#twas fun to write!

[rabbityfrogs]

There are seven species that have ever reached a level of intelligence to leave their home planet. The first was ancient, their name long forgotten. They rose to touch the stars, and lived among them for aeons. They loved the universe, and all the wonders within it. These ancients, the progenitors of our modern universe, no longer walk among us. It is said that all souls originate from a gift they gave to their progenies, of which we are all descended from. That ancient race is long dead now, whether through self-made destruction, simple evolution, or a combination of the two, we do not know. What we do know, is that they reside peacefully in the World After Worlds, waiting for each and every one of our inevitable arrivals.

Their offspring, gifted with souls, spread across the corners of the universe. They would give the gift of souls to their children, who gave it to their children, who gave it to their children. Millenia past, & though our species diverged and we forgot our ancient common lineage, we never lost the gift of souls given to us by our forebears. And when we rose to touch the stars, and met one another again, our souls filled with joy. We did not know why of course, but eventually, through sharing our stories & history with one another, we learned of this all.

The exception to all of this, is the Humans. A small, bipedal, nearly hairless species from a small rocky ocean planet they alternately call either Earth or Terra. The Humans first rose to touch the stars 77 years ago, when they stepped foot on their moon, and it has never been the same since. At first, we expected joy once more. There had been a horrible war bleeding throughout the universe, but accords were signed, and peace was declared. We all, whether or not we would admit it, were excited to experience the joy our grandparents told us was felt when a new group of souls touched the sky. But it never came.

At first we just thought we had forgotten what it felt like, or that it was delayed. But when we came to greet the Humans, we realised how wrong we were. It was a scouting group from the Noble Palafi Expanse, one of the main nations of the Palafi race, that first met them in person. They shook hands, made an agreement of peace, and laughed with the Humans. But as soon as they returned home, the terror on their face was unmistakable.

They were barely able to stand on their own four feet when they landed back home, muttering out a phrase that simply could not be true. “They didn’t have any souls”. It couldn’t be true of course, how could they not have a soul? In every single species that has touched the stars, they were driven by their souls. Their innate longing to reconnect with their lost cousin species, whether or not they realised it themselves. When we asked a Human from one of their United Republics why they touched the sky, they just said “To prove that we could”.

They can’t move on to the World After Worlds, they can’t. They never had the gift of a soul to help them and guide them. Their eyes, rather than being full of life and possibility, look cold to us, always watching, always analysing. And yet despite all of these things, they rose to touch the stars. They pierced the sky, and rose to stand among the celestial comets and planets that move within it.

Eventually, we learned how they could have a consciousness without a soul. Within their head, they had an organ called a brain. A slimy, patched together network of neurons, nervous tissue, and a handful of other internal body parts working together in a vile mockery of a soul. Brains on their own weren’t unheard of, of course, but one on this scale was very much unheard of. Some small pests and insects had brains, but those had neurons numbering in the hundred thousands, nowhere near the scale seen in these Humans. It was unthinkable that a brain could so accurately replicate a soul, let alone lead a species to touch the stars. And yet, there they stood.

A meeting has been called between the leaders of all the nations of the souled races. For you see, our people have been growing so very scared. Many people think that the universe has abandoned them, that souls have stopped being given at birth at all. Others think that Humans are the universe’s way of recalibrating itself after the gift of souls the Progenitors gave to us all. 

For scientists, Humans are a marvel. Proof that life could touch the stars without the need for a soul, and could thrive without the promise of the World After Worlds. Their very existence uprooted the entire field. For everyone else, they are a terrifying threat. Humans have no soul, no promise of life or judgement after their death, no longing to be reconnected with their cousin species, nothing sane at all. Humans live and laugh and have joy all while living on a mushy false construct in the vague image of a soul. They have no life after death, no connection to the rest of the universe’s shared history, and yet they are here. They are here and they laugh, and they make us so very afraid.

Humans have no souls. Their entire consciousness is stored within an organ called the brain. They have no afterlife. This of course, terrifies all the other races.

[mothprincess]

serena crane, judith and holofernes

[dwtdog]

slightly longer drabble for fem dnf week day 2🥳🥳

--

Dream hums as she spins her lock, a song she’d heard on the car radio that morning perpetually stuck in her head. The click of the lock as it reaches each number is in tune with the beat, and it makes her grin something crazy. 

With a final twist, the lock clicks open, and she’s able to swing the door of her locker out, stopping it just in time from hitting her friend, Nic, square in the face. Nic gives her a look, but Dream is hardly fazed- the shorter girl always has plenty of glares to go around. 

The song playing in her head comes to an end as she rifles through her backpack, pulling out the books she won’t need for the rest of the day, and hefting them up and into the locker. She takes a moment to admire it, as she always does. She’d taken care when decorating at the beginning of the year, enlisting her mom and sister to help make some cute decorations, but the star of the show is Dream’s prized collection of magazine cuttings- cheerleaders from all over the country, in all sorts of poses, decorating the entire inside of the locker door. 

She’d been collecting them for years at this point, after begging her parents for a subscription to a cheerleading magazine, and the selection she’d chosen for school had been meant to inspire her. Tricky poses and tight uniforms, all the better to motivate her own performance.

Nic snorts. Dream tilts her head, peering around the edge of her locker, to see Nic crossing her arms and giving her another sort of look. This one is less reproachful and more- knowing. Dream hates it.

“Nicole,” Dream says pleasantly, rearranging the backpack in her arms. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, don't worry about me. I can see you were having some quality time, enjoying those pictures of yours,” Nic responds, shrugging. 

Dream sighs dramatically, taking one last look at the pictures before closing the locker door. Her eyes linger on exposed stomachs and bare shoulders, so perfectly tanned. Her skin just never seems to get that way.

“You wouldn’t get it,” she says, throwing her backpack strap over her shoulder. “All you do is play basketball or whatever. We don’t even have a girls team.”

Nic just laughs, joining Dream as they head for class together. Neither of them like chemistry all that much, but it’s made more enjoyable when they sit together, heads bent over a shared desk as they exchange gossip. The teacher, a senile old man, is too absorbed in drawing meaningless molecular bonds on the board to notice. 

“I heard Jimmy has a new girlfriend,” Nic whispers as soon as they’re seated. She meets Dream’s eyes expectantly, tapping her fingers in rapid succession. “That bitch Tiffany.”

Dream smiles immediately. “Oh, I love Tiffany! Did you see her prom dress last year? The red was so perfect for her.”

“As if!” Nic says, a touch too loud. Dream elbows her in the ribs, giggling. “She stole your boyfriend!” she murmurs, voice peaking with disbelief.

“Oh, but we broke up a week ago?” Dream glances at the board, trying, for a moment, to decipher it. She gets as far as identifying a hydrogen bond before she gives up, turning her full attention back to an indigent Nic. 

Nic just shakes her head, drawing a hand down her face. “Whatever,” she mutters.

The rest of class passes as normal, when Dream starts telling Nic about her upcoming routine for the first football game of the season. She even draws out a few diagrams in the notebook she’s meant to be taking chem notes in, appreciative of Nic’s rapt attention.

When the bell rings, a shrill sound that makes Dream’s ears ache a bit, the two are quick to push their chairs back and collect their things. 

One more period, and they’re free.

Dream likes her English class, and her English teacher, but not their seating chart. The teacher had realized, after the first day, that Dream and Nic were not to be trusted to sit together, so Dream had been assigned a seat in the far back corner of the room, and Nic up at the front. 

It sours her good mood a bit to part ways, but it immediately brightens when she notices a girl in the seat that’d been empty for the first few weeks of year. She’s got dark hair and pale skin, and a pouty look on her face where she’s slumped at the desk.

“I like your shirt,” Dream says when she’s close, hovering in front of the girls desk and looking down at her with wide eyes. 

