#this was so much fun to write tbh

[semiferalstreetcoyote]

ok i wanted to do something for croma week rlly bad and since i'm not that confident in my art skills i wrote a fanfic :) its only about 2k words, i've never really done this before tho so i hope it turned out ok lol (ignore that it’s a day late)

“Did Lord Death really need to rent a venue this far away?”

“Maka, keep your fucking eyes on the road!”

“I wouldn’t need to keep looking back and forth if you read off the directions like you were supposed to!”

Soul grumbled something about the ‘straightforward’ instructions under his breath in reply. When Maka glanced at him, his dirty sneakers that he had insisted on wearing were smudging the dashboard and he was very clearly watching a Minecraft parkour video. Despite the lack of space in the back, she was regretting giving him shotgun privileges. She could have made room somewhere. Overlooking the trunk was too generous a move.

In the rearview mirror she checked on her passengers. Kid sat in the middle seat – the ‘bitch seat’, as Patti refused to stop calling it. Liz and Patti sat on either side in matching white dresses. Their outfits had been painstakingly planned out by Kid weeks in advance. On each side of his chest he wore a perfectly positioned white boutonniere.

“Kid,” Maka asked into the mirror, “why is your dad going to all this trouble? Couldn’t we just do this on school grounds?”

“He mentioned something-or-other about wanting to do ‘something normal’ for the student body. I believe all of this is wildly unnecessary, but… you know Dad.”

“Ah.”

“Maka, that’s – that’s the turn. You’re missing it. Get the – no, the sign with the balloons on it. Maka!”

“I got it! Stop yelling in my damn ear, Soul!”

The venue that Lord Death had chosen was rectangular and beige, with large cardboard letters that spelled ‘PROM’ adorning the entrance. They weren’t lit up and so they loomed in the darkness above the students. Even though the little parking lot, too, was dim, it was clear that most of the spots were taken.

“Maka, your clock reads eight-o’-four,” chirped Kid from the back seat. “Prom started at eight o’ clock. Your clock is fast, right?”

Soul sighed. “Calm down, Kid. Ever heard of being fashionably late? It’s cool.”

“I don’t see what’s ‘cool’ about being late.”

“Yep, that checks out.”

“Frankly, I don’t need somebody who wears Air Jordans to a formal event lecturing me on what’s ‘cool’ and what isn’t.”

“Both of you please shut up.” Maka swerved into a free space at the end of the lot and the jolt, thankfully, quieted the bickering men.

Black Star and Tsubaki stood outside the entrance and greeted the group when they arrived, by leaping up and down and waving, respectively. Soul ran ahead and ended up in a headlock, his friend shaking him around like a dog with a toy. Maka chuckled under her breath. Black Star was Soul’s reason for showing up at the micro-event. Neither of them could miss such a cool, super-cool gathering of coolness.

As soon as Maka stepped inside, she was snow-blind. Had Lord Death decided on ‘the color white’ as the theme? White streamers, white paper lining the floor, and was that a cutout of a polar bear in the corner? It had to be. The disappointment that hit Maka did not seem to affect Soul and Black Star in the slightest. Both of them trotted off to explore. Tsubaki, now separate from her friend, crept up to Maka.

“Hi, Maka.”

“Hi, Tsubaki! How did getting Black Star up here go?”

“He tried to wear one of those dollar sign necklaces. He… has a sense of style!”

Maka grimaced. “He sure has one.”

“Crona is already here, by the way. I saw them in the window while we were waiting for you.”

Maka would have been content staying at home studying the whole night. Crona was her reason to go. Prom was nothing more than an excuse to see the people you adore, after all, and the more time she spent with them, the more her affection grew.

“Really? Where are they?”

“Over there.”

Tsubaki pointed to what appeared to be a snack bar. Crona stood crooked beside a wide punch bowl, observing the dancers on the floor. Tsubaki giggled and threw Maka back to the present. She had been staring.

“Tsubaki, look at them. Look at their bowtie. They’re so cute, I’m… my hands are so sweaty. Ew.” She laughed to herself.

“They really do look nice. You go talk to them. I’m going to say hello to Liz and Patti.”

“Got it. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck! You’ll do just fine.”

Crona spotted Maka after she was already speeding toward them. They jolted and offered an awkward wave hello.

“Crona! Hi! Is it okay if I give you a hug?”

“Oh! Th– that’s fine!”

Maka threw her arms around them in a bear hug. She wasn’t sure if the lavender smell on them was the work of false fragrance or a real plant in their pocket, but she loved it all the same. Their jacket itself was soft. Very soft. She buried her forehead into their shoulder.

“It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you, too. I, uh… missed you.”

“God, you see her all the time. You saw her two days ago, dumbass.”

Maka forced a smile. “Hi, Ragnarok.”

“Ignore him,” Crona whispered. “Do you like the decorations? It was mostly Marie and me setting them up.”

“They’re nice. I’m, uh… not sure I understand the theme.”

Crona lit up and snatched a solo cup from the table beside them. They filled it with the punch and handed it to Maka.

“Try it. It’ll make sense, I promise.”

“...Oh, it’s coca-cola.”

Crona pointed to the cutout of the polar bear. Up close, Maka could see that someone had draped a scarf around its shoulders.

“Oh my God, is the prom coca-cola bear themed?”

They nodded vigorously. “Marie came up with it after Lord Death bought nothing but white decorations.”

“That’s adorable! I… don’t think anybody’s going to get it, though.”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m over here, so I can explain it to anyone who doesn’t know.”

Maka squinted. “Your plan is to be over here, pouring soda for everyone the whole time?”

“Um… yes?”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather tag along with me instead?”

Maka saw Crona begin to blush. The abundance of black blood let off a gray color instead of the typical red. Crona looked back and forth; the confidence that they once held had evaporated into the stuffy room.

“Are you sure that I wouldn’t bother you, or anything?”

“Of course you wouldn’t bother me. Actually, I’d really like to spend time with you.”

Crona agreed, thankfully, because Maka’s face burnt and she was not entirely sure what she would say if they had any other doubts. Together they said hello to the chaperones – Marie, Sid, Stein, and Naigus, each of them commenting on the secret theme and Crona’s involvement – and bounced between Tsubaki’s group and the snack bar. Despite the attractions and the people to spend time with, Maka’s attention remained consistently fixed upon Crona.

They had been engaged in this routine for an hour until the dj’s cacophonous dance music was abruptly replaced by some 80s love ballad that Maka couldn’t remember the name of. From the snack bar, they watched groups break off into pairs or cluster at the back of the room.

“The music’s quieter now,” noted Crona.

“Yeah. It’s so that everyone who brought a date can, well… have their date. It’s the whole reason couples come here, anyway.”

“Oh.”

She took a deep breath and wiped her palms onto her dress. “Do you want to dance with me, Crona?”

Crona froze, their mouth open, a small pretzel still in their hand. “Are you- are you sure that you want to? With me? I - I’ve never really done this before and I don’t want to ruin–”

“I’m sure. I’ve kind of been hoping that I’d get to dance with you since I got here.”

Crona’s whole face bore smudges of gray, like charcoal. They scratched the back of their neck and, with great care, held out their hand for Maka. She took it.

“Awh, your hands are sweaty, too!”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay! I don’t mind, I promise.”

After a few failed attempts at a traditional dance, the pair decided that the best course of action would be to follow the precedent set by the other couples and rock back and forth holding each other. Maka could hear Crona’s heartbeat even over the music. Every once in a while they asked for some form of confirmation – was Maka comfortable, was she still okay with it, and so on – and each time, she reassured them.

“I’ve been having a really good time with you,” she whispered during the song’s closing solo.

“Yeah. This is really nice… thank you for dancing with me, Maka.”

“Mhm! Like I said, I really wanted to.”

Crona just smiled and pulled Maka closer. What was once a loud growl of dozens of people talking throughout the room had died down to a distant humming. She could focus on them, their texture, their smell, everything. Nobody else existed.

