, I'm gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up.

“Well, this American will now stop giving fashion advice since the Brit seems to know so much more.” Storm starts, “and I guess this American just will sell her Hungary tickets a—”

“You’re going to Hungary too?!” Lando turns sharply to face Storm.

Sighing dramatically, Storm looks at the ceiling “Well, not anymore since someone would rather see God than the American.”

“I was kidding!” Lando starts and Storm just dramatically tosses her head to the sigh before Lando is launching himself onto the bed. Storm screams slightly and rolls so she’s not suffocated or injured and covers her mouth out of shock. Lando’s laughing and Storm shifts, grabbing a pillow. “Asshole!” Storm swears and smacks him with the pillow just as he sits up and she gasps before cackling at the McLaren driver falling off the bed.

I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love.

Silverstone was not the results McLaren wanted. They were too greedy and the calls were all off. Why were the boys being left to make these decisions? Why didn’t they do a double pit in the beginning when McLaren was p1-p2. Storm debated if a lifetime ban from the garage would be worth cursing the race engineers out but Storm decided it wasn’t worth it in the long run so instead Storm took to stepping out of the garage to not get banned. 

Watching the podium from her spot in the garage, she couldn’t help but smile sadly. As much as she was proud of Lewis for getting his home win, she knew that this meant so much to Lando (and George who didn’t even finish) as well and Lando was so close. If the calls were just right maybe it would’ve been a different outcome. 

Storm hears the anger in his voice when Lewis points out they pitted Lando a lap too late. She winces slightly at it before she depearts and starts making her way to see the podium, hanging closer to the back as the boys appear. She’s thankful Max is up there as well, to be a support beam for Lando. Storm refuses to imagine what this would’ve been if Max and Lando let Austria really get to their friendship, even if she hasn’t talked much even with Lando there.

When the podium is over and everyone’s finishing up, Storm is lingering around the McLaren garage. Scrolling through her phone, she glances up seeing the Red Bull driver and pockets her phone as she steps forward intercepting his path. “Max,” Storm starts with a smile, backing up slightly seeing she had startled the male.

“Oh–Justice, is it?”

“Uh, yeah but everyone calls me Storm. Call me Storm, please.” 

“Okay. Storm it is,” Max smiles and nods.

“Thanks. I also just wanted to say thank you, for today.”

“You’re welcome for…what exactly?”

“Trying to cheer Lando up. I saw you really tried ever since the race ended,” Storm admits, “he really needed that so thank you. Especially after Austria..” letting her voice trail off for a moment, “it means a lot coming from you so, I just wanted to say thank you. Now if you excuse me, I have to deal with a moping Lando for the evening.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Max offers, “to have help while he’s moping. He can be–”

“A lot,” Storm finishes, “I know but…I’d appreciate that a lot.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby. We can–take him to the bar there or I can buy something on the way back and we can drink and just relax in his room.”

“Sounds like a plan. See you soon.”

God, I'm so boring and I'm so rude. Can't have a conversation if it's not all about you.

“I was thinking–are you even listening to me?”

“Hm? Yeah, totally.”

“Liar. You’re not even looking at me. You haven’t spoken in thirty five minutes. You’ve just shut me out.”

“Just because I’m not looking at my phone doesn’t mean I’m not listening. Also the fact you know how long I’ve been quiet is a bit weird.”

There’s a noise on the other end, “It’s not weird when you’re typically always talking. What are you doing anyway that’s apparently so important?”

“Looking for costume ideas for my competition,” Storm mutters while glancing at his phone for a second then back to his laptop, “what were you saying again?”

“So you were ignoring me. That’s rude, you know”

“I wasn’t ignoring you. I was just prioritizing my competition--"

"Competition for what?"

"Figure skating," Storm glances at the screen then away, "and being genderfluid sometimes suck cause that means more costumes to fit the mood. Doesn't matter since you’re just talking my ear off and probably will continue talking my ear off for another another three hours about your cats,” Storm jokes and smirks hearing the noise that comes from the other end of the FaceTime call before he starts to mimic Max’s rant. 

Storm has heard the same playful rant so much that Storm has accidentally memorized it ever since the end of Silverstone with Storm and Max talking more often now, especially with Lando spending time with family and Quadrant which…Storm didn’t hate at all. 

The way you dress and the books you read. 

Storm was truly no better than a man or woman or person. Deep in the back of Storm’s mind, Storm is kicking himself right now for staring shamelessly at Max but how could they not? Any other time they’ve spoken to Red Bull’s current golden boy, he’s always in Red Bull merch which did not do him any justice. 

The plain black t-shirt and jeans with sneakers and a backwards cap? That was doing him all the justice in the world as the two sat at the bar, waiting for drinks. Storm knew where he should look but he was going to take every inch of Max’s figure in while he could. 

Storm started at his thighs. It was a shame Max didn’t wear shorts as often because he had some killer thighs. Honestly, Storm bet he could crush a watermelon easily with them…or Storm’s head. Either way, Storm would be very content. They also looked so rideable. Storm would love nothing more than to just swing a leg over and get himself off on Max’s thigh.

Moving his gaze up, Storm sucked his bottom lip between his teeth while staring at Max’s chest. The way the shirt clung to his chest was impossible to ignore. The way his muscles twitched and flex with the simplest of movements. Storm would kill to sink his teeth into his biceps or have a bicep around his waist or his throat.

Looking up more, Storm settles on studying Max’s face. How his eyes shine from the bar lights, how his jaw twitches slightly or his lips are together as he looks over before smiling brightly at Storm. Storm blinks before smiling back but glancing away, embarrassed for just staring Max down like a piece of meat. 

I really love my bed, but, man, it's hard to sleep when he's with me. When he's with me.

Time really does fly when you’re having fun. Storm had come to Monaco to hang out with Lando since he had the time off but he was stuck in meetings all day. Storm didn’t really want to sit in their hotel room by themselves so they had called Max. Max was more than kind to let Storm hang out at his apartment while Storm waited for Lando to finish his meetings.

What was meant to be a few hours turned into Storm walking around holding Jimmy and Sassy while Max was in the kitchen cooking dinner. What was just meant to kill some time turned into Storm trying to explain how wonderful Waffle House was to Max and “when you guys come to Austin, I have to take you!” What was meant to just be a quick stop turned into Storm and Max on the couch watching some really cheesy spoof movie with the cats just dissecting the movie.

“Oh my fucking god it’s almost midnight!” Storm proclaims when they finally check their phone. They don’t feel as bad since Lando sent a text apologizing that he’s been in meetings all day and had to handle stuff for Quadrant and he’d make it up to them, “I need to get back to the hotel–”

“Just stay.”