She glances down, as if reminding herself of what the aforementioned shirt is, before meeting Dream’s gaze with dark eyes. “Thanks,” she smiles, a small thing, and Dream’s heart beats harder for a moment. She loves making friends! “I cut it myself.” She sits up slightly, revealing that the shirt is indeed cropped, falling to just above her belly button. 

“That’s so cool,” Dream gushes, glancing disparagingly down at her own outfit. “I tried that once, but it came out all- weird. Like I didn’t cut it right. Maybe I need to try it again,” she smiles, finally moving to sit at her own desk but keeping her body fully facing the other girl. “What’s your name, by the way? I’m Dream.”

“Dream,” the girl says, her lips moving fully with each letter. “I like that. I’m George.”

It sends a little thrill down Dream’s spine, to see the way George tilts her dead defiantly, as if expecting Dream to push back against her name, or question it. Instead, she says-

“George, George, George,” drawing out the vowels like George had done for her name. It tastes like candy on her lips, addictive. “So cool. Are you new here?”

And that kicks off their conversation. They spend the entirety of English talking and talking, cursory glances to make sure they haven’t been caught the only attention they pay to the material. 

Dream learns that George is from London, that her family had only just moved and she’d had to start late. That she thinks Florida is nice, due to all the sun, and that she likes cats a whole lot. In turn, Dream tells her about her large family, her best friend Nic, and the cheerleading team. 

“Do you like cheerleading?” Dream asks tentatively, tapping her pencil against her thigh. “It’s okay if you don’t obviously, but I kind of talk about it a lot, so, sorry if you don’t.”

“I- I don’t really know?” George says, and Dream notices that her eyes are following the motion of the pencil. “We didn’t really have it at my old school.”

Dream gasps, affronted. “That’s terrible! You have to come to our practice tonight. We’re going through our whole routine, it’ll be like- like a little introduction! Just for you,” she beams, happy butterflies filling her stomach at the thought of George watching her perform. 

“Okay,” George says immediately, smiling right back. It’s at that moment, of course, that the bell rings again. Dream glances at the clock, surprised. It had felt like no time at all, but class really is over. George stands, the skin of her stomach shifting as she does. “See you there, then?”

Dream nods, jumping up from her own seat. “On the field! In an hour,” she adds, scribbling it down on a piece of paper to pass to George, along with the number of her Blackberry. “Text me if you get lost.”

George takes the paper when Dream offers it, their hands brushing in the process. George feels cold, and for a small moment, Dream is half tempted to offer up her jacket. But the moment passes, George tucking the paper into a pocket of hr dark jeans, waving over her shoulder as she leaves. 

Dream doesn’t even notice that she’s been rooted in the same spot, staring, until Nic appears at her side, flicking her shoulder. “Uh, Earth to Dream. Don’t you need to get ready for practice?”

--

George comes to practice that day, and the day after that, and every practice for the rest of the football season. She comes to all the games too, sitting in the same spot on the bleachers every time- the spot with the best consistent view of the cheer team. 

Dream always waves during practice, as many times as she can. It’s harder during games, with her mind entirely focused on the routine and everything she needs to do, but she always looks George’s way, and meets her after each and every game.

George doesn’t have a car- Dream is happy to drive her home. She only accepts half of the time, often citing that she enjoys the fresh air of walking home. Dream does her best to hide it, but George sees the way her face falls when she refuses

Tonight, after the final football game of the season, George accepts happily. It’s a chilly night in December, and she’s only wearing a jacket- Dream’s. It’s bright green, entirely outside of George’s usual range of colors but- it’s Dream’s.

Dream, the delightful idiot who still hasn’t realized she’s totally crushing on George.

It would be fun to watch, if George hadn’t fallen hopelessly in love with the other girl from the moment of their first meeting. Love is probably too strong a word, but she quite likes it. She spends way too much time just turning it over and over in her mind, Dream and love and love and Dream. 

Dream is fighting with the lock across from George as she stands, shivering, outside the passenger door. George doesn’t know how Dream isn’t cold- she’s still got her cheerleading outfit on, their school colors gaudy against her tanned skin, freckles spilling down her bare shoulders. George wants to touch.

Finally, the locks click open, and George is able to open her door, to slide into the roomy seats of Dream’s car. It’s not a particularly nice car, but George loves it because it smells like Dream. 

It also smells and looks a bit like George, a pair of George’s shoes stashed in the back seat, an empty can of her favorite soda left in the cupholder. George and Dream, Dream and George. As it should be.

Dream is smiling when George looks up, her green eyes bright with adrenaline. She’s told George a million times how much fun she has performing her cheer routines, how good she feels when they go off without a hitch. And tonight had been spectacular, even by George’s untrained eye- or, she supposes, her recently trained eye. An entire season of going to games to watch the pretty cheerleader you have a crush on will give you a good idea of the sport. 

“You did good,” George says, flinging her feet up on the dash. “The whole squad did. Everyone around me was super into it.”

Dream touches George’s shoulder for a moment, an excited little motion. She waves her hands as she explains, the car sitting idle as they talk late into the night, as the parking lot empties around them.

George is more than happy to watch her in all her excitement, the way she picks through every motion of the routine, every place she could have done better, every improvement the other girls had made. She’s critical, but encouraging. Sweet, but smart, and George can’t seem to look away from her plush lips. 

“Oh,” she says, after recounting the end of the game, when they’d rushed the field to celebrate. “Jimmy talked to me on the field.”

George wrinkles her nose. “What did he want?”

“He asked if I’d want to go out with him again. He said it just seemed right, since they’d just won,” Dream is growing slightly, and George hates it. Stupid Jimmy and his stupid ideas.

“And?” George prompts, swallowing back the pit of jealousy crawling up her throat, bitter. 

“I told him I was over him,” Dream says, the smile returning to her face, although it’s lost some of its luster. “That he and Tiffany are good for each other.”

“And you meant it?” George asks before she can stop herself, biting her lip as soon as the words have left her mouth. 

Dream’s eyebrows draw together, and her lips twist as she thinks. “I did, yeah,” she says at last. “I mean, obviously. I never really liked him that much. But why’d you ask?”

“Because he’s- y’know- the football star. Hottest guy in school,” she says the last part with a touch too much of the irony that dogs her words anytime she tries to talk about guys like the other girls do. “All the girls love him,” she tacks on, hoping to hide her stumble.

But Dream only meets her eyes with an oddly knowing gaze. But she ruins it when she says- “Well all the other girls haven’t had to kiss him. It’s like making out with a dog, all slobbery.”

“You’ve made out with a dog?” George asks, faux indignation punctuated by a dramatic raise of her hands to clutch at her heart. “That explains everything.”

“Ew- god no, shut up George, oh my god,” Dream stumbles, giggling. “It was a metaphor. Maybe if you paid any attention in English you’d get it.”

But George is already laughing, chest shaking with it. She has to bring her legs down to rest on the floor, doubling over as Dream continues to protest. They both quiet down after a long few moments, and George sits up to see Dream staring right at her, eyes wide. 

“What- Is there something on my face?” George asks, yanking down the mirror to check. 

“No, no,” Dream says, voice oddly pitched up. “It's just uh- you have a really nice laugh, George.”

George feels the blood flow to her cheeks, heating her face in an instant. “Oh, uh, thanks Dream. You too,” and now it’s her turn to stumble over the words, her eyes darting anywhere but Dream’s face.

“And you have nice hands,” Dream continues, like a dam has been opened. “Like, look, okay, hold yours up.” And Dream holds up a hand between them, fingers spread. George, entirely at her mercy, obeys, holding her hand up to Dream’s.

Her mouth waters when she sees the way her fingers are dwarfed by Dream’s, the way they fit together perfectly. It’s as if all function in her mind grinds to a halt, entirely focused on the point of contact. 