The song changed from classic rock back to modern pop and the roar started up again. Maka looked around at the groups of friends reclaiming the dance floor, and among them, she spotted Black Star and Soul dancing – perhaps they thought that they were on fire and they were flailing in fear. That would explain quite a bit.

“These idiots,” she scoffed.

“Hey, Casanova,” Ragnarok sneered, “Why don’t you take your lady friend upstairs?”

“Oh, no, they said not to go up there.”

“Come on, I’m trying to do you a favor here!”

“Ragnarok, shut the fuck up.” Maka looked from the vile little ghoulie back to Crona. “What’s upstairs?”

“Oh, it’s just the roof. Marie said not to let anyone up there because someone could fall.”

She side-eyed Black Star, who was doing some sort of dance that involved clenching his hands into fists and wiggling his arms very very fast. “Did she name any names?”

Crona seemed to see, too. They winced. “I guess that rule was probably for him. It’s so loud in here… we can go up there, if you want. So we can hear each other better. I don’t think that would be against the rules.”

They snuck through the stairwell door after Crona revealed its location – obscured behind one of the bear cutouts. Outside, nothing could be heard of the party except for a muffled beat. Nothing could be felt except for a cool night breeze. Against the horizon, turbines whirred valiantly in the darkness. Both of them sat down side by side in the middle of the roof.

“This is much better,” sighed Maka.

“Mm.”

“Are you okay?”

“Just happy. This past…well, everything has been really nice. Thanks for hanging out with me, Maka.”

“Of course. You don’t have to keep thanking me.” She grinned and nudged their shoulder.

“Sorry. Habit. I just don’t know how to say it. Being with you at the DWMA has been… I’ve been happy. Especially because of you. You’re amazing. I really… I really like you.”

“I really like you, too. You’re one of the bravest people I know.” She was smiling. Her face hurt from it. “Hey. Crona. Look at me, okay?”

“Hm?”

Maka leaned in. She waited, in case Crona wanted to pull away, and when they only leaned closer she held their jawline and kissed them. A second later it was over, and she was staring into their eyes again. Those eyes sparkled like lightning in the desert.

“Hi.” They said after a sizeable trail of stammering.

She giggled. “Hi.”

For a time – there was no way to be certain whether it was minutes or hours – Maka leaned against their shoulder and the two of them spoke in whispers while they looked at the stars. The kiss seemed to give Crona a second wind of courage and they had their free arm caressing Maka’s.

“The others and I are going to go to my place after this and watch a movie,” she said. “I’d really like it if you came.”

“Are you sure they wouldn’t mind?”

“Are you kidding? They all like you. Even Kid.”

“Mm.” They smiled. “I’ll come with you, then.”

A coyote cried out somewhere in the distance.

“All of this really has been great. Even the shitty music and the coke bear theme.”

“Your lips tasted like coke when you kissed me.”

Maka laughed. “Well, there’s worse things, I guess.”

It was almost midnight when Soul and Black Star lost their energy at the dance. They were some of the last to leave apart from the chaperones themselves. What this meant was a lot of barefoot waiting in the car for Maka, Crona, Kid, Liz, and Patty.

“Okay, we’ve gotten through… fourteen songs waiting,” sighed Liz. “Any requests for the fifteenth?”

“I don’t think I know any more songs,” said Crona.

“Really? That’s tragic. Liz, play something classic,” Kid ordered.

“Classic or classical? I can never tell with you.”

“Wait, hold on!” Maka gripped the steering wheel. “Here he comes!”

Soul walked across the parking lot, his tie undone and his shoelaces spilling over the pavement. He was a mess. He staggered to the shotgun door and opened it, only noticing too late how it was occupied.

“What? Crona? Huh. Would you mind moving over?”

“Sorry, Soul. You snooze, you lose.” Maka smiled. “You’ll just have to sit somewhere else.”

“Wh–? There’s no more seats. Where am I going to sit?”

“Well, there’s always the trunk.”

[benevolenterrancy]

hi!! I think your art is *so cool* o(≧∇≦o)

do you think you could draw more moshang? either post canon or that au you did last time?? (baby mobei has my heart and all I own)

(˵ •̀ ᴗ •́ ˵ ) oh! how about return to childhood—moshang flavor?

don't question this king, shang qinghua, he knows what he's about

[jadecantcreate]

i wanted to write a quick 3-chapter fic for day 4 of loa shiptober (how they met i think) and i (a fool) was like. yeah. i could totally write 3 chapters in a few hours. i was wrong. SO wrong. haven’t even finished kremy’s (the first one).

so instead have a maybe-past-kremy design that im conflicted about compared to his current design, as a peace offering

[shoot-i-messed-up]

Was always worried about the angst of unrequited love, had never realized the sheer amount of comedic potential that it has.

Imagine one-sided Superbat where Clark is fully aware that Bruce has a crush on him but is being his repressed self about it, and Clark is just like, “I’m not gonna touch that :) you’re going to figure that out for yourself, buddy, and in the meantime, I’m just going to have a good time and be best friends with you as you inevitably pull yourself together enough to either fall out of love or to confess :) and I’ll just let you down gently because I care about you :)” but he absolutely 100% is using it to his advantage in the meantime. His puppy dog eyes had never been so effective before. He’s gotten out of Monitor Duty three times in the past month.

[lulu-draws-stuff]

Snowball fight

@curi0uscreature I was your secret santa ! I hope you like it :]

I didn't originally plan on doing a comic, but when I saw your prompts I had the clearest vision of this and just had to draw it

[myokk]

fast sketch of ominis & fast intro to the ominis longfic I'm working on!! This is going to be the most self-indulgent pride and prejudice ripoff that ever existed, 100% based on the ominis of my oneshot💘

I am just OBSESSED with exploring the idea that he’s a natural legilimens & OBSESSED with the thought that he thinks too much for his own good🫶🫶🫶

Ominis Gaunt has always suspected he is cold-blooded.

It makes sense, really.

He always seems to be cold: frigid, long fingers that are often stiff and difficult to move; goosebumps raising the skin of his arms and the back of his neck any time he walks through the drafty halls of the dungeons; even his eyes, he has been told, are reminiscent of ice. They are apparently quite unsettling. The only time he feels comfortable in his body is when he basks in the heat of the sun.

His earliest memory is of the cold. It went like this: he was four years old: his older brother, Marvolo, had led him outside as a joke, he swore up and down that it was just a small joke, and how was he supposed to know that poor, blind Ominis would not be able to find his way back home? When his parents had finally found him, his frail mother sobbing and holding his tiny, blue, hypothermic body to her chest, Ominis remembers feeling quite perturbed at the disturbance. Couldn’t he just be left alone, in the silent soft snow?

He does not know if he has ever felt warm since.

As he strides through the dungeons, the copious amount of warming charms he casts on himself do not seem to be enough, but he keeps casting them anyways and also: wrapping his wool scarf more tightly around his neck, quickening his pace in the hopes that blood flows more easily through his limbs, wishing that he had remembered his gloves. Winter is always a terrible time of year (this winter more terrible than usual), and every breath of warm air leaves his lips reluctantly. How he wishes that he could just hold on to it a bit longer and yet the warmth leaves him precisely fifteen traitorous times a minute, the frigid air gleefully entering and burning its way down his throat in response. Maybe it’s a punishment of some sort.

His whole life has been defined by punishments and sometimes he preoccupies himself with the thought that it is the only way he can view the world. Most of the punishments are manifested in curses inherited from his family. (His parents and Marvolo insist that they are gifts, but Ominis begs to differ.)

First, his blindness: the only true punishment-curse that even his family rejects: caused by inbreeding, no doubt. He did not cry after his birth and his mother cradled his tiny body in silent arms, lovingly whispering nonsense-evil-Parseltongue to him but when he opened his eyes and she saw a brilliant celestine blue with no iris, she screamed in horror and shattered the frigid peace of the room. His parents tried everything to fix him, make him whole, throwing money at various possible solutions to no avail. Magically induced disabilities are not, apparently, curable by magic.