“What?” Storm looks.

“I said stay. It’s late,” Max forces himself to prop himself up on his elbows, “or I can take you back but you shouldn’t be driving. All the crazies are out.”

“That’s a kind offer but it’s fine,” Storm is looking around for their jacket, “besides. If you drive me, then I won’t have a car. What am I going to do then? Huh?” Turning to face him, “have you or Lando drive me all over town?” 

The silence that falls upon the apartment is almost comical. Storm is waiting for Max to answer but all instead they just get a blank face and finally an eyebrow raise as if Storm’s question was a stupid one. Shaking their head, Storm turns back around and grabs their things as there’s shuffling behind them.

“I appreciate the offer,” a silent one that is, “but really. I can handle a twenty minute drive back,” Storm turns and nearly jumps out their skin with how close Max is, who’s currently got his arm outstretched to grab a jacket, “what are you doing?”

“Walking you to the car.”

There’s no point of arguing with Max once his mind is made up. Any other time, Storm would argue but it’s late and Storm is counting their blessings that Max was letting them drive back to the hotel. The two chatted all the way there and Storm waved bye as Max watched them drive off.

Laying in their hotel bed, Storm stares at the ceiling before looking at the digital clock on their nightstand. 3am. Looking back at the ceiling, Storm tries to convince themselves that they can’t sleep is totally not because talking to Max was so easy and nice and they would’ve much preferred to stay up all night hanging out with him. They’re wide awake because they had to drive back and they’re struggling to fall back asleep.

It doesn't work but Storm can try. 

When he laughs at all my jokes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, it's just not fair of him to make me feel this much.

The week in Monaco is a blur in the best way possible.

Storm found herself with Max when she wasn’t running around with Lando. For most of it, they just hung out at his apartment watching movies or Storm learning way too much about F1 while Max was on the sim. Hell, she happily sits in the corner when he streams and swallows her giggles though it doesn’t matter. The chat can see Max turning to look back at Storm with that stupid, stunning smile.

I'll go anywhere he goes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, I'm gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up.

Storm wasn’t a huge party person. Sure, they enjoyed going out but the consistent partying like other celebrities and pro athletes? Not really and they always got teased about it by their friends.

Storm found themselves out at a club in Monaco, vibing to the music as they gently sway from side to side against the wall. “I should’ve taken being teased,” Storm mutters to themselves as they glance around the club. How people went clubbing by themselves, they would never know and they gave them so much credit for being that confident. Sighing gently, at least Storm could say they tried it and it wasn’t their vibe.

“Storm!”

Perking their head up, Storm’s a bit surprised to see Max making his way over, “what are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

‘He’s tipsy’ Storm thinks. Between his accent being thicker, the very slight slurred speech, and the alcohol–Red Bull and vodka–Storm deduces he’s tipsy at least. Putting their lips together, they can’t help but smile slightly as Max leans against the wall, wincing slightly when he hits it a bit harder than probably intended. 

“I asked you first.”

“Lando. Well Lando and Charles. They wanted a night out and I did promise Lando ‘next time’ and well,” gesturing to the club, “here I am.”

“Ah.”

“You?”

Storm instinctively leans back slightly when Max leans in slightly, “ If I had known Lando was organizing something, I probably would’ve come with you guys but I tried solo clubbing.”

“Find anyone?”

Storm practically jumps out of her skin at the new voice. Turning their head to the side, they see Lando on the other side, clutching their shirt. Relaxing when they realize that it’s just Lando, they settle against the wall to look at the two drivers. Mulling the question over, Storm tilts their head slightly.

“Is that all you think about?” Storm quirks a brow, “not everyone is looking for someone.”

“Are you?” Max asks.

“No–” Storm internally winces at how fast they answered, “I mean, not particularly,” they correct themselves considering the only two they would want currently have them trapped between them, “I’m a bit…”

“Picky?” Lando leans in with a smirk.

“Guarded,” Storm retorts.

They notice Lando’s eye dart to Max and they glances at Max, who shoots a look back at Lando. Unsure of the silent conversation happening right now, Storm decides as much as they would love to stay and be the center of these boys' attention and talk to their friends, they decide to give them the time to talk.

“Well,” Storm announces promptly, “this was a great chat but I have to go. Been here so long, you know,” pushing off the wall and just out of their grasp, Storm turns to them with a smile, “and I have a flight to catch in the morning so I’ll see you guys!”

Storm proceeds to slip onto the dance floor as the music drowns out the pleas from Lando and Max as the crowd swallows Storm whole before they exit on the other side. They cover their face in embarrassment. How stupid could they have been? That was the perfect situation to be in with their two crushes and yet they panicked and chickened out. Hopefully something eventful happens and they forget about this interaction.

I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love. I apologize if it's a little too much, just a little too soon but if the conversation ever were to come up I don't wanna assume this stuff…

“That was a really good job out there. I think you’re gonna do great at World’s this year. Maybe even win.”

“Thanks coach,” Storm says, skating over to the edge of the rink with a smile before waddling off carefully to sit on the bench and take her skates off, “you think so?”

“Yeah. Just keep up with what you’re doing. Don’t overwork yourself,” coach jokes as Storm ties her boots and grabs her bag, standing up. Laughing slightly, the two exit the rink before parting ways.

Taking their phone out, Storm checks her phone as she walks to her car. She opens her messages and is greeted with pictures of Jimmy and Sassy and Lando memeifying them. She sits in her car, laughing to herself as she finally answers.

STORM - LN

There you are! - MV

Here I am - ST

How was practice? - LN

Good! Coach thinks I can win World’s this year but I think she’s being nice. - ST

No, I think your coach is right. - MV

Yeah, your coach doesn’t say that shit slightly. You’ve told me first hand. - LN

Yeah but, I don’t know. One step at a time, you know? Let me get through the competition this week. - ST

WHAT? You’re competing and didn’t tell us?! - LN

I did! I said I’m gonna be busy with practice for the competition this week! Max, back me up. - ST

Lando’s right. We were unaware. - MV

Really? Shit, sorry guys. I swore I told you guys. - ST

BOOOOOO. I wanna see you compete :( - LN

Me as well. - MV

Well, maybe next time! Or I can, you know, teach you guys how to figure skate and do something. - ST

PLEASE. - LN

For Lando to break something? I don’t know. - MV

HEY. - LN

Haha, true. Well, I gotta drive home, talk to you guys soon! - ST

Laaaame, drive safe though! - LN

Text us when you get home. - MV

Text you. I’m stalking their location as we speak! - LN

But ain't it love? Think I'm in love.

“And our first place winner, taking it by a tenth of a point is…Justice Storm Thatcher!”