“Wow,” Dream breathes, seemingly in the same position as George. She bends the tips of her fingers so they fold over the top of George’s, only serving to further emphasize the difference. She’s so warm, and George is so gone. 

It’s a rash decision, to move her hand so that their fingers slide together, palms pressed together. It’s even better than before, all-encompassing and George has to bite back a squeak when Dream squeezes, as if testing something.

“This is nice,” Dream says at last, like nice is the sort of word that can encompass the thoughts racing through George’s mind, surely escaping her, projecting her feelings all over the small interior of the car. “Your hands feel so- so different from uh, Jimmy’s,” she says, and flexes her fingers again.

George takes a breath. 

“Good different?” George presses, already knowing the answer. She’s suddenly very aware of how alone they are, how empty the parking lot is. How no one would see if she leaned in, if they-

“Yeah. Really good,” Dream says. She lets her hand fall, drawing George’s with it, to rest in the space between them. And George can see her face again, the way pink dusts her cheeks, the way her pupils have doubled in size.

“Interesting,” George says, like she isn’t buzzing to take and take and take.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” Dream asks suddenly, her eyes flicking to somewhere just over George’s head. “If you want to say, I guess. You just never really talk about dating, so I don’t know if you’re comfortable-”

“Nah,” George says, cutting her panicked ramble off and squeezing her hand comfortingly. “I was never really interested in-” boys “-dating.”

“Oh,” Dream tilts her head, as if considering. “So you’ve never- You’ve never kissed anyone before?”

George shrugs. “Uhm, I guess not.” She shifts in her seat, Dream’s gaze hot on her face. “And no, I haven’t kissed any dogs, before you ask.”

That gets a smile and a laugh out of Dream, and George relaxes marginally. Until, of course, Dream says-

“Do you want to try?” 

George blinks at her. Dream blinks back, her makeup somehow still perfect even after an entire cheer routine. Her lips are deliciously pink, and George knows she sees the way her eyes linger there.

“You’d let me?” George asks, breathless. It’s too open, too indicative of the unspoken truth of her existence but- It’s Dream. 

Dream’s throat bobs as she swallows. “I would. It’d be- fun. I think.”

“Okay,” George says.

“Okay,” Dream says.

And George leans in, disconnecting their fingers when she realizes the angle will be off. She sees the way Dream’s eyes flick to their separated hands, the small look of disappointment, before she’s leaning in too, eyes sliding shut. George keeps hers open until the last moment, until her lips touch Dream’s and the world vanishes around them.

It’s a sweet, gentle kiss. Dream, conscious of George’s inexperience, probably, barely moves, just letting the moment go on and on. George wants to live in it forever, but she also wants to move.

So she pulls back, but only just. Dream is slow to reopen her eyes, lips still parted as she stares and stares at George.

“Again?” George asks. Dream nods. “But- You can move this time, okay?” Their lips are nearly brushing already. “Show me.”

[ingo-ingoing-ingone]

Ingo and Emmet are perfectly in sync. They have to be, living as conjoined twins. The Subway Masters of Nimbasa City, the two are happy with their friends and family and trains. Of course, the universe contains chaos and random chance that can affect even the closest of people. The two find themselves in situations that neither would have ever expected, and it will test them both. Through it all, one thing is certain. Family, both blood related and chosen, will never let you be alone. And, no matter the trials, a two-car train will always continue onwards.

Update time! Still in Hisui, following the timeline of PLA! After this chapter I wanna maybe create a bit of a backlog to post all at once, and I need to decide if I should split the next chapter into 2 or not.

Please please comment if you enjoy!

No warnings this week :)

Disclaimer linked in first reblog

[viveela]

When it comes to Stan and Kyle, realistically/in canon how do you think they’d actually confess to each other?

Hmm...the way SP handles and adds to its overarching canon makes it hard for me to imagine it. But, if I just viewed Stan and Kyle's characters right now and thought only about how it'd go if they liked each other... Well, their dynamic is complicated and distant. There's also a lot about them to consider.

Kyle's a romantic, but he's had so many failed relationships. He also hates being ostracized. Rejection would terrify him as the possible outcome of his bond with Stan ending and others finding out and gossiping a out it would be an absolute nightmare for him. Then there's Stan's who's more bitter and very depressed. I think a lot is from his home situation but also Cartman's wake up call (saying he never stands up to Kyle). However he still is possessive and jealous about his best friend status with Kyle despite everything. He also has a weird perception of relationships now for sure especially due to the on and off one he currently has.

So with all that in mind...here's my take:

The two have developed feelings and it changes their dynamic once again.

Stan upon realizing this felt exhausted. There's too much already going on in his life and this is just adds to it. Exhausted he decides to just push the problem away and shut it all out. This causes him to be more unresponsive around Kyle.

Meanwhile, Kyle upon realizing his feelings gets conflicted. His romantic history isn't the greatest and rejection is scary. He's not sure if Stan's even like that. Sure his dog was gay and he's supportive, but does that truly mean anything about what Stan is specifically? He decides it'd be best to never act on this. But also Kyle now craves Stan's attention more than ever. He leans into his wants by behaving more clingy towards Stan, maybe even trying to asking odd questions here and there to gauge if maybe he would have a chance.

This goes on for a while and at first Stan was just sort of watching it happen. Not receptive but also not reacting. Eventually he can't handle this shift in Kyle and he starts trying to avoid him out of confusion and frustration. He doesn't want to deal with any of this right now.

Kyle notices this and it just makes his feelings jumble up. He's hurt, this isn't how Stan used to be around him. Usually it didn't take much to get his friend to go along with things. How can he deal with his unreciprocated crush like this? He grows more desperate and tries much more forcefully to get Stan to spend time with him, practically begging for his attention at this point.

This doesn't go on for too long before Stan gets highly aggravated and riled up. He's trying so hard to ignore everything happening externally and internally and this is making it impossible. Not to mention this switch up in their friendship happened out of nowhere. Where did this even come from? This boils within Stan before he finally snaps at Kyle one day, stopping him in his tracks from continuing further.

Now on the defensive Kyle snaps back and they're now arguing. Their entire relationship as a whole is being brought up and thrown back and forth at each other; both frantically pointing fingers and pent up frustrations spilling out. It doesn't take long before Stan breaks and goes from yelling to crying. His true state comes to light and he finally expresses how their distance has affected him and that it's really been messing with his head —especially now with the newfound feelings he's been having lately. Kyle's silent for a moment taking this all in before bombarding Stan with apologies for everything, feeling stupid.

The implications from Stan's words earlier aren't lost on him though and once things calm down, he then takes the chance to confess his own feelings as well while also admiting he misses being close to each other. Now they're both feeling like idiots and reconcile, deciding to be more open with each other and figure out how to move their relationship further from here.

[edith-is-a-cat]

i desperately wanna be creative writing wise. the self ship shit all right lets roll it out typed out in app (may not look for errors) aint gonna be long since its one-ish scene

hi ms auburn subjects you to this :3!! @cloudcountry

dont forget my irl they gotta be subjected too @samsung-refrigerator-2000

thought of this while with my bio dad in a kroger so you know i was cooking

580 words and apparently the site i use to check thinks this..

"Fuck--Shit-- Ugh Idia... uhm give me a second please. Sorry." They murmured out more curses against the chain around their neck.

As Ede fiddled with the accursed clasp; hands shaking so hard it could swear they were going to drop the two precious soda tabs that were on the chain. Though after a few more fucks, shits, and damn its were thrown at the clasp it finally decided to do its job and unhook from the chain. It grabbed one tab white knuckles around the small thing while shoving the other tab an chain in their cardigan pocket.

"So.. Well... Uhm Fuck.. This may be a bit stupid--bit of an odd way to well uhm.. Confess." They looked down at the ground face already redder.