Ominis is not sure that he hates being blind, although he suspects everyone thinks that he should. It is as much a part of him as his fifteen-breaths-per-minute, and he thinks that vision is not all it’s cracked up to be. He is always terrified at the thought that his tenuous hold on sanity is only due to the fact that he cannot see, until he realizes he shouldn’t be terrified of hypothetical situations that cannot come to pass. He consoles himself with the thought that maybe, if he has had to give up his vision for his sanity, it is a small price to pay. Although, he also thinks sometimes that it would be nice to live a life without any morality holding him back.

He is entirely too introspective, after all.

It is precisely this introspection that is his downfall in this moment (and his cold blood). Ominis is so busy casting warming charms on himself and thinking in circles that he cannot use his wand to help him sense his environment and so he should not be surprised when he crashes into her.

And yet he is. Terribly surprised.

Maybe if he were not so caught up in his own thoughts he could have paid more attention to his surroundings. Instead, he spent too much time ruminating on his reptilian heritage and has now barreled head first into his arch-nemesis.

Rosalie Harris.

The girl who has stolen his oldest friend from him.

The girl who is currently making angry noises as she clambers to her feet and is picking up the things that he has crashed everywhere. Even if he could see, Ominis is not sure he would help her. Helping her would be akin to betraying himself, after all.

“Hey! Watch where you’re - oh, hello, Ominis.”

“Rosalie,” he says shortly, nodding his head where he thinks she might be standing and stepping to the side. He tightens his grip around his wand, feeling the texture of the wood change from rough to smooth as he runs his thumb down it. Smooth where he always seems to worry it, rough where the wood refuses to yield to the brushes of his thumb.

He surreptitiously casts the spell - he has at least done it so many times he no longer needs to say it out loud - and his surroundings light up. Or, he supposes that is the most apt description, considering he cannot actually differentiate between light and dark. He senses Rosalie’s silhouette to his left - she is standing with her arms crossed and her foot taps impatiently as she waits for him.

Waiting for what? he thinks, slightly irritated. She never seems to leave him alone and he wracks his brain trying to think of something, anything he can say to get rid of her.

Maybe if he speaks in Parseltongue, she would finally be scared away for good. He does not really want that second reminder of his family’s curse, though.

His family preferred speaking in Parseltongue with each other, believing the ability made them morally superior to everyone else and Ominis had not even realized until he had arrived at Hogwarts that no, it was not normal. When his name had been called at the Sorting, furious whispers had erupted amongst all the students, and his every step (terrified, confused, unsure - he had still been getting used to using his wand to navigate his surroundings) to the stool at the front of the Great Hall was plagued with a susurration reminiscent of snakes. Except these whispers, sneaking their way into his mind, had been unkind and overwhelming.

(He had not realized in that moment that he was also hearing their thoughts.)

Maybe now, with Rosalie standing in front of him and just annoyingly waiting for Merlin-knows-what, Ominis should use his Legilimency to find out what Rosalie wants. (He hates it, though.) It would not be difficult. (The thought makes him shiver in horror because he doesn’t want to abuse the ability.) He can feel the edges of her mind, her magic, and all he has to do is reach out - she is right there, and -

“Ominis?”

Her arms are crossed, he hears an impatient huff.

Why hasn’t she left him alone yet?

Hadn’t the Hogwarts Express already left the station, bringing all of the students home for the winter holiday? Ominis had thought he would be one of the only students left in the castle, and if he is being honest with himself, he had been looking quite forward to having the place to himself.

Ominis’s winter has just gotten infinitely worse.

Going to Gaunt Manor for the holidays is out of the question (he will not think about the nightmares that have been plaguing him ever since he received the owl demanding he go home), and Ominis does not want to be more of a burden to the Sallows. They already do enough for him over the summer, and Sebastian and Anne have convinced him to go to Hogsmeade with them at least twice over the next two weeks. Besides, with Anne’s curse progressing, Ominis does not want to be in the way.

“Why are you still here?” Ominis asks. He knows his voice comes across as cold as his blood, blunt, but he cannot help himself. Ever since Rosalie arrived - her entrance to Hogwarts also causing quite the stir - Ominis has been intensely annoyed by her presence. She is too happy. Too carefree. Too…well, everything he is not.

And, she does not seem to leave him alone.

Rosalie is always there, always hanging around Sebastian. (Taking Sebastian away.) He even showed her the Undercroft, which had almost caused a rift in their relationship. Ominis could not believe that Sebastian would be so careless, showing someone who for all intents and purposes is crashing her way into their lives, forcing them to pay attention to her. They barely even knew her, and yet Sebastian thought it was a good idea to show her such a sacred place?

(It does not help that she is intelligent, and Ominis has caught himself on more than one occasion about to ask her about her opinion on something before he catches himself.)

“I was looking for you.”

Ominis tilts his head at that and fiddles with his ring. He considers walking away, leaving -

“I mean…Sebastian said that you were also going to be here over the holidays and since everyone else just left I thought -”

“Thought what?” Internally, Ominis winces at the biting tone to his voice. It came out harsher than he intended, his voice loud and echoing through his mind, bouncing off the cold, stone walls surrounding them.

[mistywaves98]

Hi! I love your writing. I was wondering if I could request Wanderer with a sub afab reader with a degradation kink please 🙏. If not, feel free to ignore.

✧･ﾟ:* ->Wanderer x Fem! Reader

✧･ﾟ:* ->¡Warnings!: NSFW, Degradation, Modern AU, Phone sex, You call him Scara, Ending is bad, I wrote this while half asleep, Some praise, Fingering (yourself)!

✧･ﾟ:* ->Minor writing smut! DNI if uncomfy!

Your boyfriend was away on a business trip that was supposed to last a few weeks and while you didn't object at first, after the first week or so you had to admit that his absence was making you lonely.

That also meant you had to rely on yourself for pleasure but no amount of toys or your fingers could make yourself climax like he did. Hell, you couldn't even orgasm in the first place. By the end of the second week you were extremely pent up and frustrated. You missed everything about him, his face, his fingers, his voice, his cock...

It didn't take long for you to finally open his contact and press call. He answered almost instantaneously and you felt your heart flutter when you heard his soft voice through the device next to your ear.

"Hello?" "Scara, I miss you so much...you've been gone for so long!" He smiled at your longing tone full of indignation before replying, his voice holding a teasing lilt to it,"I miss you too, baby, even though it's only been two weeks—" "Two weeks is a very, very long time for you to be away!" You couldn't help but cut him off, scoffing as he merely laughed in amusement at your annoyance, finding it cute how badly you wanted him to be by your side again. "Alright alright, just hold on a little longer, I'll be home before you know it. In the meantime, tell me about your day."

And so he patiently listened to you ramble on about the things that happened while he was gone, occasionally throwing in a snide comment here and there. You took a deep breath as you finished, asking him about how things were on his end. As you listened to your boyfriend talk, you couldn't help but let your mind wander. Soon you completely lost track of the things he was saying, focusing on how smooth and sexy his voice sounded. The low rasp in his tone only made more blood rush to your cheeks as all the pent up feelings you surpressed made their way to the surface.

You bit your lip, rubbing your thighs together as arousal pooled between them. Your mind became clouded as you imagined him whispering the filthiest things right next to your ear in that same tone. One of your hands kept holding the phone as the other made it's way down your body, teasing the waistband of your pants before slipping in. You shuddered as your fingers made contact with your soaked pussy. When did you get so turned on...?

Carefully, you circled your thumb around your clit as your middle and ring finger prodded your leaking hole. Your teeth dug into your lower lip even harder as you slowly pushed them past your folds, resisting the urge clamp your thighs around your hand. Your hand that was holding your phone trembled as you struggled to hold back your moans. The sound of his voice only made you wetter as you pumped your digits in and out of yourself at a steady pace.