Storm stood dumbly in her spot on the side before she moved as the crowd erupted in applause. Making her way onto the ice, Storm skated over to the podium, thanking the other two winners when they offered their hands to help her up, smiling wide. She bent down for her medal before standing back up, smiling brightly. She couldn’t believe that she won her competition. 

After photos and congratulating the other two, who returned the congratulations, Storm made her way off the ice and hugged her coach tightly, beaming. She was speaking, they both were, but it was hard to hear over all the noise of everyone talking and leaving. 

Eventually, Storm emerges from the locker room in sweatpants, sporting her leotard as a top. She’s trying to find her friends that she knew came and she turns to hear her name being shouted. Spying a hand in the air, she starts making her through the crowd, half apologizing and half not caring. She sees an opening and bursts through before stopping in her tracks at the sight before her. 

“Storm!” Storm stumbles back when Lando barrels into her chest and she hugs back, not as hard as Lando, still in shock as Max makes his way over. 

Pulling back, Lando puts his hands on her chest, “You were amazing!”

“I–what are you guys doing here?!”

“You thought you’d have a competition and we wouldn’t be here?” Max asks, offended.

“Well no it’s just–” Storm is baffled. She really isn’t sure what to say and Lando laughs as Max pulls her into a hug that she also semi returns.

“Are those for me?” Storm asks as she’s handed a bouquet of flowers, looking between the two.

“Of course dude. You thought we’d show up empty handed?” Lando scoffs.

“It’s not a proper celebration if we don’t go out,” Max adds, “Storm, where are we going?”

“Applebee’s.”

“...I’ve never been to an Applebee’s,” Max admits and Lando nods in agreement

“What?! You guys haven’t been to an Applebee’s?! Oh come on. We have to go! I want my bucket of alcohol–”

“Bucket!?”

“That cannot be possible,” Max shakes his head.

“Come on!” Storm starts leading the charge out of the door, “let’s go! Bucket of alcohol and half-apps! On me!”

“You are NOT paying!” Lando and Max shout as they follow after her.

When he laughs at all my jokes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, it's just not fair of him to make me feel this much. I'll go anywhere he goes and he says I'm so American. Oh God, I'm gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up…

Introducing Lando and Max to Applebee’s was better than winning any competition. They sat at a high top table, Storm seated across the two drivers. Storm nearly chokes on her water seeing the pure shock / joy that forms on the boys faces when the drinks arrive and Storm is handed a small bucket of alcohol. 

“Could we just have a few more minutes to decide?” Storm asks the waiter and smiles when the waiter agrees and leaves.

“What are you getting?” Max asks.

“Appetizers.”

“You just gave the performance of your life, and you want to get appetizers?” Lando asks.

“And?”

“You need food.”

“It’s half apps! You don’t come to Applebee’s at this hour to get an actual meal, you come for drinks and half apps. Trust me,” Storm huffs seeing the look Max and Lando exchange, “I’m telling you guys.”

Lando decides to follow suit with the appetizers and Max, begrudgingly, also follows suit when the waiter comes back around. Storm can’t help but cackle when they realize how big the portions are for just appetizers and the three end up staying for roughly an hour just talking and chatting while working on their food and drinks. 

Storm isn’t entirely happy that Lando and Max refused to let her pay or even help with the tip after she explained how tipping works. The three head out and the smart thing would be heading home and getting some sleep.

Instead, Storm finds herself stirring from her slumber the next morning as the sun creeps through the blinds. Rubbing her eyes, she closes her eyes and shifts hearing someone grunt. Storm tries to settle down but now she notices a weight on her and opens her eyes again.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she looks over seeing the digital clock read 2:10pm. She was supposed to stay a few hours but Max, Lando, and her had spent so long talking and goofing off that by the time someone, she can’t remember who, declared bed time, it was almost 4am. 

There’s a leg tossed over hers and an arm. Storm looks around and realizes she’s between bodies. Rubbing her eyes again, her eyes focus on blonde hair tousled to her left and curly dark hair to her right realizing that the three of them ended up in a cuddle pile. 

Storm makes the mistake of trying to sit up before Max and Lando both make some form of protest and Storm is pulled back down between them. Staring at the ceiling, Storm lets out a silent laugh.

I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love ~

[chiharulen]

Let's talk about the OST of Black Butler

What really drew me to Kuroshitsuji was the music of the first two seasons. I remember so vividly listening to the music before watching the actual anime, and I remember how the OST made me feel. It was so sad, so raw and heart wrenching, even before knowing the story behind it. As a classical music fan and also musician, here are my favourites even though no one asked LOL :

I mean, with "Si deus me relinquint", I always want to cry. Clearly meant to be ciel's lament : "If God has forsaken me, Then I shall forsake God, too." The unusual spacing of each lyrics, as if the singer was panting her words with difficulties, as if too tired to continue. Then we can hear the gregorian/religious choir : "agnus dei qui tollis peccata mundi" : "Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us." Reminiscing of the cult, and the sacrifice that has been done. The second part of the music, makes me think of Sebastian, here to "save" ciel. (But is it really saving if he's just going to eat ciel's soul anyway. Giving no chance of eternal peace.)

An underrated OST : I've Come To The Lost World/Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen (you can find it here). The title is a nod to Malher's same title song. In this ost, there is no lyrics, however, in Malher's, here are some of the lyrics : "I am lost to the world With which I used to waste much time; It has for so long known nothing of me, It may well believe that I am dead. Nor am I at all concerned If it should think that I am dead. Nor can I deny it, For truly I am dead to the world." You can hear the composer of Black butler's ost passion for opera in a few titles (with "Cena d'amore" or even "Wie Schon") At the beginning, it sounds peaceful. But the plaintive melody of the erhu (I think) can be heard at 1:52. So melancholic, and lonely. How can life be peaceful even when you are "safe", when you know you're going to die soon by the hands of a devil. Recalling the original of Malher's lyrics : For truly I am dead to the world.

The danse macabre (here) is one of my favourites too ! So dark (literally the "dance of death"), and clearly inspired by Camille Saint Saens "danse macabre". According to the legend : "Midnight strikes. Satan is going to lead the dance. Death appears, tunes his violin, and the round begins, almost furtively at first, comes to life, seems to calm down and then starts up again with an increased rage that will only cease when the cock crows. The Sabbath dissolves with the dawn." This music was clearly inspired by Vivaldi "the storm". I just LOVE IT. So well composed. You can imagine Ciel and Sebastian in a frenzied dance. Ciel getting tired and not being able to keep up. Almost as if Sebastian were playing with his food. At least, that's how it makes me feel !

This OST named "Ciel" : Si deus Relinquit, but make it orchestral. Again, Ciel's lament.