Idia just narrowed his eyes he KNEW this was way too romantic of a spot to just hang out with someone at. (Yes, Ede, very good choice sunset on a cliff overlooking the ocean; yes, he will never guess what he was called here for.) He almost got smug smile stuck on his face after guessing correct. He was thinking to himself: he just predicted the enemy's at-- OH WAIT WHAT. Pause, Pause, Rewind, Slow the playback, WHAT DO THEY MEAN CONFESS.

Internally Idia was processing everything like an old laptop with The Sims 4, 48 Chrome tabs, Spotify, Discord, and OBS all at once. But the outside hardware looked fine, he was stood there like a tall stack of rocks as Ede started their confessional monologue.

"Well uh.. this just may be a bit stupid but please just hold out your hand? I have a thing for you"

Idia without too much thinking held out his hand, partially still thinking about them confessing to him romantically and why the hell they were giving him one of its soda tabs. Yeah, Ede was right, very odd way of confessing. They shakily placed the knick-knack in his palm yanking their hand back in fear (not like hes gonna bite), hands held together as if in prayer.

Idia stared at the tab, didn't look like how he usually got them off the can. This one was different to his usual ones, it had a little metal piece with a hole in the middle, where there usual was nothing.

"Well uhm Yeah this was a stupid idea but fuck it I'm already here… It was meant for someone else for awhile, but I won't ever get to see them so the one in your hand is for you now… So uhm the tab means I would like a kiss for this scenario it also means something more. I love you Idia. It means I love you so much more than the little platonic love yous I would just drop casually." They take a sharp breath, cutting through the lump building in their throat, "Just-- If you return my feelings give it back, if you don't just throw it away."

They stare down at the ground, adrenaline fueling the getaway plan, run until its lungs hurt.

Thank Seven Idia was still blue screening because Ede sprinted down the cliff as fast as their legs could to get back to NRC Campus, back to Ramshackle, back to its haven to hide from his reaction.

Idia just stood there like rock soda tab in hand. Well? guess that was a W for him.. just gotta hope they aren't too afraid to talk to him again, he has to return it somehow...

[magentakat]

Got a short lil’ Reader-focused piece this time ‘round. :3

Day 7: Glitter Glue—555 words

You don’t know what you expected.

Your hands are coated in a sticky, tacky coating of glitter, varying sections of wet goo and dry, peeling film layered across your skin. Colors mostly blend together at the edges, occasionally dashed over one another where the segment below had dried. It all glitters, catching the light as your hands move across the tabletop.

It feels horrible.

When Sun had asked for your assistance supervising the activity you were initially hesitant. Glue was your lifelong sworn enemy, the adhesive refusing to go where it should and always managing to escape to the greener pastures of your lovely, delicate, sensitive skin from its paper prison. The sensation of it was disgusting, even worse than sunblock or lotion, combining sliminess with a gumminess that utterly revolted you.

And yet, when he had turned that permanent grin to face you, clasping his overly large hands together as he pled with you… you were so weak. Folded immediately, agreed despite the phantom sensation of that reviled substance taunting you, attempted to placate your own dread with the thought that “Sun loves to keep things clean and orderly, surely it won’t be bad this time!”

Oh, you utter fool, you buffoon. The last time you’d justified an activity with that excuse was when he’d roped you into one of their finger-painting sessions. That had been several weeks ago and you were still finding streaks of paint hidden in the deep, dark corners of the playroom—and that wasn’t mentioning how long it took to remove it all from Sun (if you even had, you swore there was a tiny dot of red still stuck to the back of one of his rays).

Sun’s return was announced by the chorus of his bells, much merrier than your own dour mood. “The last of our little stars have been picked up,” he chimed, “time to clean up, clean up, clean up!”

You move your gaze from your thoroughly coated and begrimed fingers, looking up at his beaming, sunny face and feeling dread sink its cold, horrid claws deeper into your very soul. Oh no, it was even worse than the finger painting. There was the shimmer and glint of glitter in the dips between his teeth, tiny flecks of blue across one of his optics. And his hands, his huge, intricate hands, were damn near dripping with it. You’d be picking it out from between his finger joints for ages. The thought of the miserable task awaiting you left you fighting back tears.

Sun’s face clicks as it rotated ninety degrees clockwise, uncharacteristically silent as he examined your expression. You hurriedly look back down to your own glitter-covered hands but it’s already too late—he reached out, carefully taking your hands in his as he guided you towards the restrooms. “Why don’t you wash up first? I’ll go get the bottles all wiped down and put away so it’ll be a breeze to clean the rest when you’re back!”

He skips off with a cheerful laugh and, despite the misery still filling you, you can’t help but smile. That’s why you couldn’t turn down his request. You’d endure hell itself if he asked it of you, if it would make him happy.

But damn, you’d still think twice before helping with the glitter glue again.

[mxltifxnd0m]

wish me luck on my midterm bc i have to answer 10 questions with short answers and write an essay in an hour and 15 mins 🙃🙃

[thatonefreemanversefic]

ITS THAT TIME AGAIN EXCEPT 2 DAYS LATER!!

Sorry for being late, I am the pinnacle of health I swear (me when I lie)

Anyways, Goodbye Black Mesa East!

[camels-pen]

can't sleep so have vampire Usopp drabble with sanuso~

Just imagine Usopp showing up after exploring some island on his own, bloodied, limping, leaving streaks of blood all over the place

Sanji left on ship watching duty, is cooking in the kitchen, idly checking with Haki every once in a while to make sure no one unfamiliar shows up

He notices Usopp coming but is right in the middle of something- making food for lunch when everyone returns, but also hashing out food supplies he'll need to buy once it's his turn to leave the ship

So when Usopp shows up, Sanji's distracted, maybe looking at his list, and maybe there's something like this:

"San...ji." There was some odd dragging sound. "Blood."

"Blood?" Sanji looked up from his list and nearly jumped out of his skin. "What the hell happened?!" He jumped the railing to land in front of Usopp, hands uselessly fluttering about his bloodied and broken body. He had to be standing just through pure willpower alone.

"Hun...gry."

Food. Right, yes, Sanji could do food. He could take Usopp up to the infirmary and bring him a plate.

Sanji settled on putting his hands on Usopp's shoulders. His skin was freezing through his shirt. "I've already made heaps for lunch, but I need to patch you up first. Just tell me what you want and I'll bring it to the infirmary."

"Wa...nt."

"Yeah,"-Sanji nodded, starting to get more concerned with the slow responses-"anything you want, Usopp."

"Any... thing?"

"Anything."

With a strength and speed Sanji wasn't expecting, Usopp slammed both of Sanji's wrists against the wall.

"Blood."

Before Sanji could say anything, before he could even take another breath, Usopp surged down to his neck and bit him.

Sanji was about ready to kick him away, regardless of Usopp's current state, and fuming about being caught up in some stupid prank, when he felt the first suck.

"H-Hey Usopp, are you..." serious? Conscious? Under some weird devil fruit power? Sanji didnt know what to ask first.

He never got the chance to figure it out either, as a wave of pure, toe-curling pleasure washed through him. In his surprise, he didn't have time to tone down the full blown moan that slipped his lips.

Usopp continued sucking, though his grip on Sanji's wrists had slackened. His own pleased groans were loud as he drank, the noises right next to Sanji's ear and making it burn with a growing heat.

Whatever this was, Sanji needed to stop it. As a man who needed to defend his love of women, and only women, he couldn't get worked up just by some stupid-

Hun... gry. Usopp had said. Blood.

That- there's no way. Sanji was far past not believing in legends and myths, and his old man was never one to pull his leg on that kind of stuff.

But even Sanji had thought, or maybe hoped, that vampires weren't real.

And for it to be Usopp- Usopp of all people. Sanji knocked his head back against the wall, tears falling freely as his lip wobbled.

"Fuck, fuck!"

The sucking stopped.