You were so caught up in your pleasure, that you didn't even realize Scaramouche had stopped talking. It wasn't until you heard him inquiring about your state that you snapped out of your blissed out state,"[Name]? Are you still there?" "O-oh! I'm fine, just...keep talking, please..." Needless to say, your boyfriend was a bit baffled by your request, but he complied anyway. The more he spoke, the closer you felt to finally reaching orgasm for the first time in weeks. Your fingers' pace quickened as you found it increasingly difficult to stay quiet.

Even moving the phone away from your ear a bit did not stop him from hearing the heavy pants and muffled whimpers in the background, which caused some suspicions to raise. "Are you sure everything's alright, [Name]?" "I-I told you, I'm fine! Keep talking...I'm almost there..." He wasn't stupid and that sentence told him everything he needed to know. A smug smile graced his features as he put and two together.

"I see how it is..." "Wh—" "I can here your slutty moans clearly. I didn't realize that my pretty little girlfriend was such a desperate whore, that she'd resort to fucking herself on her fingers to the sound of my voice. You really missed me that much, huh?" "..I did..." You could barely answer between your moans. God, hearing talk like that to you was so hot. You could feel yourself clenching tightly around your fingers. You were getting close... "It's okay. I bet you've missed my cock too, you wish I was there to fill your needy pussy with my cum, hm?" He continues to praise and degrade you over the phone in that sultry tone you love so much.

"I'm sure you haven't been able to make yourself cum once since I left. It's so adorable to see how you need merely the sound of my voice to get yourself off. You'd literally be hopeless without me. Now keep thrusting those fingers into that pretty pussy, I want you to cum hard around them," And so you did, sweet cries sounding from the speaker of his phone as you quicken your pace, eyes rolling back into your head from the pleasure. The way your moans' pitch heightened told him that you were teetering on the edge of orgasm, so he continued to coax you,"Just like that, gush all over those dainty fingers for me."

You didn't need to be told twice. Your moan of ecstasy echoed through the dark room as your juices coated your fingers, soaking through your clothes and dripping onto the sheets below. You rode out your high until your breathing evened out slightly and you pulled your soaked digits out of your tight cunt, making you miss the feeling of being stuffed. Your pussy clenched around nothing as you heard his low laugh on the other end of the line,"Oh, how I wish I was there to see your face contort into that whorish expression I love so much. I bet you still want more, right? My slut wants me to be there, fucking her dumb on my cock?" You nod your head enthusiastically as you answer even though he isn't even there to see, but you're just that eager.

"Of course a slutty bitch like you wants my cock, if I was there with you, I'd make you get on your knees and make you worship it all night while making you finger yourself so that I can watch for my own amusement." The image makes your head spin and you swear that your inner thighs became even more messy with slick. "You're so wet now, aren't you? Want me to grab your hair and use your throat like my personal fucktoy?"

Your only responses are either longing whines or quiet 'yes's as he dirty talks to you over the phone, making promises of fucking you nice and hard when he gets back to make up for his absence which only makes you even more impatient for his return. Eventually, he has to go so you reluctantly hang up the phone before getting up to clean up. After that, you curl up on the bed, hugging the pillow he always sleeps on as you drift off to sleep.

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[sleepinglionhearts]

The beach! The beach! There's lots of stuff to find at the beach! 🪨 🐚 🏖

[unclewaynemunson]

'What's your favorite holiday?' Steve asked while they were looking at the fireworks, pressed against each other in the dark of the night. They had been dancing around each other for months, ever since Eddie woke up in the hospital with Steve already at his bedside. They had taken their time to get to know each other better, to let that something between them grow and to figure out what it all meant exactly. But around the time Eddie graduated, it had finally culminated into what it had been destined to be from the start.

Eddie could barely believe they had only been official for about a month and a half, that Steve had only been part of his life for a little over three months. But he knew, with a certainty that he couldn't really explain, that he and Steve belonged to be like this. No matter how scary it had been to fall for him, it had been the only available option.

'Sukkot,' Eddie answered his question with no hesitation.

Steve leaned away a little bit to be able to look at Eddie.

'Was that the one that was, like, three weeks ago?'

'No, that was Shavu'ot,' Eddie answered patiently. He knew that Steve was trying very hard to keep up, and that the Hebrew words didn't exactly make it easier on him. 'The boring one that Wayne's obsessed with.'

Steve chuckled. 'So what is Sukkot?'

'I thought you'd never ask, big boy,' said Eddie, a wide grin creeping over his face. 'It's the best fucking week of the year. We build those huts in our yards where we're supposed to live all week. It's really awesome, we get to be outside all the time and Wayne tells all the best stories about how our ancestors escaped from Egypt and wandered through the desert for years. Back in Virginia, on the farm, it also used to be this celebration that the harvest was done. The best moment of the year, man, like when the summer holiday starts, y'know.'

'Sounds pretty cool.'

'Pretty cool?' Eddie repeated in a mock-offended tone. 'Pretty cool?! Stevie, how dare you, it's fucking magical! It's the awesomest of holidays! You know what? You're gonna have to join us this October and get the whole experience!'

'Are you sure?' Steve looked weirdly hesitant about Eddie's proposal and Eddie felt the excitement in his chest deflate like a popped balloon.

'Yeah, I mean... If you want to,' he said, reigning himself in a little bit. Maybe Steve thought it was weird, maybe he would never quite understand it, maybe –

'Of course I want to,' Steve cut off his spiraling thoughts, like the mere suggestion was completely ridiculous. 'But would it be okay? You wouldn't mind? And your uncle?'

'Why the hell would we mind, Stevie?'

'Well, I'm not Jewish...'

Eddie chortled. 'Yeah, we know that, dude. But you're always welcome in our humble little home.'

And Steve's face lit up in a way that the fireworks in the sky above them could never compete with. 'Alright,' he said. 'Then I'd love to celebrate this awesomest of holidays with you.'

******

And so it happens that a little over three months later, Eddie runs out of the trailer with even more excitement than usual when Steve's way too fancy car shows up. He basically jumps into his boyfriend's arms as soon as Steve gets out of his car – and of course Steve catches him, stumbling only a little bit while huffing out an “oomph” as Eddie wraps all four of his limbs around his body.

'Hello to you, too,' he murmurs with a soft smile on his face. He can't exactly kiss Eddie here, in broad daylight with all of Eddie's neighbors to see, but he lets his hands linger around Eddie's shoulders when he gently puts him down on the ground.

'You're excited.'

'We're building the hut today!'

'The sukkot, right?'

And the proud smile around Steve's lips makes it almost impossible for Eddie to correct him.

'The sukkah, babe. It's one sukkah, multiple sukkot.'

'Sukkah,' Steve repeats, his voice still as unsure as ever when he tries the Hebrew words that are so familiar to Eddie and Wayne and still so foreign to him.

'C'mon, Wayne's already waiting for us.'

Eddie starts tugging Steve along with him towards the trailer. He wishes he could do that by taking his hand instead of the sleeve of his jacket, but he's too aware of how careful they have to be here, out in the open in the trailer park.

They go around the trailer, where Wayne is already surrounded by a bunch of corrugated sheets and some big pine branches.

'We're building it here?' Steve sounds surprised. 'Why not on the porch?'

Eddie sees his uncle's face fall, and his own excited smile fades away as well.

'It's too eye-catching, on the other side,' Wayne explains to Steve. 'Too many folks lookin' to trash stuff 'round here, ya know.'

Almost every year, they find some graffiti on the walls of their sukkah at some point of the week. It has become better since they moved the hut to the backside of their trailer, hidden away from Forest Hills' main roads. Before, when they still built it in front of their home, they'd regularly find the roof or the walls demolished. Nothing ever happened when one of them was home: both Wayne and Eddie were protected from any serious danger by their own scary looks. But unfortunately, the sukkah did not enjoy the same protection when the Munson men weren't present to keep an eye on it.

