#verse; metal over flesh

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - The Industry is Having Issues But the Spice Spicy Must Flow

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) eps 1-2 of 10 - One of those "he's dead Jim so time travel" thingames starring MaxNat. I'm over this concept but I do enjoy MaxNat. Phupha (Gun) and Khram (Nat) love each other but Phupha is murdered. Then Khram is pulled to a parallel world where, years ago, Khram and Tai (Max) were in love. However, Khram was killed by Tai’s dad. Now Tai finds alter-Khram. But then there is ALSO an alter-Phupha to deal with. (Phupha is played by Gun Thanawat who was Khom, the repressed butler bodyguard from Unforgotten Night. We like this, but we scared of the love triangle aspect.) Did that make sense? Yeah, okay, see what I mean?

Initial thoughts?

The subs are troubling but I’m enjoying this show a lot. It’s nice to see MaxNat get something meaty to sink their teeth into - that’s not just each other. Also it’s so smart of them to give us a fully fleshed out entire episode developing the alter romance rather than just a separation + death. It makes Khram’s grief and motivation that much more believable. Also it’s really nice to see Nat have good chemistry with other actors. 

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 3 of 8 (10?) - I'm still enjoying it. But Two Worlds is objectively better. So this one has lost ranking. Also, unexpectedly chili (the name of my heavy metal Thai cover band).

Lovey switchy and verse main couple too.

This is all quite pleasing.

The bit where the hosts pretend to be a BL couple actor ship was epic on so many levels.

Also unsettling.

All sex work is performative, and in a way there is something more honest about this depiction, in this setting, than what BL actors are made to do on the promo circuit. Which then begs the question, how different is BL from sex work? That's the unsettling bit, for me anyway. Not to slam on sex work AT ALL, we pro-the-true-pros on this damn blog, but actors have been shaded by association with True Professionals for a very long time and BL has already had one epic shut down in this regard. (See the PerthSaint scandal around Love By Chance, no I will not explain.) Where was I? Oh yes, so anyway, see the Gossip section for the part where they better be paid either way!

Also, since I'm a warped fucker, I found this scene funny.

And then hilarious when all of those BL tropes were just trotted out. Like a greatest hits reel.

Truly beyond meta. (How Absolute BL of them.)

Note he’s even standing in yaoi's patented "hands in pocket with the shoulders back"? 

Meanwhile, the gayest bridge in Thailand made its quarterly appearance:

And lip serviced was paid to the most touristy romantic things you can do in Bangkok.

And I mean lip service literally. 

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) ep 5 of 8 - I’m still enjoying it but getting more and more nervous. We getting too close to Promise territory for comfort. EXPLAIN Ji’s reticence well and do it now or risk audience mistrust. We have to be given a GOOD reason for Ji's behavior, or he'll be irredeemable.

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - NO SINGING. Yes smiley kisses and good communication and a nice healthy relationship. But no singing!

1000 Years Old ep 6 of 12 - Dropping in the ranks. I’m sorry it’s just gotten boring. It has, however, inspired me to invest in my own ridiculous cream fuzzy sweater. Which I plan to wear with leather trousers and huge stumpy boots, like the Kpop queer I truly am. Or do I mean vampire? 

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) ep 1 of 6 - Seems to be an excuse for a small posse of Thai actors to wander around Tokyo playing tourist and sing in public . Someone stop them?

“Most people think this kind of thing is bad manners .”

Anyway, it’s v boring. I’ll give it one more ep but I suspect I’ll DNF.

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) eps 1-2 of 6 - Meh. This is also looking suspiciously DNF-a-licious.  

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube & Viki) ep 5 of 11 - It's brilliant. I love it. I'm ready to hurt. Let’s do this thing. 

Distribution note: This one has been picked up and is also airing on Viki now, so it may lose YT distribution in soem territories. I like Youku's hard subs better than Viki's subs, but that's a matter of preference not information since I don't speak Mandarin.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 3 of 6 - It is good. Every week I like this show a little more. I'm enjoying a reunion romance explored in Japan's quintessentially contemplative yet slightly surreal way. The juxtaposition of the tenderness of the sex scene with this Japanese brand of authenticity was oddly elegant - for lack of a better way of putting it. All in all, this is a good show. Thought provoking. Stylish.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 9 of 10 - It remains lovely but they sure are reusing a lot of footage. Also, this was a classic penultimate doom episode. I do wonder how they are going to resolve this show ethically.

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 8 - It is what it is, and it isn’t my style of show no matter what country of origin. Oddly that's one of the reasons I don't like it. Anyone could have made this, it's not as Japanese as I want it to be, it's just indie film club high school angst. Yawn.

I watched it, finally

The Servant and the Young Master (Vietnam YouTube) 7 eps - I dislike vertical filming, but I kind of enjoyed this show as a BL. I like class conflict romances. For me the rich kid is a bit too dictatorial (edges into bulling), but it’s kinda works. It’s sparse and underdeveloped and a bit plotless, but mildly entertaining. If you're missing Vietnamese BL you might give it a try. 6/10 

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) 8eps - A Burmese BL that I had thoughts about but actually ended up recommending. Read the saga here:

It's done, ready to binge, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

It's airing but...