Usopp pulled away just enough to look up at Sanji. The way his head was angled, Sanji could see horrific looking bite marks all along his neck, shoulders, under his jaw, down his collar, and disappearing under his shirt.

He had to pause a moment, imagining Usopp having stumbled into a coven's territory. Alone. Probably looking for cool bugs or something else inconsequential, unknowing that he would die within moments.

Sanji hoped it was quick, at least. He hoped this coven wasn't like the one in his books; the ones who would draw it out for as long as possible. Usopp had been gone only a few hours and he must've hobbled to the ship on his own, which could've taken a while, and-

And Usopp was still staring at him, silent, eyes blank, and lips stained red with blood. Sanji's blood.

It hadn't been long since breakfast, but being killed and having all of the blood sucked out of him would probably work up a big appetite.

And, well, Sanji would never let a crewmate go hungry.

So, he put one hand to the back of Usopp's hair- his hair, not his hat, free of it's usual ponytail and covered in leaves and dirt and blood- and guided him back to his neck. Usopp made a questioning noise.

Sanji closed his eyes, let a shaky smile show on his face. He brought his other hand up to press Usopp closer.

"I did say anything, didn't I?"

Usopp didn't respond. After a moment, Sanji felt him lick at the bite marks he left behind- pinpricks compared to the wounds littering his own dark skin- and then, carefully, fit his mouth into those same marks. Once again, he began to drink, this time at a much slower pace.

Regardless of the speed or the gentleness, Sanji still had to fight not to give away how much he was truly enjoying this.

(and then the crew shows up lmao)

[waterfallofspace]

Tormented By Your Love.

The one in which S/uguru G/eto is given a lovely gift from his caring boyfriend S/atoru G/ojo, that he just so happens to be desperately allergic to. Cue him trying to hold back the attack long enough to get away from G/ojo, but the other is not so keen to be ditched.

Inspired by ~this post~, so the idea’s are not all my own, but the execution is. Also shoutout/thanks to @lycheeehehe for mentioning G/eto in that post because it totally got my mind RACING with this concept. (Hope you don’t mind the tag!! And if you read, hope you enjoy it~ <3) Same for anyone else, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy~!

Characters: G/eto, G/ojo, and a bottle of expensive cologne with a not-so-secret scent. Word Count: 2.6k 