Wayne doesn't outright say it with that many words – that's not his style – but Eddie can see in the arch of Steve's eyebrows that he gets it. That he understands that Forest Hills is not the kind of place where Hebrew should be spoken loudly and that anything more than a menorah in front of a window can be considered offensive real quick. He sees that Steve understands it, because Steve knows what it feels like to not be able to take his boyfriend's hand when they're outside. It's not the same, but it's similar, in a way.

When Eddie came out to Wayne, his uncle told him that he was sorry Eddie got dealt the wrong cards twice. But that's not how Eddie sees it. Standing here, in the quiet world behind the trailer, with his uncle, his boyfriend and a pile of junk that will soon turn into a refuge, he gets the confirmation of what he already knew back then: that he wouldn't have it any other way. Even if it means having to hide away from prejudiced eyes, he'd choose this right here over anything easier in a heartbeat.

Wayne takes off his trucker hat to reveal the kippah he often wears hidden underneath it, then turns Eddie around by his shoulders so he can attach a kippah to his curls with some hairpins. Eddie usually never wears one: he doesn't like being told what to do in any way, and he proudly wears the pentagram of the Church of Satan on his denim vest. But for events like this, Wayne insists the kippah is important, and Eddie has long since he moved in with his uncle learned that there's no use digging his heels in the sand about it. If it's that important for Uncle Wayne, he'll doesn't mind complying.

'And one for you,' Wayne states after Eddie's kippah is properly secured to his head, turning towards Steve with a third one in his outstretched hand.

Steve's eyes widen in an almost cartoon-like way.

'For me?' he repeats, as if he's unsure if he understands Wayne correctly.

'U-huh,' Wayne confirms with a nod of his head.

Steve's eyes flash back and forth between Eddie and Wayne, still clearly confused, like he's trying to catch some lie or a prank between the two of them.

'That's – would that be okay?' he stammers.

'Neshama sheli,' Eddie says, his voice soft. 'Of course that'd be okay. It's the polite thing to do, actually, when you're in shul – or in other Jewish places – whether you're a Jew or not.'

'Okay, cool,' Steve says with a little shrug of his shoulders. He's slightly too obviously trying to play it cool, and that makes Eddie realize something he hadn't really considered before: that Steve is nervous about this. For Eddie, sukkot is nothing but a holiday of fun. But Steve doesn't know any of those traditions, he doesn't know any of the unwritten rules. For all he knows, what they're doing today is something sacred and solemn – it makes sense that he's afraid to do the wrong thing or mess it up somehow. It's written all over his face: he's afraid to be disrespectful, to be an intruder, to somehow offend Wayne and Eddie without meaning to...

Steve takes the kippah from Wayne and places it on his hair, where it lies dangerously close to sliding off.

'Here, lemme help you.' Eddie digs around in his own pockets to find some long forgotten hairpins and slides up behind Steve, attaching the kippah to some strands of his soft, shiny hair. When he's done, he slides his arms around Steve's waist and tugs him close to his chest.

'Hey,' he whispers in his ear, nuzzling his nose against the soft hair right above it because he simply can't resist the temptation of touching Steve's locks in any way, ever. 'You don't need to worry 'bout anything. We're just gonna build a hut, that's all. And we're trailer park Jews anyway, we don't care about etiquette and shit. Or, well, maybe Wayne does, a little bit, but he's used to me, so... You're good.'

Steve chuckles, then turns himself around in Eddie's arms until they're face-to-face.

'Thank you,' he whispers in the space between them.

Wayne emphatically clears his throat, no doubt worried that the boys are about to forget he's still with them.

'You lovebirds ready to get to work?'

Slightly unwilling, Eddie lets go of Steve and flashes Wayne an excited grin. 'Alright, my dearest uncle, tell us what to do.'

The next hour or so is spent hauling corrugated sheets around and assembling them into a decent-sized hut. While Eddie is drilling their metal walls together, Wayne tells Steve all about the meaning behind what they're doing. He gets like that with every holiday: he loves the big stories, and Eddie has always loved listening to Wayne telling them.

'All of this,' Wayne explains with a gesture towards the half-finished sukkah, 'Is to remind us of what happened to our people a long time ago. They were enslaved in Egypt, far away from their homes. When they got out, they wandered through the desert for forty years, tryin' to find their way back. They suffered drought, storms, heat, famine... But G-d's protection was with them every step of their way, until He safely delivered them back to their homeland. For forty years, they didn't have no place to call home. They slept in huts beneath the stars. That's why, for one week a year, we still live in huts. We don't sleep here, 's too cold for that in Indiana –'

'I do sometimes,' Eddie cuts in.

'Your boy is crazy,' Wayne dryly states. 'But we live here as much as possible. The most important thing is to have all our meals in here, as long as it ain't raining too hard. We're not supposed to make a solid roof, y'know, 'cause it's supposed to be a reminder of how our people used to sleep under the open sky. It's a symbol for how we should submit ourselves to G-d's protection.'

Steve listens attentively and keeps asking Wayne all kinds of questions while they continue working on the roof, which they assemble out of pine branches that Eddie and Wayne took from the woods around the trailer park earlier that day.

'This day's extra special,' Wayne tells Steve when they're almost done, 'Cause it's a Friday evening. Means our first meal in the sukkah is a Shabbat meal.'

Usually, Wayne isn't exactly world's most diligent cook, but for days like this, he always tries to go a little bit bigger than usual. Not that their kitchen is suited for fabricating any kind of fancy meals – let alone that they can afford anything like that – but that doesn't really matter. Not to Eddie, at least, and he's pretty sure the same thing applies to Steve. The most important thing is that Wayne tries his very best to make days like those feel special. So while Steve and Eddie get tasked with setting up the interior of the sukkah, Wayne heads back to the trailer to make sure the food will be all done before sunset.

Steve and Eddie haul a bunch of plastic lawn chairs and a trestle table inside. After the furniture, they add some pillows, a truly hideous tablecloth, and a bunch of random clutter from the trailer to make it feel more homely. Eddie always likes to put this one Jesus sculpture they once got from the old Mrs. Brooks from number 70 in one of the corners, for no other purpose than to get on Wayne's nerves. Steve, on the other hand, actually cares about making the sukkah look good, and he comes up with the idea to walk around the trailer park and go into the woods to find some flowers as a finishing touch. Most of the vegetation around Forest Hills is withered all year round, but Steve manages to find some branches with beautiful autumn colors and a bunch of shiny chestnuts among the decaying junk.

'You manage to make anything pretty, huh,' Eddie notes when they're all done, with leaves of dark orange and golden yellow miraculously brightening up every single corner of the hut.

Steve smiles and pulls Eddie in his arms. Now, shielded by the walls of their dwelling, they can do that without worrying about the watchful eyes of nosy neighbors.

'Nah,' he murmurs, his lips ghosting over Eddie's cheek. 'I don't make things pretty, I attract pretty things.' And the way in which Steve's lips find his, soft and full of promise, tells Eddie that he wasn't merely talking about pretty things. It makes his heartbeat stutter and his cheeks heat up.

Steve pulls back before the kiss can become anything more than a promise, with a sparkle in his eyes and a soft smile still tugging at his lips.

'C'mon, let's go help your uncle with the food.'

By the time they're ready to welcome Shabbat, the autumn sun has long disappeared behind the trees and it's rapidly cooling off outside. Wayne puts on his thick plaid jacket and Steve borrows one of Eddie's favorite black hoodies. During this time of the year – when it's not yet cold enough to waste money on heating – the trailer doesn't really stay much warmer than the sukkah, so they're used to the cold anyway. Steve, however, is shamelessly exploiting the chill of the evening as an excuse to cuddle up close to Eddie at the table – not that Eddie minds that at all.