And should I talk about the band KALAFINA ?????????????????? Made by the one and only Yuki Kajiura (amazing song writer, did plenty amazing music for us weebs lol). We were blessed with the song "Lacrimosa". "Broken and vanishing into the distance I want to love this dazzling world once more I hide my dreams within my eyes Until my tainted heart Receives falling tears A phantom carriage parts the darkness On its way to where there is light The trap known as dreams Lures us into the inferno" ( ༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ )

I heard the fanbase in japan had a CONCERT for the 15th anniversary of kuroshitsuji. How I pray for something like that in Paris one day lol. Here's a snippet : here Such a lengthy post and yet I could go on and on... Please let me know if you want more !!!!

[marigold-hills]

Dunes & Waters, part 30

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And yet you encourage me.”

“Do I?”

“You know you do, Professor,” Sirius throws his head back, stretches the tendons of his neck. Something in Remus says bite and he’d like to pretend it’s the moon phase, but he knows it’s more - it’s the hex he cast at a muggle (Statute of Secrecy be damned), it’s the dreams he still has of the jail guard, the steady collapse of the self control he’s spent all his life clinging to. Every silly trip to the market he can’t help but agree to, and every cup of tea he makes without being asked. It’s Ziggy, and the Potters’ owl, and the knowledge he’d let any other animal stay, too, if Sirius were to ask.

He wants to bite the way wolves do, not for dominance but for ownership. He doesn’t think Sirius is something to be owned, though, too wild and too unpredictable, and too beautiful in it to bear containing. Remus wouldn’t want to try, not even if whatever it is that he feels was to be accepted, returned to him.

Beloved of my heart, he thinks, of course it had to be you.

“The buildup of curses on this thing… it must have taken years to complete,” Sirius is contemplative, quiet, “they must have really loved the intended.”

“Would appear so. I wonder what it’s protecting.”

“Must be something to help with the lycanthropy. To ease the transition, maybe? They speak of the body, here,” he points to Remus’ translation, “I’ve heard its… well, I’ve heard its difficult.”

Remus doesn’t mean to sound bitter as he laughs, but difficult is such an understatement, it bubbles out of him by itself. Sirius looks contrite, mouths an apology.

“No, don’t. Don’t apologise. There is no need for you to know.”

“There is now. So, I’d like to. If you’re willing to tell.”

Remus looks at him – looks at him – Sirius’ expression is open and waiting. Like he’d asked about a bad day or an unfortunate trip, not about this. Even Remus’ mum didn’t ask, not so openly. In different ways, yes, in cups of tea and charmed-hot blankets, but not with words unfaltering and eyes unafraid.

“Have you ever broken a bone?”

Sirius pulls up the bottom of his shirt where a thin white line runs over the hipbone.

“It’s like that, just… everywhere and all at once. The transformation is only minutes, doesn’t leave a permanent mark. That’s all down to how the wolf is feeling on the night.”

“It hurts you?”

“Hurts itself. Gets bored, I think. Looks for something. Misses… I don’t know,” Remus hedges, “I don’t remember much, just snippets here and there. It’s not me in there, not really.”

Sirius turns to the replica scroll, touches the line of hieroglyphs where it calls the werewolf by endearments. “They really must have loved them.”

“Maybe. Not a good life, that.”

It’s an offhand comment. Remus doesn’t even really register what he says, already looking down to his translation to try and work out the rest of the riddle.

“What do you mean by that?” it’s the sharpest he’s heard Sirius’ voice. Something almost aristocratic, the kind of voice that could send people to their deaths.

“Loving a werewolf,” Remus speaks slowly, unsure of where he’d gone wrong, “it’s not something I’d wish on anyone.”

“Remus, I know you to be a very smart man. Don’t make me rethink that stance.”

It’s absurd, and Remus laughs, but Sirius is stuck in that space of haughty stillness.

“It’s alright, Sirius. Like you said, you don’t know about this. You never had a need to and now you only do on account of the work we’re doing. Don’t worry about it.”

The air crackles, just a little, Sirius’ hair raising at the ends like from an electric storm. Remus doesn’t want to have to deal with cleaning up the office again, not the day before the full moon.

“Sirius. Please, calm down. I’m tired, you’re tired. Let’s drop this and go home, alright?”

At first, it makes it worse. Remus can taste the magic like an iron bar in his mouth. Then, Sirius forces a breath, then another, and the air calms down.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need.”

“Just, hearing you talk about yourself like that…” Sirius looks straight at him, through him, “you’re a wonderful man, Remus. No matter what happens a night of a month, no matter even if it were every day.”

“Sure, Sirius,” he says, because it’s a nice notion, and Sirius doesn’t know any better. “Thank you for saying that.”

It’s clear that Sirius knows he’s lying – he always knows – but he doesn’t say anything more. There’s something like hurt around the edges of his mouth.

They venture out into the library, split up between shelves. It reminds Remus of being at university and he wonders how it would have been, had they met there, had Remus not been what he is – just two students going about their days, meeting across a bookshelf or maybe reaching for the same tome. How Sirius would have looked like, just a little younger but without the weariness of prison. If he was wilder yet, or instead maybe more cautious, before that caution had run out.

NEXT PART

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

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@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

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(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

[dandelion-blues]

Hold Fast, Captain.

A Percy Jackson and Pirates of the Caribbean adventure!

The Prince of the Sea.

Oh! the dead dare to dream.

The cursed sought to claim,

If only the red blood would remain.

You dare touch the Storm’s chosen,

The one crowned by black roses.

Yo ho! A pirate may lust,

But will never earn his trust.

So pretty, the pearl of the sea,

Singing the siren shanties.

Drown in the depths of his eyes.

Oh! He'll be your demise.

Yo ho! Dancing till dawn,

The Hero won’t be treated as a pawn.

Oh! Lavish him in your riches,

To evade swimming with the fishes.

~~~

Many a pirate felt the calling of the sea in their very blood. They felt the sea salt air thicken as the waves crashed against their wooden vessels. The clear sky seared into their being.

Oh, it was the calm before the storm, they knew. Something was coming. For the Goddess of the Seas called her fish back, leaving the pirates blessed by her domain without their meals. It was her way to protect all those of the sea and send a message to thee. Only a fool would choose to ignore it, lest they wished for their death.

Their dreams filled with a young man, his face never clearly seen, but had the eyes not of a man but of the sea. Oh, blessed one of the seas.

“The Prince is coming,” the Goddess whispered in their dreams, to all those traveling on her waters. Her voice like the very tides. Ebbing and flowing in a soft crescendo. But in her voice held power, a power that spoke of a Goddess with many depths. A low symphony to her hidden trenches, deep and dangerous underneath the crystalline voice of her shallow shores.

Oh, Goddess of the Mirror World. Calypso, the Goddess of summer tides, the sea’s storm and might, the rescuer of the souls lost at sea, and the final judge of all those who dare journey her seas! Don’t mistake her for the daughter of Atlas, for she is more powerful than thee. She is this world’s Goddess of the Seas!