(References to playful violence, and swearing, incase you don’t like either of those! Also features mentions of J/ujutsu K/aisen world concepts such as curses/techniques, so I don’t believe it’s spoilers, but just be aware!) 

~~~~~~~

“I got you a present~!” Geto looks up as Gojo floats into the room, hands behind his back, a deep smile across his cheeks. The sunglasses conceal his eyes, but Geto can say with certainty the smile reaches them. “It’s not my birthday… Did I miss an anniversary?” “Nooope~! I just felt like spoiling you!” The tone is light and musical, something Geto has grown quite used to. ‘And yet… the fondness rekindles itself every time I hear it.’ “You don’t have to do tha-” “Uh-uh, shush. I already bought it, and I want to see your face when you open it! Don’t you dare ruin this for me, Suguru!” He’s practically whining, letting his sunglasses slip down just enough to meet Geto’s eyes with his beautiful blues. Geto sighs, a smile slipping over his normally calm expression. ‘This is what I get for falling in love with The Satoru Gojo.’ “Alright, alright. Show me what you got.” “Tadaaa~!” Gojo holds out a bottle, beaming even wider than before. Geto matches the warmth with a smile of his own, letting Gojo delicately place the bottle in his hands. He examines it, finding no label or etchings on the bottle. His gaze falls back up to Gojo, who’s rocking back and forth, practically vibrating with excitement. “I- don’t understand…?” “In that case let me explain it to you!” His voice is as vibrant as his eyes, and he throws himself onto the couch next to Geto, letting his arms fall across the back of it. One leg crosses over the other, and he nearly shakes the couch as he bounces them. “This, my dear Suguru, is a special creation made by yours truly! See, I wanted a scent that’s specifically you, so that I can recognize you by a scent other than your cursed energy. However, as I said, specifically you, therefore I couldn’t use anything from the store, sooo~!” Gojo pauses, ‘For dramatic effect’ Geto reckons, letting his smile reach his eyes in the silence. Finally it seems Gojo reaches his limit, his tongue moving before his brain can even catch up. ‘That’s how he always seems to talk when he’s with me. It’s truly stunning, watching him just let go. He always has to be so careful in front of anyone else.’ “Sooo~ I made this at one of those specialty shops, that way the scent is entirely unique, and distinctly for you! This way not only can I always know your personal smell, I can also…” A blush forms across his cheeks, his words growing uncharacteristically quiet. “I can bring some with me when I need to be reminded of you. Like, a palate cleanser, I guess… just… something that’s distinctly you… that..-” He trails off, but Geto knows the ending. ‘That no one can use against me. If it’s a scent, no one has to know, so then no one will care.’ Without really meaning to, Geto finds his hand tracing down Gojo’s arm, brushing against his cheek, letting his chin rest against it. Gojo gives him a small smile, which quickly turns into a purr as Geto runs his hands through his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. He breaks it to glance back at the bottle. “Aren’t these expensive, Satoru?” “Ach, don’t worry about that. Just means you have to wear it often, I guess~!” Letting the cap tip open, Geto leans in to smell it, and has to fight to keep the smile on his face from wavering. ‘Oh shit-’. From the first whiff, he can tell this is gonna be a problem. “Can you guess what I added? Can you, can you, can yo-” “I- I think there’s some sage… M- maybe a hint of rosemary?” “Correct, and correct! But, can you guess what the secret ingredient is to make sure it’s uniquely yours?” Geto raises a hand subtly to swipe at his nose, nearly gasping at the way the reaction sparks from a simmering buzz to a full blown burning. Keeping his breathing shallow, he manages to avoid sniffling, but the burning feeling is slowly spreading down his throat. A light clearing of his throat sends it barreling up his nose, each inch of his sinuses alight with a tickle so furious he nearly chokes on it. “Pretty sure… Is- is it rose…?” “Ding ding ding! How did you manage to guess that, Suguru? When I had the workers at the shop guess, no one could get it!” The only response Geto can give is a light chuckle, the vibrations from it nearly sending tears to his eyes as his sinuses buzz angrily. He brings a finger up to rub at his nose, feeling it start to drip, just to bite his tongue hard as the feeling of the wetness rubbing against the tip brings a whole new wave of tickle. “hhiHh-!uhh… hhHUhh-!” “Hm? Sorry, didn’t catch that, did you say something?” Geto manages to catch his breath in his chest, sniffling once more to try and quell the building pressure, only to let a faint moan fall from his lips as it does nothing to relieve the itch. “N- no, didn’t say anything. It smells lovely, Satoru. Th-heHh-! Thank you.” “Oh, alright. I’m so happy you like it! Hey, I know, let’s spray it over both of us so we can both smell like it!” “Gojo wai-” The attempt is futile, Gojo already spraying the mist above their heads. All Geto can do is attempt to subtly shield his nose with his hand as he watches the allergen rain down on him. The very air seems to be tormenting him with its existence, his nose deeply aware of each particle falling around his head.  “hHIHhh-! G-god… heEHh- I can’t… hh’knnxxgt-! nnxgt’shh-!” Gojo is focused on the mist, spinning around in it and humming something about ‘getting soaked in the smell of our love’, but Geto’s too focused on his nose to pay any attention. The twitching has started with a fury, each movement sending new chills down his spine as the tickle begs to be released. “ihh’nnGT’shoo-!” “Oh, bless you!” “S- sorry just… just… heH’KNxxgt’huhh-! Excuse me, just a bit of a tickle.” “Bless you again. Ar-” “nnNGT-KNXXGT-iH’DTNGT’choo-!” “Jeez, bless you, are you alright?” Geto feels his face pale, all the colour rushing to his cheeks and nose as a pink tint starts to form. ‘I can’t tell him I’m allergic… he’ll be crushed, he bought this for us, he’s so excited. I can be strong, like him. I won’t be weak.’  “Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit dusty in here, I think. They don’t really clean these old staff rooms that well, since they’re not in use anymore.”  “Oh, why didn’t you say so? It’s a lovely spring day, we can head outside instead, don’t want you feeling miserable here, plus~ you know I love a nice spring breeze!” “Sounds g- hehHh-! good.”  They stand, Gojo playfully bowing, offering an arm to raise Geto from the couch. Geto can’t help but laugh, rolling his eyes pointedly, but accepting the arm anyways. He lets himself be dragged through the halls, using the unwatched time to raise a knuckle to his nose, scrubbing hard. ‘That just ma- haHh-! Makes it worse… the stifling isn’t helping either… this fit is gonn- hEHh-! Gonna be bad when it finally breaks free…’  Once the fresh air hits his face, Geto breathes an itchy sigh of relief. Which is quickly replaced by a watery glare aimed at, well, everything as his nose reminds him once more that this little war is far from finished. “Wow, doesn’t the sakura just look stunning, Geto? Why don’t I collect us some, we can make flower crowns! Have you heard of those? Some of the students were showing me the other day, I can make us some, here hold on-” ‘I must have upset a great many people to be cursed this badly.’ Geto silently complains, sniffling deeply as he weighs his options. Either let Gojo hear him break into a fit caused by his gift, or keep suppressing this until it kills him. ‘At this point, death sounds like a nice release. I just… need to…. sneeze…’ “Here you go~!” With that, Gojo places a sakura crown on Geto’s head, and suddenly, as if the sun had finally come out from behind the clouds, Geto sees an opportunity. Letting himself take a deep sniff, he nearly recoils at the way the tickle magnifies. ‘Okay, maybe a bit more intense then I planned on-’  “heHhH-! hAH’KNNGT’choo-! DNTT’shho-! knxxgt-ehnnxgt-mmNGT’choo-!” “Woah, bless you, are you okay?” “Y- hNGGT-! Yeah, sorry I thi- dtNNXGT-! think I’m a bit aller… alleerrgic- haHhhH-! hAH’INNGXT’shh-! aHNGT’choo-! Allergic to the sahhh-! hEH’ENNGT-! enxggt’choo-! To the sakura…” At the stunned look on Gojo’s face, Geto feels a wave of guilt wash over him. ‘It’s not actually a lie, I am a tad allergic to sakura. Even if it wasn’t for the cologne I’d be sneezing having it so close like this- granted, it wouldn’t be nearly this bad, but that’s just unnecessary details.’ “You’re allergic to sakura?! How did I never know this? Wow, Suguru, must be a bit of a masochist living in Japan when you’re allergic to sakura! How are you still alive?” Geto lets out a strained laugh, the best he can do with the tickle still spreading in his face. It’s grown from a study buzz to an all out hum, deeply unsatisfied with the stifling keeping it from releasing itself fully. “Mostly take medications, avoid the outside when I haven’t. Guess I just… forgot it today.” “Let’s go back inside then.” “You- hAH’ENNGT-! you like it outside, I can go back in alone.” “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’ll come with you. And Christ, Suguru, take it off your fucking head!” “R- right, forgo-huHH’NGxxt-! Forgot about that.” He lets Gojo pick it off his head, nearly moaning as Gojo’s sleeve brushes his face, sending a new wave of prickles up into his eyes, allergic tears starting to form before he can stop them. “Should’ve known you’d be allergic to something like sakura. It’s so pink, and bright, and you are the king of black and darkness.”  “Hah, very funny, Satoru.”  Gojo once more offers his hand, which Geto takes, letting his other hand come up to pinch his nose as another sneeze threatens to break through, pausing only to wipe at his eyes to remove the tears before they can fall. “No seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you touch something pink. Hey! Maybe you’re not allergic to sakura, maybe you’re just allergic to the colour pink!” A laugh breaks free from Geto, his eyes crinkling as he bends slightly forward, only realizing his mistake when the feeling of his nose dripping nearly takes away his ability to walk. Had Gojo not had one arm wrapped around him, he would have fallen to his knees, the itch returning with a fury he wasn’t aware his nose could have. “heHhh-! iHhhH…. Guhh… don’t- hEHhh-!” He reaches up to rub at his nose, wincing at the way each brush of his fingers seems to hit a new ticklish spot, spreading the buzzing deeper and deeper. “hEH’KNGT’shhoo-! nnxggt’shoo-! hAH’IZSSHH’uue-!” Geto blushes as the last sneeze breaks through his stifling, raising a wrist to catch it as Gojo stumbles against the force of his body shuddering. ‘Come on, Suguru. Don’t let your control waiver, you have to stay strong.’ “Woah, bless you.” “Thank you, excuse me, that one… got away from me. nnxxgtt-! dnnzzxgt-! hAH’INNT-! ” “Seems you’re more allergic to the sakura than I’d thought… should I go get you some medication or something?” “No no, I’m alright, really. It’ll stop once we’re inside, away from the breeze.” ‘At least… I hope it will.’ His confidence wavers, his sinuses practically vibrating from the accidental release, desperate for more. ‘I should really try to get away from Gojo. I need to let this out before it gets any worse… maybe say I have to use the washroom, he wouldn’t follow me there, right..?’ Geto opens his mouth to try out his excuse, but all that he manages to get out is a faint gasp before he’s crushing his nose against his wrist once more. “heHH’KNGGT’shoo-! INNT’shh-!” “Bless you. Gonna live, Geto?” “I’m okay.” “If you say so~!” A slight groan forces its way out before Geto can stop it as he recognizes the room Gojo’s leading him back to. The scent still hangs heavily in the air, each breath seeming to scrape against his throat, bringing handfuls of allergen soaked air into his itchy lungs. “haHhhh… ca- heHhHH-!” “Oh, I had almost forgotten about this! Let’s spray it again, shall we?” There’s a tone in his voice that Geto can’t seem to place, but there’s bigger issues to attend to first. He tries to talk, to tell Gojo not to spray it, but his voice is lost in the whirlwind of ticklish breaths he’s desperately sucking in. Managing only to cast his watery gaze at Gojo, Geto suddenly notices the playful smirk the other man dawns, as he sprays the bottle right at Geto. “hEH’IZZSHH’UU-! hh’ETTZZSHH-huH’AIEZZSHH’OO-!” “Oh my~. Bless you. Whatever’s the matter~?” Geto doesn’t have to open his eyes to see the smirk painted across Gojo’s face, which is good, because he couldn’t open them if he wanted to.  “heHHh’ESSHHEEWW-! I have- have to- huHH’IZTSHEEWW-! iHH’KNNGT-! haHhh… hIHhhH-! hiH’ISHH’oo-! kezzshhh’uhh-! dttzzzshhh’oo-! hH’eSSHH’oo-!” “You should have just told me you were allergic, Suguru.” “H- how did- heH’AZZshh’oo-! huHh’aiiESHHhh’oo-!” “You’ve been fighting the urge to sneeze since you first sniffed it. You were practically vibrating with allergic need, even your cursed energy was pulsating with it. I’m a special grade jujutsu sorcerer, my love. I have the cursed technique six eyes. There’s not much you can hide from me.” Geto tries to form a reply, but all he can do is-  “hAH’AISSHHEEW-! TTZZZSHH’oo-!” “But even without all of that, I’d have known from the beginning anyways. I know you, Suguru. Every inch of your skin, every ounce of your soul, every fibre of your being. I know you.”  “I didn’t- mmMPFFZZSHH’oo-! didn’t want you to think I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to hurt you, Satoru. heH’MMTSSHH’oo-! I love it, because it was f- from- hhaHhh-! hH’AIISHH’oo-! From you… and I know how much it meant to you.”  At the statement, Gojo lets out a laugh that has him leaning against the wall, tears starting to form in his eyes, matching Geto’s, which are currently streaming. “I don’t care if you wear this specific scent. I’d rather my lover be alive, not sneezing his lungs out because he wants to ‘not hurt my feelings’. We can always go back together and find something you’re not allergic to!” “B- notagain- hH’AIIZZSHHEWW-! IZZSHHH’oo-! Scuse me. But it’s so expensive, I don’t want you spending that much on me.” The laughter returns to Gojo’s lungs, beautiful, and sucking all the breath that Geto had left with its light and airy sound. Something so pure, and full of joy. “I’m a special grade jujutsu sorcerer. I’m in unbelievably high demand. You think I couldn’t make that money back in a week easily? Money isn’t an issue, your health is all that matters, Suguru. The only thing that matters. You’re my one and only, after all.” Geto meets his eyes, the tears running down his cheeks not only from the sneezing anymore. “Satoru… I don’t know what to say-” Without a word, Gojo grabs his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss, their lips meeting with a burning passion, hunger dripping from every breath as Gojo lets his hands roam up to Geto’s hair, purring at the moan he gets when he grips it. Finally breaking away so Geto could get a breath in, Gojo lets his sunglasses dip so Geto can see him wink. “Don’t say anything. We’ve never needed words before, let’s not start now.” And with that, Geto takes his turn to pull him in for a kiss, reveling in the beauty that is his one and only, Satoru Gojo. 

[the-penguinspy]

19. “You deserve so much better.” mary x shannon

thanks for the prompt, em :)

--

The late afternoon sunlight casts a muted, golden hue on the courtyard, light shining through in lazy bursts at the behest of the clouds fast-moving eastward. A gentle breeze ruffles the grass and provides a welcome respite against the heat, no doubt refreshing for those sister warriors at the tail-end of the day’s training sessions, especially evident to those who close their eyes and tilt their heads toward the heading of the wind.

All-in-all, a serene end to the day. Mary is certain that she’d be enjoying it a lot more if she wasn’t currently following Shannon to the outdoor sparring mats.

They reach the mats and Shannon starts stretching immediately. Mary stares for a second before she starts her own warm-ups. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

“Your shotguns do an excellent job at keeping enemies at bay, but what happens when you run out of ammo? What happens if someone gets inside of your guard?” Shannon stands and brings her legs together, bends at the waist until her palms touch the floor. Mary simply continues with her arm stretches. Show off. 

“That’s why I have two shotguns, instead of just one.” 

Shannon frowns, straightening her body once more. “I’m serious. I know you can take care of yourself, but I still worry about you.” She takes Mary’s hand and squeezes gently, and when she speaks, her voice is soft. “Humour me this once. We can see how it goes.”

Mary squeezes her hand back and sighs. “Fine, but only if your next prank is played on Lil. It’s her fault that I still double-check the sugar and salt shakers each time I use them.”

//

A dozen instances of eating mat and Mary finally, finally performs the disarming maneuver successfully. Shannon grins proudly, canines sharp, and Mary looks at her mouth just in time to catch a tongue darting quick over teeth. She resets her body into the starting position once more, and Mary rolls her shoulders before mirroring her stance. 

“Again.”

//

By the time Shannon calls for a stop, the sun had already reached the horizon and painted the sky into a beautiful red-orange. Mary flops down on her back to better appreciate the view, heartbeat hummingbird-quick, her breathing still ragged from the impromptu training session.

She hears Shannon shuffle down beside her, looks over to see legs stretched parallel to her own. Shannon leans back on her hands, nary a hair out of place and with only the slightest sheen of sweat on her forehead to give evidence of physical exertion.

They stay that way until Mary’s stomach growls. “Any idea what they’re serving for supper?”

“Mashed potatoes and roasted veggies, if my sources are correct.”

Mary closes her eyes and groans. “Ugh, mashed potatoes again? After that workout you put me through? I deserve so much better.”

“You deserve so much better,” Shannon agrees.

Something’s off about her voice. It wavered a bit at the end, and Mary looks over to assess if there’s anything wrong. Shannon keeps her gaze trained in front of them, squinting at the sunset, her mouth set in a neutral line. Her face is a careful mix of nonchalance and solemnity, and she would have succeeded in her portrayal of such if her lip hadn’t wobbled when Mary looked over, if her teeth hadn’t bitten down on the inside of her bottom lip to tamp down a smile. For an enthusiastic practical joker, Shannon’s got a surprisingly bad poker face.

Mary narrows her eyes and scrambles to sit up. “Shan.” A responding hum. “I know that look. What do you have planned?”

Shannon turns to face her and, now caught, releases the abused lip to offer her happiness freely. “You deserve so much better,” she repeats. “You deserve someone who you can kiss in public, someone you can love in the open.” Her smile wavers slightly. “You deserve someone who can stay.”

“Shannon.” The name rasps out of Mary’s mouth, and she brings a hand up to cradle Shannon’s cheek. “It’s my choice to be here, to be here with you. I love you, I’m staying, and there’s nothing that you, or anyone, or the goddamn universe can do that’ll make me leave.” 

“Language,” Shannon says, but her smile settles, is no longer turbulent, and she turns her face into Mary’s palm to hide it. The heat of her cheek spreads evenly through Mary’s palm, and the small kiss that Shannon places there electrifies her skin. Tiny bolts of lightning travel up her arm and through her veins, thousands strong; restarts her heart and awakens her body, and Mary blinks fast in an effort to stabilize her focus.

“You also deserve,” Shannon continues, “a reward.” The words come out muffled against Mary’s hand, vibrations smoothing out over the skin, and Mary leans in to hear her better. “Seafood paella. That place by the beach, the one with the perfect shrimp-to-clam ratio? I’ve made a reservation.”

Mary laughs, touched, and her affection spills out in the form of a thumb stroking reverent over Shannon’s cheek. “And what exactly am I being rewarded for?”

Shannon’s smile turns sharp. “Finishing a session of hand-to-hand combat training. I think they call that positive reinforcement or something.”

The eye-roll from Mary is inevitable. “They don’t take reservations. It’s barely busy at this hour, too.” “Is it so wrong to want everything to go smoothly?” 

Mary smirks. “Everything, huh? There’s more to this little date of ours?” Shannon flushes, cheeks turning rosy. She keeps her gaze locked with Mary’s and brings her own hand up, fingers circling Mary’s wrist. Her thumb brushes over Mary’s pulse – a quick one-two pass – and Mary watches as the thumb is replaced with lips, as Shannon presses a slow kiss over thin blue veins, pressure feather-light, imprint barely-there. 

The expression on her face must be amusing at the very least, because Shannon’s mouth curves upwards and chuckles, and the breath that Mary had been holding in finally finds its way out. Her lungs snatch greedily at the air, and she’s certain that her unsteady breathing isn’t due to the lingering exertion from their earlier spar. 