But when Wayne lights the candle and recites the blessing at sundown, it feels like the sukkah is actually much warmer than any other place in the world. It's because what's happening in this place is special, Eddie thinks. For a week, this hut is their home. It's designed to house two people – just Wayne and him – but Steve fits in this cramped space with them like he was always supposed to be here. And when Steve turns to Eddie to wish him a good shabbos with a smile on his face, Eddie knows that he will never want to celebrate another holiday – Jewish or not – without him.

Some fun facts for those who are interested: Sukkot 1986 indeed started on a Friday (October 17th) The use of corrugated sheets for a sukkah is actually quite common, and I took the liberty to interpret the skillful way in which we see Eddie drilling them down in the Upside Down, as him having plenty experience with creating a refuge with those things. For those who don't speak Hebrew: when Eddie calls Steve neshama sheli, he uses a common Hebrew pet name which literally translates to "my soul." I imagine Eddie loves calling Steve all kinds of Hebrew pet names and this is a truly beautiful one imo. I hope I did right to this really cool holiday with my lil story!

[amethystina]

So my brain is at it again...

And this time it wanted to inform me that it would be very interesting with an amnesia fic where Ga On loses his memories but can still detect emotions related to those memories. Just imagine the possibilities.

Quick disclaimer: I'm sure there are several amnesia fics in the fandom already — maybe even one exactly like this — but I haven't read them so I'm just going to tell you all about it anyway because, to me, it's a new idea xD

Anyhow.

Imagine him waking up at the hospital, sometime during the later half of the drama (maybe he got shot instead of Soo Hyun and complications led to him getting memory loss — idk, let's handwave it for the sake of the scenario), and he's met by Soo Hyun and Professor Min. And while Ga On can't say what their names are, he can tell that he knows them. He can't access the memories but he feels the affection and the trust and accepts that they must have been a part of his life previously. And, understandably, they become the rocks he clings to because everything is new and confusing. He can still remember how to do basic things — he could probably even drive if they put him inside a car — but not who he is.

And Soo Hyun and Professor Min are going to have a rough time explaining some of it, no doubt.

Like, imagine the pain when Ga On asks where his parents are and even before Soo Hyun or Professor Min say anything, Ga On feels a rush of grief and anger. Because he doesn't remember them dying, but his body remembers the anguish of that tragedy all the same.

Some things are more humourous, though. Like: "... why is my face plastered all over the city? Am I famous?" Ga On would be so confused because the emotions he feels as he sees billboards with his own face aren't necessarily good ones. He mostly feels embarrassed and self-conscious. But he is kind of proud when he hears that he's a judge. It must mean he's smart.

Anyhow. The real fun part begins when Soo Hyun brings Ga On back to his apartment and Ga On is like: "Yeah, this is familiar." But he can also tell that, no, it's not right. It's not home. It feels cold and stale, as if he's not really living there anymore. And he doesn't understand why. Because, according to Soo Hyun, he's been doing so since he was a kid. But Ga On just shrugs his confusion off because, all things considered, he trusts Soo Hyun more than his own memory.

Also, imagine when he asks Soo Hyun if he has a girlfriend and she looks stunned, then awkward, then shy, and starts giving some mumbled response that no, he doesn't — at least not that she knows of. And Ga On has an "oh" moment because her behaviour makes it very clear that she'd want to be that girlfriend. But then he'd get confused because what he feels when he looks at her is a lot of warmth and love, sure, but not that kind of love.

Because this Ga On doesn't have years of memories to confuse him and muddle their relationship — he just feels the emotions. And, from his currently pretty objective point of view, it doesn't seem like romantic love.

He may love Yoon Soo Hyun very much, but he's not in love with her.

He doesn't tell her that, of course, because that would be rude, but he definitely makes a mental note to be careful with how he acts around her because he doesn't want to accidentally lead her on.

And it continues like that, with Ga On trying to navigate the world with nothing but emotions to go on. Which, obviously, will sometimes become very overwhelming for him, but he's stubborn so he'd still try and, of course, do his best to recover his memories. And some start to trickle in eventually, but it mostly old ones that are very deeply ingrained in his psyche.

Eventually, Professor Min decides to bring Ga On to the Supreme Court. Not to make him go back to work or anything — that would probably be disastrous considering the state Ga On is in — but to see if any of it can jog Ga On's memory. And sure, Ga On can tell that he's been in his office before and he can tell that he's met Jin Joo before — he feels both intimidated and bewildered by her — but nothing really stands out. All of it is just like ghostly silhouettes of a former life he knows he must have had but can't see clearly.

And then he meets Yo Han.

Just sees him from afar at first — Yo Han isn't even looking in Ga On's direction — but the familiarity still hits Ga On like a freight train. That is someone he knows as instinctively as he knew Soo Hyun and Professor Min. And before Ga On can really think things through, he just walks up to Yo Han because, clearly, this man is important. Ga On can tell that this man is important because his heart starts racing, his breaths go shallow, and he's suddenly overwhelmed by such a myriad of confusing and conflicting emotions he can't even sort them out. Some are negative — even outright alarming — but there's also joy and fondness and longing.

Which just makes him even more confused when Professor Min catches up and explains that this is Ga On's boss. And said boss looks at Ga On with what he first thinks is bland indifference. But the longer he stands there — and listens to Professor Min tersely explaining what they're doing there to Yo Han with half an ear — Ga On realises that, no, that's not indifference. There's something underneath it — a spark of something else he can't name but can definitely tell means something. And he desperately wants to know what that something is. He wants to scratch at it until he can peel away the layer of indifference hiding it from sight.

He needs to know.

But then, not long after that thought has crossed his mind, Ga On is reminded of the fact that this is, apparently, his boss. His male boss. And Ga On really shouldn't be feeling any of the things he's feeling. But, at the same time, he can't just ignore it. Because this is what a connection should feel like.

He might not have a girlfriend but, clearly, he has someone he's in love with.

And that's a little daunting, not to mention disorienting. Because Yo Han doesn't look approachable at all, and there is also a lot of frustration and anger mixed in with the much happier emotions when Ga On looks at Yo Han. There's just so much. And Ga On is confused because he can't really see himself falling in love with the man in front of him. Yo Han doesn't look like a very kind man.

And then, suddenly, Ga On realises that he has no idea if Yo Han knows that Ga On is in love with him. Maybe they're even a couple? It sure seems like they could be considering the attachment Ga On feels. He gets impulses to be physical in a way he hasn't with anyone else he's met thus far. He felt comfort hugging Soo Hyun, sure, but this is something else entirely. This is a need burning inside of him, urging him to draw closer to Yo Han.

He kind of wants to kiss Yo Han, right there in the corridors of the Supreme Court.

But Ga On can't be sure because Yo Han isn't exactly easy to read and aside from that spark of something when he looks at Ga On, Yo Han is impenetrable. And, if they were a couple, wouldn't Yo Han have insisted on finding Ga On earlier? Even if they have some sort of secret relationship that Soo Hyun clearly isn't aware of? Shouldn't Yo Han look more worried?

So maybe they're not together? And Ga On is just hopelessly in love with his boss? A boss who, judging by the way he looks at Ga On, might not even like Ga On.

Whichever it might be, Ga On realises he has to find out. His old memories are already trickling in, slowly but surely, but they're all of Soo Hyun and Ga On's parents and stuff that happened ages ago. And Ga On wants to know more about his life now. He wants to know more about Yo Han.

And he desperately needs to know if his feelings are reciprocated.

Even if it will definitely break his heart if he finds out that they're not.

...

SO YEAH.

It would be quite fun, wouldn't it? If I can find a way to make the story relatively short, I might just write it. Because I'm really intrigued by the concept of Ga On still having the emotions attached to the memories, but not the memories themselves. So he'll remember being both frustrated by and attracted to Yo Han. But without all the memories and years of influence from Professor Min and Soo Hyun fresh in mind, he wouldn't understand the negative emotions as much, nor put as much weight on them.