~~~

Dark eyes open. He swallows deeply, his voice but a whisper amongst the ship’s rocking waves, “The Prince is coming.”

Jack Sparrow, captain of the Black Pearl, looks to the horizon. Somehow, he knows he's in for something grand once again. He’ll survive this trial, this test, from the Goddess of the Seas. He knows he can.

For now, though, he’ll be drinking his weight in rum to forget the coming storm.

Notes:

Here's a little snippet of this idea that I've had on the backburner for a while now, but I finally decided to write.

I honestly really love this! And there really needs to be more Percy Jackson and Pirates of the Caribbean crossovers!

Also, I am fully headcannoning Captain Jack Sparrow as Aroallo!

"...my first and only love is the sea." ~Jack Sparrow.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Whumptober snippet

we’re still several days off from Whumptober, but i thought i would post some snippets occasionally to tide y’all over. this is what y’all are in store for!

this is from day one!

—————

Perrine had a nightmare about freezing to death once.

It was the first winter with the Lark as a group, and she didn’t know if they, a bunch of very young children without adult supervision, could survive on their own.

In the nightmare, there was a blizzard raging outside, making it impossible to get more firewood. Of course, there was no need to get more, as they had stocked up generously the day before.

However, they went through the firewood surprisingly quickly, and soon, there were only a few logs left.

Panic began to set in.

Clémentine said they would brave the wind and snow outside and go get more firewood from the pile they kept in the small shed just off of the side of their cottage. While they were gone, Perrine, Cole, and Kingsley started to hack up any piece of wooden furniture they could- chairs, tables, shelves, even parts of their couch. They tossed it all into the fire, watching it burn, but they were still rapidly running out of fuel, and it was only getting colder. Worst of all, Clémentine had yet to return.

It had been thirty minutes.

Perrine told Cole and Kingsley that she would go find Clémentine, so she suited up in her thickest furs and stepped out into the white abyss waiting outside their door. With one hand on the house to keep it in sight, she began to slowly trudge around its perimeter. She was soon facing the direction of the shed, though she could not see it, even though it couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet away. It took all of her courage to pull her hand away from the house and fully embrace the whirlwind.

She found the shed with surprising ease. Or, more accurately, it found her, as she bumped right into it. Regardless, she had reached her destination with only minimal difficulty, and she peeked inside.

Clémentine was nowhere in sight.

She saw the collection of firewood, chopped by herself the day before, dusted in frost. And she saw the shuffled footsteps in the snow, a telltale sign of someone having been here. But she didn’t see Clémentine.

“Clém?” Perrine had called out, but her voice was quickly swallowed up by the storm. Even still, she tried again, “Clémentine?”

No response, aside from the howling of the wind.

Perrine was worried. Where was Clémentine? Were they okay? She was starting to panic, but she pulled on the reins of her composure and chomped down on the bit, choking back her rising anxiety. She needed to stay calm.

Maybe Clémentine had already gone back to the cabin. Maybe they just missed each other; it wouldn’t be surprising in how limited the visibility was.

Perrine collected as many logs as she could carry and started back toward the cottage. For a terrifying moment, she thought she had gone in the wrong direction, but then the wooden walls swam up through the pelting sheets of white. Home.

She shambled her away to the front door and heaved it open against the wind. Scrambling, she hurried inside.

It was dark. The air was cold and silent. Her own breath formed a cloud in front of her face, even though that shouldn’t have been possible. She was back inside, she was safe, they were safe.

And yet…she was cold.

The logs in her arms fell from her grasp, clattering to the floor. She began to look around, desperate. Her mind was foggy, and she didn’t know why. Anxiety, she thought. That was all.

It wasn’t difficult to locate her friends.

Cole and Kingsley were huddled together in front of the hearth, but it wasn’t their own desperate need for warmth that had them pressed so close, rather the frost that had accumulated over their bodies, freezing them together in their final moments and making it impossible for them to pull away, lest they tear the skin of the other with them. Their flesh was faded to a horrible blue color, rime clinging to their hair, and their faces… Oh, their faces…

Cole had their eyes screwed shut, tears still frozen on their cheeks as they had been sobbing until their last breath. Kingsley’s eyes, on the other hand, were impossibly wide, glued to the front door, like he was waiting for her to come back.

The fire was burned out into embers. Dead, just like Kingsley and Cole.

Perrine was in shock. How did this happen? Had she really been out in the storm for that long?

She tried to rouse them, but it was futile. They were long gone.

Strangely, she didn’t remember crying. She wasn’t sure why. But she did, vividly, remember the terror.

The cold was coming for her next.

Putting the corpses of her friends out of her mind, Perrine scrambled to start a new fire, but she couldn’t feel her hands. Her fingers fumbled clumsily, unable to grasp the match no matter how many times she tried.

Perrine slumped back, panting. She felt so tired…

She thought about Clémentine. They weren’t here, so they must have been outside somewhere still, most likely lost. She liked to think that they were rescued or found by someone, brought into a nice house and given some hot tea, but that was just wishful thinking. They were probably dead. Just like Kingsley and Cole. Just like she would be.

Perrine died, alone and afraid, and it was only after having to sit through and feel the slow torture of freezing that she finally woke up in a cold sweat.

Living life is a lot like playing dominos. Each new day is a new domino set up. And at any moment, any one of those dominos could fall, causing an unstoppable chain reaction until there were no more dominos to tip over. The end of the line. The end of a life.

For Perrine, her first domino fell exactly one year later.

[firefly-factory]

"The degeneracy of the Empire is on display here in this room," or, "Ondolemar knows they'll never fire him"

Silly little comic based on this post by @skyrim-forever

Ondolemar knows that no one else wants to move to skyrim (even if Elenwen ordered them to) so he's basically irreplaceable.

Snippet of story below the cut, because the Ondolemar brain rot goes deeper than I care to admit. It's the same vibe as the comic, but extended a bit <3

~

Ondolemar stood with his back to the wall, a drink in one hand while he chatted with one of the party-goers. She was a pretty mer with near-white hair and sharp gold eyes. It surprised him when she asked about the growing tensions with the Empire, but he had been happy to oblige with an answer. It gave him an excuse to ignore the dirty looks the First Emissary had been shooting him all night.

" . . .our needs. But make no mistake, this is not a peace forged out of necessity between rival nations of equal strength. It is more like the calm between storms. And the next storm, I think, will be far deadlier than the last."