“Are you coming, or what?”

Shannon’s already on her feet. She stands in front of Mary, extends a hand down and wiggles her fingers to entice a handhold. The sun from behind her casts her shadow long and dark over Mary, over the courtyard. In the shadow of her face, her smile is a gentle arc; small and shy, directed towards one recipient, and one recipient only. 

Mary takes her hand and hoists herself up from the ground. “Obviously. Can’t let that hard-fought reservation go to waste.”

Shannon shoves at her shoulder playfully, but their hands stay linked all the way to Mary’s parked motorcycle.

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Cried some big fatass tears reading the latest chapter of @undercoverpan 's ghost Spider fic, and I need to take some time to examine why this ghost nocorro au just really hits me in the dick every time.

There really just has to be something about doomed love, and especially children, that just gets me. The remnants of something that was once beautiful and now will never be whole, it just hurts. God, okay, I gotta go watch The Midnight Club again, this is THE vibe of that show. I cried seven full times just watching the last episode of that show. Grief and tragedy irrevocably intertwined with inevitability and acceptance.

Speaking of this, dON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THAT FIC FROM LAST NIGHT Follow Me Down to the Peach Tree by famed nocorro oneshot writer CherryApollo. Took the ghost nocorro au and tragic soulmate aus and made it 1000000 times worse??? Like I was crying agAIN, twice, over these goddamn ghost nocorro aus.

I have so many questions. Do the other Sully's know about Spider? Would they have been the same age, so ghost Spider just popped up around when Neteyam was like five and when Neteyam started playing with and noticing him Jake and Neytiri were devastated? I can't even fathom how sad it is that Neteyam is just doing his best to forget about this. This soulmate au world is so tragic, like my mind went instantly to a buddy cop type thing where Neteyam is trying to solve Spider's murder as soon as he's old enough to realize what happened, and it's all this way to throw himself into ignoring that even when it's solved Spider is still dead. I'm writing that as a concept on my novel ideas doc, but I'm mad about it. Fuck, why do we always do this to nocorro, I'm crying again I have to go. I'll write some ghost au headcanons that will fix this tragedy for me tomorrow because I can't handle it rn.

[art-leon]

i tried to make @terriblewritingadvice 's old design of ace the conspiracy guy in lobotomy corporation. doesn't really look that similar but whatever who cares he's a part of the facility now 👍

also i almost forgot!!! have an art

stock photo ref under cut (he's staring at the screen)

[jtl07]

You made a perfect start to the writing shenanigans, what a cute little ficlet. You can write them in any universe, and still keep their personality. That’s really one of your many, many strenghts. I believe it’s them when you write! Meet-cutes are fun to read when they’re done well, and this one was 🥰 Now I can picture Bea Google her when she gets back to her room, because she had never heard about her before they met in the cafeteria. Now she wants to learn all about break dance and Ava!!! Lol. Thank you! Okay, new prompt: in propose (now am found), could you please tell us more about why and how Ava decided to leave the box and the note. When did she do it? What made her sure?

aw thanks anon, that's very kind of you <3 and lol yes, Beatrice definitely will be very curious about Ava and her endless stomach and boundless energy

but first - what a great question about propose (now am found) - i didn't put a ton of thought into Ava's side of things, tbh. the only thing i had in my head when i wrote that fic was that it followed this sequence where Ava meets her aunt. and i think ... Ava just ... knows. she's known for a long time. if you were to press her, she'd say she knew from the start - that she'd want Beatrice in her life; that she'd ask her to be her wife.

it doesn't make sense logically - of course not. but Ava likes to think that there's some things stronger than logic and faith and death so of course she will choose - again, again, again - to live, to love:

Beatrice, who laughs at all of Ava's jokes, who's the only one who keeps pace with her puns, her winding tangents, her wandering feet when they go on walks. who holds her hand and holds her in bed, who says her name like no one else - with reverence, with awe.

Beatrice, who will stand at the stove barefoot and bare-shouldered, head bowed not in prayer but in an intense focus. who treats the art of making pancakes (her favorite though she has yet to admit it) as seriously as martial arts (her face soft when she teaches the free self-defense classes at the community center), as seriously as the dinosaur lego set in their study (both shared, leisure and work never unbalanced), as seriously as the planning of their next overseas trip (Aotearoa; Beatrice seems just as if not more excited than Ava after their Lord of the Rings movie marathon).

Beatrice, who still holds herself back when they come across something she wants. at times physically - her hands clasped behind her, back straight like at a museum, as if both the thing and her feelings have been set behind a sign labeled 'do not touch.' at times verbally - her words clipped, her tone without inflection. Ava's seen both many times, the former most recently at a jewelry store Ava had oh-so-casually pulled Beatrice into; the latter when they'd come home and Ava had broached the question.

not the question but a question: "is it something you'd want?" Ava had tried to ask it as carefully as she could, but Beatrice had still stopped sharply. like coming up to a wall, like coming up to the end of a path. and Ava knows - knows that in Beatrice's mind, she's hearing in the same roar of 'you shall not pass' the command 'you shall not want' and it takes everything in Ava's body not to tear open the sky, to yell at the universe, at everything that this woman has endured: there is no better person on this earth; how dare you try to find her wanting, to treat her wants as anything less than a gift.

Beatrice, who has lived, is living, and learning more everyday, had loosened her clasped hands, had trembled and looked up at Ava with tears in her eyes and a quiet truth on her lips: "yes."

so yes, Ava knows. knows also that Beatrice is someone who needs time, and Ava is more than happy to take things at her pace. they have time, after all, time that Ava will give and defend with her life - so they can live it, together, full and free.

they're about to leave for the airport when Ava tucks the box with her promise and the note with her best handwriting into the desk drawer Beatrice only occasionally uses. she knows it'll be found soon enough, that the answer may not come for a while, if at all. but she doesn't mind waiting - not now when she has so much to live for.

[fxreflyes]

Prithee tell us about your favorite visits to museums, firefly. It’s a long and silent January night and your stories will keep madness from us. (To be read in the voice of a Dickensian child of 6 years old, sitting before the hearth.) ☕️

hey hey!! :) my favorite seafaring vessel, a joy as always to meet u here. fret not, i will not let madness consume you! <3

(the context for the voice definitely helped, i most certainly did read it in the voice of a dickensian child. i can hear the crackle of the hearth as i pen these words!)

oh where to start! this is a bit of a brain dump, but is semi-chronological and images included in the order of discussion

first, summer of 2016, going to the hermitage and making puns about all of the art! they were not good puns. i believe my brother called the statue below a "boar"ing statue. it was quite hot since we went in summer and we were very surprised that the musuem had no ac since there is generally some to protect the art from the elements. so twas a very sticky and humor filled walk thru some art that has seen quite a lot (pic 1)

fall of 2018, went to the met's heavenly body's fashion exhibit with 2 friends from high school. i love & still go to musuem's w one of them, she's v sweet. the exhibit took place in the part of the museum that is older and looks like a church, so it was v prescient!! (pics 2-4, the leather jacket was so cool)

spring 2019, went to the met again (can u tell i went to college in nyc) and to the frick for my art history class to do a scavenger hunt for the class. quite honestly the most fun assignment ever. it was going through the museums and finding the art and writing about it. there were 50 or so things to find out. we went 3 times total for 3 sessions of the hunt. went w my dad for one, he has said he wants to do more even now

fall of 2019 i went to the met's instruments of rock n roll and saw instruments from a lot of famous musicians! i have a bunch of pics of them, but was v fun i went w my dad and got a bunch of music taste from him so that was cool. i was v amused by this many headed guitar hahaha (pic 5)

winter 2020 i went to a black tie gala in an art musuem so that was v fun & festive!!!

ok covid took a hit to this list so fall 2021! natural history musuem in london! went w my brother bc he was doing his masters same time as i was studying abroad there. i mean it's gorgeous. my brother is v interested in rocks so spent a while in the geology section! lots of cool rocks.

feb 2022, went to the met around my bday! my bf flew to visit me. saw very cool swords. pictured below!

summer 2022, went to the Louvre and the musee d'Orsay! saw the painting of dante and virgil in hell which was v cool, i have always loved that one.

for the sake of brevity, lets go to feb 2023, went to the whitney to see my fav artist edward hopper and an exhibit on him! went w the same friend as i went to the met in 2018 w. went w my brother too. fav exhibit ever probably, just bc i love hopper and i have included my fav painting by him, new york movie! my mom had a book on hopper growing up on our coffee table so always read it

oh my this is not brief. the fire is dwindling! ill stoke it.

this summer! the prado in madrid! i love goya so seeing his work was just so cool. they v sadly didnt allow photography in the museum but saw his black paintings the ones w saturn eating his children.

i hope my little tales help stave off the madness <33