And it would be interesting to see how that would change their dynamic.

Because some of Ga On's behaviour would still be the same — he'd still be stubborn, righteous, a bit awkward etc. — but he'd also be freer. And a lot freer to act.

So that would be interesting, I think?

And now my brain will hopefully let go of this story and let me focus on other things for a while

[home-of-the-squirmle]

Squirmles as an interrogation method (but wholesome)

Oh buddy

Once EDEN allowed other institutions access to squirmles, their potential was instantly recognized...

Let's say you have a low-risk criminal or hostage, but you've been instructed NOT to harm them at all. Solution? Dumping a whole jar of squirmles down their back >:)

It may seem silly or unorthodox, but the success rate is surprisingly high! Turns out being tied to a chair with a whole swarm of tickly critters in your clothes is unbearable.

Luckily, the squirmles love it >:) they are monsters after all...some evil tickling is their favorite.

[starry-bi-sky]

okay so i was thinking of a joke earlier about how in DPDC Amity Park's slogan "a great place to live" is not only city propaganda but also the city lording it over the rest of America for being normal. But then I remembered that, despite how many DCU Cities with heroes in it there are, the amount of cities in America without heroes still far outnumber the amount of cities in America WITH heroes.

So I did a little digging so the joke would still land. Something most heroes have in common is that they operate in major cities. What makes a major city? I found that the general consensus is that the population is roughly over or around a million. THEN I looked up the populations of cities in the DCU that I thought of off the top of my head. So Gotham, Metropolis, Starling City, Central City, Jump City. All of them ranked up to millions in population (most of them were in the tens of millions).

Amity Park's wikipedia describes it as being similar to specifically Philadelphia, Chicago, and San Francisco.

Philadelphia's Population: 1.576 million as of 2021 Chicago's Population: 2.697 million as of 2021 San Francisco: 815,201 as of 2021

Whiiich means that Amity Park if we take that from canon, is probably a major city. There are approximately 19,000 cities in America with probably less than a hundred that are major cities. Adding the DCU major cities wouldn't skew the data too much.

Which MEANS that I can make the joke that Amity Park's "great place to live" is not only just typical city propaganda, but also its Amity Park lording it over the other major cities for being one of the only major cities that doesn't have problems bad enough to warrant a superhero or a vigilante. Cue stage left the Fentons and Phantom :)

Amity Parkers were probably SO proud that they didn't need a superhero. They didn't have to worry about things like 'world ending threats' and 'super-powered individuals' and 'staggering property damage'. And then enter Fentons.

It also could be used as an excuse for why nobody took notice to Amity Park getting ghosts if folks like me aren't huge fans of the notion of a media blackout via Tucker, Technus, or the US Government. Or if you want to keep Amity Park as its urban city self. Amity Park's news on ghosts gets drowned out in a week because there's news on more popular, well-known cities going on every other day. The shit going on in Amity Park is every other major city's regular Tuesday and it gets filtered as such.

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 784: The first day's mountain

Pag 1

3: We're passing through the riverside road

4: I see it

6: Kaka

7: Ah!!

8: Teh!

9: It's the first day's

Pag 2

1: “mountain”!!

Pag 3

2: As we “promised”!!

Pag 4

3: It's the “first day's mountain stage”!!

4: A year ago

6: Manami-kun said it after the finish line, on the third and last day of the Inter High, when both of us were all worn out and barely still on our bikes

Pag 5

1: But having our race at the end on the final stage is too much pressure

2: Next year, if we both have the chance to run in the Inter High....

3: …. yeah

4: Let's race for the mountain stage on the first day

Yeah

5: Like Toudou-san and Makishima-san last year

Onoda!!

Manami-san!!

Pag 6

1: Manami!!

Manami-san!!

2: Onoda!!

3: He collapsed!!

Manami!! Take off his helmet

It's okay, I caught him

Onodaa!!

Onoda-san

Do we have a towel?

Danchiku, water!!

4: Next year... the mountain stage on the first day.... yeah

5: Got it....!!

Pag 7

3: When you run along a river....

4: the water only flows if there's a difference in elevation, either uphill or downhill!!

5: Here it's definitely uphill!!

Even if it looks like a flat at first glance, it's gradually climbing!!

Pag 8

1: Toward that mountain!!

Reading the map, it says that it's 5km until the base of the mountain!!

2: 5km!!

3: Don't lose sight of it like last year!!

Yes!! Sorry!!

4: Hold on tight!!

5: 'Cause I'll carry you all the way to the foot of the mountain!!

Pag 9

1: Thank you!!

2: “Positioning”....!!

3: When going from a flat to a climb you need to “position” yourself

Each team accelerates from the flats in order to bring their climbers to a good position

4: It's the so called “mountain's launching pad”!!

5: There will be a difference of several hundred meters in the first stage between a climber who was launched near the front of the group and a climber who was made to run up from the back of the group

Pag 10

1: Bring Onoda to the best possible position, Naruko!!

Oh-

Sohoku is moving up!!

Pag 11

1: -ruaaaagh

Ugh!! Sohoku's Naruko is so fast!!

2: I get what you're tryin to say, Hotshot!!

I'll take him!! Definitely!!

3: That's why I left the first result to Kabu!!

4: On that winter day, with an apologetic face

5: Ah....

6: Ah- uhm, I have something to tell you, but

Onoda-kun, who told us like it was difficult to say....

Pag 12

1: Ah the stove? You can just turn it off, we're the last ones

Yeah, please. Woah, look outside, it's snowing

Seriously? It must be cold

2: That's not it!!

3: Th-th- this morning... I got a text

4: What was that, an acceptance letter?

The proficiency exam?

5: It's a reply to the text I sent....

6: Three months ago!!

7: Uhm... really, I was worried that back when we made that promise it was right after the race and we were tired, so I thought maybe he had forgotten

Three months?

It was a long wait

So I sent him a text to ask him if he remembers?

Pag 13

1: And I received it this morning

Must be the proficiency test

Shut up!!

What are you whispering idiot

“Back when”, when was it?

No idea

2:He said only one word, “of course”

4: So, uhm... this time

5: Is it okay if I run for the first day's mountain stage during this summer's Inter High?

7: Is that so? Kakaka

Onoda-kun's eyes, like he couldn't contain his excitement...

Pag 14

1: I haven't forgotten it!!

2: I can't forget it!!

3: Onoda!!

Onoda-kun!!

Pag 15

1: 2km left until the foot of the mountain!!

2: Do your beeest....!!

Aren't they climbing at an amazing speed!? Each team is getting in line!!

Yeah, you're right!!

3: Every team is trying to “position” themselves for their climbers!!

“Position”!?

4: Also, look closely

Right now, the cyclist in the second position in the ranks

Pag 16

1: is the one who will race in the mountain stage!!

Pag 18

1: Oi, are you kidding me? Hakogaku is sending Manami?

From the first day!?

Manami is in second place

2: He's the “final boss”....!!

3: My dream of getting the red bib has been destroyed even before reaching the foot of the mountain....!!

4: Oi, look over there, that's not all!!

For Sohoku....

5: Naruko is pulling the “King of the mountain”!!

Wa- we're done for!! Completely!! My mountain prize!!

Pag 19

3: Manami-kun!!

4: Sakamichi-kun!!

Pag 20

1: It's time for our promise!!

We're almost at the foot of the mountain!!