The mer - he thought her name was Astra - nodded thoughtfully. But before she had a chance to say anything more, the First Emissary stepped in, interrupting the conversation.

"Ondolemar." Elenwen hissed, grabbing the mer by the elbow. "I need you to come with me."

She dragged him out into the hallway, closing the door behind them. After she ascertained that they were properly alone, she crossed her arms, scowling at him. Her overdone eyeshadow made her usually sour expression even more severe. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Simply talking to one of our guests about the future of--"

"We both know that's not what I'm talking about. Your shoes! Where are they?"

She gestured angrily at his bare feet. He wiggled his toes in response, but said nothing else.

Elenwen put her palm to her forehead, sighing heavily. "Such behavior is unbefitting a Commander of the Thalmor."

This time he actually laughed. "My behavior? The degeneracy of the empire is on display at this party, and you're concerned about my footwear? I doubt your 'esteemed guests' even noticed, with how suspicious they are of us and each other."

Elenwen opened her mouth again, as if to protest.

He cut her off, sneering. "And if you don't like it, good luck finding another commander who's willing to relocate to this miserable icebox of a country. Let alone one who is willing to give up the -barest- of creature comforts just to meet your standards of propriety."

He pivoted on one bare heel, striding back to the main room. Elenwen, for once, was speechless.

[jakes3resin]

England arc snippet because I feel a bit guilty it's not ready. Its close but not ready. It's Gale's POV btw

Buck turns and storms back to the doors, panic growing under his skin. Bombs be damned, he’s finding John. Jack grabs him before he can slip back out. A few more boys slip in, none of them John.

"Ain't gonna do him any good going out there to get yourself killed." Jack says low and quick in Buck's ear. Buck tries to jerk his arm out of the other Alpha's grip. Jack holds firm. "He'll make it here Buck. And when he does, he'll kill us if you aren't, you hear?"

So many bodies in one space, their scents pungent with fear. Buck swallows down bile. Every instinct in him is screaming that he needs to get out of here and find John. Find his mate before something happens to him. Jack tightens his grip on him as if aware that Buck won’t stand down.

Hambone slips in through the door, and it's another five seconds before John follows. Jack finally lets him go, a sigh of relief escaping the man. Buck is on John a second later.

"Where the hell were you?" His hands shake as he guides John further from the doors. "What happened?"

"Had to turn the lights off," John pants. "Then Hambone wanted to go back for his fucking hat of all things. Brady would kill me if that idiot bit it for a hat of all things. Had to herd half a dozen other guys this way before I could follow."

"You don't need to sacrifice yourself John," Buck slips a hand down to John's wrist. He can feel the other’s pulse jumping beneath the skin, and despite himself, it calms him. He leans his head against John's shoulder.

"I couldn’t find you." The words mean more than he says, and John seems to understand that. He runs a hand up Buck’s arm all the way to his jaw.

“It’ll be me, and it’ll be you Buck,” John breathes out pressing their foreheads together. His scent wraps around Buck, and he can finally relax. His John is here, and nothing can hurt them so long as they’re together.

[thisonesatellite]

tomorrow never knows - CH6

AO3

PAIRING: Steve /Bucky

SUMMARY:

In East Berlin around the late 60s /early 70s, KGB Asset 3B-1 is tasked with eliminating a subject, but his personal equipment malfunctions and the whole thing gets switched to recon and this is how Asset 3B-1 finds himself watching a hapless artist sleep, mostly. But this is the heyday of spies and corruption and nothing ever being what it seems, and so Things Happen. Plot and action and secrets and lies Happen. Until of course the truth comes out, the way it always does. Because at the core of this are Bucky and Steve, as always—idiots who are being the most idiotic idiots about everything, especially each other.

A/N: i have no excuse that this took so long other than that this chaper nearly KILLED ME DEAD. SO DEAD. ALL THE DEAD. No, really. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW. 😂

Here is where you finally find out some more stuff. Some very real stuff. And you get the last calm before the storm, because trust me when i tell you--- storms are coming.

MUAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA.

All i can say is thank you to all you people being so patient with my continuing descent into madness. Thank you for reading and sticking with me.

It means everything. 💕💕💕

For my lovely @booksandabeer who holds my hand when i go mad and then makes everything better, my lovely @bittersweet-in-boston who matches my madness and then makes everything better, @hanitrash who throws snippets my way and makes everything better, and @sparkagrace who is simply the bestestest.

i love you all. 💖💖💖

[wandering-night19]

It’s finally here! You’d think with the way I slaved over this fic it’d be 100k. Thanks to @whenshereads for dragging me through this kicking and screaming. Even though I wanted to throw the computer against the wall every time she found a plot hole. And @steddie-as-they-go for screaming with me over facetime. This wouldn’t exist without both of you.

Green Eyes, Blue Skies

16k . Carlos Reyes/TK Strand . Explicit

When Carlos is tasked with uncovering the dump site of a serial killer on death row his biggest concern was being apart from TK for three months. But when a prison break goes awry, his biggest concern is TK being caught in the middle.

There’s a calmness that comes over TK whenever he sees Carlos. It doesn’t matter what’s happening around them – solar flare, dust storm, ice storm – if he can see Carlos he knows everything is going to be fine. Carlos won’t let anything happen to him. And TK would never let anything happen to Carlos. 

It’s why, in the face of everything that’s happened so far, he hasn’t been terrified. He’s held on to the fact that they’re going to get out of this. They have to, there’s no other option his brain will allow. Besides, Carlos is enough of a worrier for the both of them. 

That was before though. Before he felt the arm wrapping around his waist. Before he felt his feet leaving the ground.

He kicks out, his feet barely scrabbling against the floor, arms reaching out to grab on to anything. Carlos is too far away. He can’t reach him.

“Carlos!” he screams. And the whole world comes to a stop.

continue on ao3

Tagging under the cut anyone that was interested in the snippets shared from this fic.

@cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @thebumblecee @lutavero @heartstringsduet @guardian-angle22 @liminalmemories21 @ramblingdisaster73 @rosedavid @jesuisici33​ @bonheur-cafe​ @lemonlyman-dotcom​

[aerodaltonimperial]

(Junglecorpse, 1.4k ish. In my defense, and I know I say this a lot but it's actually true this time, I am very legitimately going through a lot right now, and I don't know if my therapist would approve of this method of self-soothing or no, BUT whatever, Junglecorpse is one of the few pairings that activates my "MUST HAVE FLUFF NOW" toggles when normally I avoid fluff like the plague. I wrote this snippet a few months back or so for Vamp via chat and expanded it today for Myself™️ so I'm posting it here so I can save it on the masterlist. You do not have to read this.)

“Do you think Tony’s gonna lose his mind and create a new pay-per-view every week?” Jack asks, while thumbing up through his Twitter feed somewhat absently. He’s only got his right hand, as Darby has stolen his left. Darby’s got one of his ink pens, the felt-tipped kind he uses to doodle sometimes, and the brush of the tip against the skin on the back of Jack’s hand is calming. Sometimes Jack ends up with skulls littering his knuckles, other times with swoops and flourishes; mostly, he just lets Darby do his thing. It’s familiar.

“Seems like a bad business model,” Darby replies. His head is bowed, chin turned down as he works. Last week, Jack went out to lunch with his sister with a stylized skateboard heading up against the bump in his wrist bone, and she’d laughed for about three minutes straight.

Jack snorts a little, still scrolling. Doom-scrolling, really, though he’ll never admit that to his therapist. “Yeah, people are gonna stop paying if all they ever see is Hanger and Swerve stapling each other’s chests every single month, over and over again.”

“You may be greatly underestimating the public interest in that.” Darby laughs.

“Oh.” Jack frowns at the back glow, squinting a little. “Shit, yeah, you’re right. Man. Should I start up a homoerotic feud with somebody with the sole goal of getting some really violent death matches?”

“Please don’t let anyone else staple your chest,” Darby says, a bit muffled. The brush pen curls along Jack’s skin.

“Anyone else? Whoa, buddy, stapling me was not on the to-do list for this week.”

Darby snorts. “I like you in one piece, thanks. And I’m not a big fan of watching you bleed all over the mats.”

“Oh, sure, but I have to watch you toss yourself spine first off the posts every Wednesday,” Jack says. He taps the screen again with his thumb, pulling down. Something something official AEW twitter, five clips from the last show, and Stokely buying another celebrity Cameo to woo Kris Statlander. Actually, that one’s pretty funny. He got Barack Obama to do it. Jack didn’t even know Obama had a Cameo.

The brush tip swirls, then taps a few times. “Aw. You gettin’ anxious over me?”

“Well, if you die, who’s going to keep my feet warm at night?”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you: wear socks. Your feet are fucking freezing.”

Jack huffs out another laugh. The Obama cameo was hilarious. Stokely deserves managing her at this point. “I don’t need socks, I have your legs.”

“Dick,” Darby grumbles.

“But back to this pay-per-view thing. This is a lot of matches. Having even more on Sunday, every month, feels kind of overwhelming. Like, I need to have the roofing guy come look at my place? And I can’t schedule it because Tony keeps creating new shows.”

“Mm.” Another swoop of the brush, then some lines. Jack glides through an update from Prince Nana that reads truly bizarre, a reblog from Bowens that reads genuinely excited, and a post from Danhausen that’s mostly nonsense ending with ‘you’re cursed.’ “Maybe next week. Your shingles? Or the gutters? I don’t think I remember you talking about any other issues.”

“Just the shingles. After that last wind storm, I think a few came off, and now I’m worried the whole damn thing will come down around me one night.”

Darby huffs out a laugh, but the doodling ministrations on the back of Jack’s hand don’t pause. “I think you’d get a bit of a heads up before that happens.”

“Only if someone is physically there to yell ‘heads up’ at all times,” Jack jokes. Another tweet from the official AEW account, and then a reblog. Sammy posted. Ricky posted. Sammy tweeted at Ricky with a bunch of capslock, Ricky quote-retweeted with a gif of a dancing middle finger, and Jack skips all of that. Let them argue on main if they want to. Sammy’s just gonna try to fall on Ricky from the scaffolding again.

“I’ll do it.”

The drawing on the back of his hand stops. “Oh, yeah?” Jack smiles. “Are you volunteering to always…” He looks down at the doodles on his skin, and freezes.

Adorning his knuckles are a series of curves, vine-like, that curl up towards his ring finger where they create a solid horizontal line, and in the middle of his hand, somewhat shaky, given they were written upside down to be read from Jack’s direction, blocky letters spell WILL YOU MARRY ME.

Jack’s chest constricts. He can’t breathe. With his heart roaring against his ears, he whips his gaze up to stare at Darby, whose expression is maddeningly neutral. “Darby. What the fuck?”

“Okay, that’s… a response,” Darby says, with the tiniest of shrugs and a pinch to his lips. “Think it’s pretty clear.”

“Are you… are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Darby replies, mouth quirking up at the corners. “Yeah, I am.”

“You…” Jack’s tongue is ungainly, swollen. “Oh my god.”

“I’m not hearing an answer.”

“But… why would you…”

Darby drops his eyes, dragging his thumb over the topmost part of his impromptu design in a caress, and his smile never really diminishes. “Jack, what did you think this was? What did you think this was going to be? I don’t do things in halves, I told you that from the get-go. You know me. It’s you and me, and that’s what I want. Forever.”

“Are… are you sure?” Jack’s gonna choke on everything bubbling up from his chest.

Darby’s eyes slide back up. They reflect the lamplight, bright shiny starbursts. “Yeah, Jack, I’m really fucking sure. And if you don’t—”

“Yes.”

Darby pauses, tongue slipping out to press into the corner of his mouth. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Jack laughs, the sound bubbling up through his throat. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Holy shit.” Darby’s smile widens, impossibly stretched. “Holy shit. Really?”

Jack grabs for Darby’s face, clutching the sides of his head. He mashes their mouths together with way too much force, but he can’t stop it, because the rattling in his veins has started to sing. Then he pulls away. “You asked, you absolute loon, how did you not expect an answer? Yes, really. Really.”

And then he’s not really sure of much other than the fact that they’re both laughing, euphoric, and Jack doesn’t care about the roof anymore, or the idea of someone stapling his chest, because all that really pales in comparison to everything else, and he thinks ah, that’s exactly how it should be.

His brain starts to catch up with reality, sluggish. “Where are we gonna live? My place, or your place? This is opposite sides of the country, you know. Oh, wow. We’re gonna have to file taxes together.”

Darby laughs, features pulled incredulous. “What?”

“Should we hyphenate our last names?” Jack’s eyes track over Darby’s face: blue, blue, blue, his eyes are so blue. Should they have blue in their wedding? Should they have a wedding? “Should we hyphenate them in the ring? Wait, I have to go to the grocery store today, and I don’t want to wash this off my hand. Should I take a photo? Or wear a glove? Am I gonna look like Michael Jackson?”

“Jack,” Darby laughs again, high and bright. “Darling. Light of my life. You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m seventeen steps ahead again, aren’t I.”