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the ask game, an AU where (somehow…) jason and tim (begrudgingly) team up in the search for a hero/battle for the cowl era (either when jason says tim should work with him on the gang stuff or when batman jason asks tim to be his robin) :]

for the ask game!

god, Search For A Hero my beloved. for the Search For A Hero version of their team-up, I think I'd write it something like this

I think the biggest reason Tim says no when Jason asks him is Jason asks Tim too early in the arc. as the storyline develops, Tim gets more and more desperate to best Ulysses, which is what pushes him to make the mistake that gets Ulysses' siblings killed. he's in a tight spot and he misjudges the situation. (i think the guilt he carries from that moment is one of the biggest inciting incidents for becoming Red Robin) so, i'd introduce Jason to the plot just a little later. just as Tim is on the edge of desperation. Tim isn't entirely adverse to working with villains if he thinks he can stay on top of them. so instead of sending Jason to prison, i think if Jason came to Tim at the right time, Tim would begrudging accept Jason's help

part of Tim's plan would be leveraging Jason's power with the mafia/mob scene in Gotham. they'd agree that topping the gangs would just cause a power vacuum (i'm pretty sure that's actually addressed in SFAH but i could be misremembering) so it's more about a balancing act, which is where Jason thrives. Tim is right on the cusp of being willing to do more morally questionable things, so it'd be a fun internal war for him to second-guess himself at every turn.

there would be such a delightful lack of trust in their partnerships. TIm has *zero* reason to trust Jason, and while Jason likes Tim enough, i don't think he's naive enough to put any trust in Tim. so there'd be moments where they don't fill each other in on aspects of the plan. Jason kills people behind Tim's back, Tim keys in his cop friend behind Jason's back. it builds the tension between them with a lot of hot arguments that get more and more charged.

the jealousy. there would just have to be a scene where Jason gets wildly jealous over Ulysses' complex over Tim. Ulysses tries so hard to pit himself as like, Tim's biggest adversary, his opposite. and Jason would *despise* that. sure, Jason is working with Tim, but part of the fun is that they're still enemies as they do it. i think it'd be sort of fun to have the moment where Ulysses blows Tim up be something Jason witnesses and he raises unholy hell about. because if anyone is going to kill Tim Drake, it's going to be him. and that angry possessiveness is what makes the romantic/sexual tension something neither of them can ignore anymore.

Tim deciding to put on the Red Robin suit to fight Ulysses would be where Jason just. goes full tilt possessive "he's mine i marked him that's my suit. see. mine. i said so." and Tim would push back but. what ground does he have to stand on bc he could've picked any suit with any cowl to protect his head after the blast, but he did choose Jason's. it was his own open invitation to Jason in a way. and well. they fuck nasty about it. and then Damian becomes Robin, so why not Tim keep the suit and just maybe, keep Jason in his back pocket.

and!! for the Battle for the Cowl version. man on one hand i love "Tim accepts Jason's offer to be his Robin" fics but i feel they lack a bite to them, so this is personally how i would try to pull it off, while being relatively in character.

so the biggest thing for me is, TIm agrees to be Jason's Robin not because he trusts or likes Jason, but for the same reasons he became Robin in the first place: to keep Batman stable. being Jason's Robin isn't about wanting to work with Jason, it would be Tim knowing there's no world Jason is ever going to stop and seeing Jason slowly tip over the edge of madness and well. if Tim was self-sacrificial enough to do it for Bruce and attempt to do it for Jean-Paul, he can do it for Jason.

him agreeing would i think startle Jason. like, Jason's offer was never particularly serious because he's at the point he knows Tim wants nothing to do with him. so when Tim says yes it sort of. snaps Jason out of the rage BftC puts him in. he's so startled but enticed by the thought, he willingly agrees to stipulations Tim sets, like no murder. like even if just to see where this goes, Jason jumps on the chance.

i'd really want to keep Dick and Damian as Batman and Robin, and the weird divide that would exist with Dick/Damian and Jason/Tim both running around as Batman/Robin and how off kilter that puts Gotham. like Gotham is so baffled by it, it actually makes criminals easier to handle. because they have no clue if they're getting the Batman who needs Robin to keep him in line, or the Robin who needs Batman to keep him in line. people know there's two Batmans, two Robins and no one knows quite what to do with that information. who's the "real" Batman? who's the "real" Robin? and on the personal level, the divide between Dick and Tim would be unmistakable. Dick would know what Tim's doing and try to convince him Jason is a lost cause bc well, Dick at this point *really* believes Jason is a lost fucking cause. So Dick's genuine care and concern for Tim just drives a further wedge between them.

i think there'd need to be a scene where Tim flat out asks if Jason even *wants* to be Batman. in a sort of attempt to slowly ween Jason off of being Batman, but also because i don't think Jason ever really wants to be Batman, he just wants Batman to be what his vision of justice is. and it'd be the first real heart to heart they have, discussing the legacy of the Robin and Batman mantles and how it's affected them. it'd be heated, but it'd be their first real conversation as just. Jason and Tim.

to me, i think the end goal of this AU would be Tim successfully "taming" Jason, and not in like a soft way, but in like a manipulative way, where even Jason knows that's what Tim is doing, but he just goes along with it because it's the first real human connection he's had in a while. also, i would work in Scarlet, Jason's sidekick in Batman & Robin (2009) as like. a pseudo daughter figure for them to help Jason find his humanity a bit. so it's not just Tim as Jason's rock, but also this misguided girl they'd both try to help. and well, then they ride into the sunset and all that, but still have a complicated, toxic dynamic they're both aware is unhealthy, but as balanced as it can be.

[sunnysanji]

kaveh hates your new blanket. what he hates even more is that he's the one that bought it for you.

he thought it would be amazing. you'd seen it in a shop and you couldn't stop talking about how soft it was, how thick it was and how the weight would be so comforting on you. one point that he particularly liked about this was that it would comfort you in his absences, allowing you to sleep when he's up late working on sketches and new proposals.

so, he bought it as a birthday gift and surprised you with it early. he even bought a larger size one that allows you both to use it when in bed together. you were ecstatic, and he was so excited that you loved your first (of many) birthday gifts.

however, he stopped being excited when you liked it a little too much.

"sweetheart let me in," kaveh lightly chides, shivering from the exposure of his bare torso to the sharp chill of your bedroom.

"i'm too comfy and it's cold, just use one of the other blankets," you argue into the plush of the blanket, concluding the argument by snuggling deeper into the pillows and the warm of the blanket. he hates that he feels his heart warm up at the sight and butterflies start to tickle in his stomach at the sight in front of him. he loves you so much.

"baby i want to touch you."

"i'm not in the mood, try again tomorrow night," you giggle into the pillow.

"oh my- you know that's not what i mean." he says, exasperated. kaveh had such a long day and the only thing he was looking forward to throughout his entire day was coming home to cuddle you and steal kisses before falling asleep in each other's grasp. he can't help but be frustrated that you're denying him the one pleasure he's able to find in his life. and he knows you're doing it just to tease him. "i missed you so much today, baby. did you not miss me too?"

"i saw you this morning," you refute. kaveh struggles to find the path between his mind and his tongue, ultimately failing and choosing to just let out something between a loud sigh and a strangled groan. he stomps to the linen closet outside the bedroom door and yanks out the old duvet that was on your shared bed before the new blanket showed up.

he throws himself down on his side of the bed and wraps the duvet tightly around himself, tossing himself to pointedly face away from you.

"i'm donating that fucking blanket the second you wake up tomorrow morning."

he receives no answer. he only feels the spot next to him dip and shift before he feels the warm skin of your hand slipping into his duvet, going to wrap around his waist. you pull more of the duvet around yourself and fully pull your boyfriend into your embrace. he turns around in your hold to return the embrace and he buries his fingers into your hair.

"i knew you wouldn't last long," his voice is significantly softer.

"whatever. you got really upset i thought you were going to start crying." you punctuate your sentence with a kiss against his adam's apple and then his jaw.

he scoffs at you, but contradicts this with a kiss to your forehead and then your warm cheek and finally your awaiting lips.

"i will cry next time. and i am donating that stupid thing tomorrow."

"i love you, kaveh," you whisper into his neck, grinning against his skin.

"i love you too, sweetheart." kaveh sighs.