Darby grabs his face between his palms. “Yes. Yes, you are. Honestly, I don’t know where we’re gonna live. We’ll probably just keep both places. Yes, we’re gonna have to file taxes together. No, I don’t know if we’ll hyphenate our names; I really don’t give a shit. Yes, you can take a photo. No, you will never look like Michael Jackson.”

“You don’t have an opinion about our names?” Jack asks.

Darby hauls him closer, until their noses touch. He’s smiling, smiling, and Jack’s smiling, the expression too wide and aching on his face. “Jack, I don’t fucking care. I just want to be with you and your stupidly cold feet.”

“Does this proposal come with the condition that I have to buy some socks?”

“Don’t you even dare,” Darby replies, his thumb gliding along Jack’s cheek a little. “You’re gonna shove your feet between my legs in the middle of the night and jolt me awake like you always do, and I’m gonna fuckin’ love it, every damn time.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a sap,” Jack says.

“Get to used to that, ‘cause you’re gonna be legally stuck with me after this.”

“Awesome,” Jack breathes, and kisses him again.

[rist-ix]

Hi Rist! Can you give us a snippet of the next chapter of tbhtbh? 🙏🏻

I can't give u plot yet. But I can give u death and destruction if you want?

Layla used to tell them so much about her homeworld.

It's brilliant blue skies, it’s crystal clear waters. The gentle currents that would guide the boats of fishers and shellfish farmers from and to their homes; the salty winds that would rustle through palm trees and orchards, bringing rain in the morning and swarms of jewel colored birds in spring.

She used to talk about it with such warmth, such longing, an undying loyalty and love for her home and her people and her duty as their princess. Even when she had raged and resented her parents for the way they'd caged her in, she would have done anything for them. Anything for the vibrant, beautiful kingdom they all loved.

Bloom had never seen its beauty.

The first time she'd stepped foot on Andros had already been the beginning of its end. Even after Council Hall, when they were in dire need of a place to lay low, they never dared to return here.

The realm of the tides never got the chance to recover. The collapsing Omega Portal had robbed Andros of a crucial magical pillar, and when its atmosphere didn’t clear up, its waters didn’t calm and its mermaids were not freed from the monstrous mark on their necks…

It's like an infected body, desperately trying to rid itself of the sickness festering within. Killing itself with its own seizures, its own fever, its own madness. Murky oceans shaping tidal waves, skies heavy with clouds never ceasing their storms, the very earth breaking open and spitting black ash into the air.

They had met travelers two years later who said the fires were still burning.

Still. There's a difference between hearing about it, and seeing it first hand.

The second her feet touch Andros' rust-brown earth, gusts of hot, searing wind start tearing at her hair and her clothes, burning hot against her skin. Salt, sulfur and smoke make her eyes water, her lungs seize; every breath tastes like poison, and hiding her mouth and nose in her sleeve does little to make it more bearable.

When the glow of teleportation subsides and her vision clears, it reveals the full scale of Andros' fate.

Skies like molten iron, bleeding murky rays of sunlight through blackened clouds that seem to glow red from within. Their light is dim and pale compared to the bursts of sickly yellow lightning striking the waves below, over and over again. The horizon is never calm, the twisted branches of electricity reminding her of a nervous system in panic. To the east, lush green jungles have been charred to pitch black fingers reaching skyward. Beyond, red-tipped mountains cough ash and fire into the air.

It's almost beautiful, this deadly display of colors.

For a few seconds, that keeps the horror at bay.

Valtor lands beside her with his usual grace, showing not the smallest sign of discomfort. She can't tear her eyes away from the shaking, shuddering corpse of this kingdom she once knew, so she doesn’t see his expression. But she imagines he must be proud.

A new Domino. Except this time, he can savor its destruction without his pesky, selfish regrets. He's always hated Andros, after all.

“The view never fails to amaze, doesn’t it?”

Valtor makes a swirling gesture with his hands, and the searing wind tearing at her hair lets up. The taste of ash on the air fades as well, and she realizes he's shielding them from the worst of the storm.

Unwilling to yell against it, most likely.

It doesn’t make it easier to answer. For once, she is genuinely speechless.

She turns around to look at him, and finds him already watching her from the corner of his eyes. Almost eagerly, as if awaiting her outrage. Her revulsion.

Whatever he finds in her expression seems to satisfy him, because he smiles and turns his back on her, surveying their surroundings.

“Do you know where we are?”

She does. She knew before they even stepped out of the portal where it would lead them, and she has dreamed of this place often enough to know it blind.

The crumbling stone arches, the single circular structure rising from the sea. Saltwater in her mouth, her nose; her ribs still aching from Icy's blast to her back. A memory so vivid it’s hard to distinguish from reality, for a moment.

“We met here,” she says. Despite the relative silence within his shields, her voice feels small.

If they had known then what would happen, would she and her friends have even come? Surely, whatever damage Andros would have suffered under Valtor's attacks would have been preferable to this. If they had simply stayed at Alfea, hadn’t snuck out and simply acted like the students they still were, it could have all been so different.

Valtor clicks his tongue, chiding.

“We first met on Solaria, dearest. But I'm glad you remember that day.”

He trails his fingers over the rough, salt-encrusted stone of a pillar.

“I think of it often. I'd been dying to meet you again once I knew who you were. The very last princess of Domino, just when I feared there was nothing left of it. 'How often does one get the chance to destroy the same dynasty twice?' I thought. You must have been meant for me, an opponent like no other. Our final battle, your death, only that could mean true victory.”

He smiles to himself. She can tell from the way he inclines his head, the way he speaks, even if she can’t see his face.

“I don’t make a habit of being wrong, but I suppose even I have to admit foolishness, here.”

The wind around them howls, and the spray of harsh waves crashing against their little ruin evaporates against his shield.

His head tilts in her direction, just a little.

“Do you ever miss it?”

He doesn’t have to clarify. She knows exactly what he means.

How they had chased him through the entire dimension, the thrill of combat hot in her veins. Every fight a point to prove, a cocky race to the top, it didn’t even matter if she failed because she got quicker, closer each time. Locking eyes over the blaze of their colliding magic and understanding perfectly how the other felt.

Knowing that she would be his undoing. No matter how long it took, she would be the one to end him. The brilliant, powerful, immortal wizard that not even Omega could hold; she would bring him low.

The simple, reckless single-mindedness of it.

She also remembers that sense of safety. Tecna's shields humming to life around them, Stella's sarcastic little comments there to take the edge off of their numerous close calls. The unwavering certainty that nothing could hurt her, because her friends were there, and once the battle was over they'd go home and sleep it off, huddled together on Stella's giant bed.

“Every day,” she tells him.

Even Valtor, self-serving and arrogant as he may be, can’t ignore what she's really saying.