Graduation Countdown (Taiwan YouTube) ep 1 of ? - on one hand it's micro-installment vertical, on the other it's adorable and from Taiwan. I blame @heretherebedork entirely for my conundrum. As indeed, I did for My Type back in the day. (That was Nat Chen's first BL, yes of Kiseki: Dear To Me fame.) So I think I will also simply lean on Here to let me know when it's done and binge all at once. It's just too much to ask me to keep up with 2 minute pieces, I don't have that kind of endurance training, not even for BL.

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - it's finished now, I dropped it at ep 4. Should I bother?

A Secretly Love (Thai Sat WeTV grey) 10 eps - I watched the first ep but grey is too much work for this inferior of a show. I may pick up and binge if it gets distribution but for now, it gets a DNF from me. KimCop might have held this crap together but Kim without Cop? No thank you.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing for some reason.

Man Suang that MileApo vehicle from last year is coming to Netflix in the USA. I haven't heard much about it and since the KP stans would have lost their tiny minds if it was any good at all, I'm assuming it's not good at all.

Gossip

Thai BL actor Yoon breaks with his former company and talks about some very very VERY shady goings on in the Thai BL industry. Including not being paid.

And whacha know, same thing happening in Korean BL.

Have I mentioned recently how much I hate the film industry?

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting Soon

3/31 Only Boo! (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - New main couple for GMMTV in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. Other side of the tracks grumpy/sunshine pair who fall deeply in love but, of course, baby boy idol can't date. Boyband but from GMMTV? Control your singing and I'm game.

4/1 Love is like a Cat (Korea ????) 12 eps - This completed filming Aug 2022(!) which means there have been serious problems with post-production. This is another of Silkwood's Korean+Thai colab projects. Mew Suppasit plays a rookie film star, called the Cat Prince (for his cold arrogance) who goes up against a charismatic puppyish animal daycare director (JM of JUST B). There is also a side romance (love triangle?) with a veterinarian. Geonu of JUST B is also in the cast.

I wonder if this was part of the hold up, with Geonu on Build Up right now, they might have tried to muffle this one. Or maybe it's just that bad...

4/3 We Are (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon - basically the good kind of messy gay friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is queer. I'm IN!

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV?) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous partner), Best and frest face, news here.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Without ghost girl.

With ghost girl.

I think she may be my favorite part of 1000 Years.

CLASSIC tsundere seme description of a sunshine uke. Like classic'est of classic. (Two Worlds)

Is there such a thing as a tired trope in a BL? Since it is a genre that is made up entirely of tropes quilted together? Your philosophical question for today brought to you by Deep Night's kabedon (Japanese trope) + punishment threat (Thai trope).

Love me a lap sit moment. (City of Stars)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

[starshideurfics]

Captive, Captivating

into the steddie-verse, omegaverse, intense dubcon, we’re all in the same imperial rome/war prize gutter together, mdni 🔞

As the emperor’s brother, Geta should not be on this northern campaign, but he is curious of these barbarians and how they live without the bounty of the mediterranean. His tent is rather well-appointed besides, his own personal guard and servants setting up his bed, the furs and chairs, each time they move. He even has a small brazier to heat the tent against the cold night.

That doesn’t make his presence anymore reasonable, but as the only member of the imperial family amongst the generals and their legions, it means the greatest of the war prizes belong to him. Thus far, he has accumulated a beautifully made brooch inlaid with garnets, several gold torcs, a pair of fine horses, and one prince to ransom back to his father—that netted him gold and silver coins from many kingdoms, as well as a herd of goats.

But there hasn’t been anything new for weeks, and Geta thinks they are perhaps between barbarian kingdoms. The sun has set on another day, and he is reading over the report he is about to send back to Rome, when Junius enters the tent and makes his presence known.

“We’ve captured an intruder, your grace. Flavianus sniffed him out, and it sounds like his father is a king. Ricardius Spear-hand, if he’s to be believed.”

“And just what was the little prince up to?” Geta puts down his report, grinning. This is intriguing.

“Spilling wine urns and turning loose horses. But mostly spying. We found him outside the general’s tent. The fool rubbed himself in wild mint, but it wasn’t enough to dampen an omega’s scent.”

Geta burns hot at that, his own smoky scent blooming. He has questions, but more than that, he wants to meet this bold omega prince. “Bring him to me.”

“At once, your grace.”

Junius is barely gone a minute, clearly anticipating this request, bringing in a growling young man, stripped down to a loincloth to ensure he carries no weapons, his hands bound in front of him. His flesh is raised in a thousand tiny bumps at the chill of the night air, and his thick, dark hair hangs limp around his head, stringy with his own drying sweat. And his scent is sweet and yeasty like the honey beer the northern barbarians drink in place of wine.

“He claims to be Prince Stephanos, your grace. I don’t believe we have record that he’s an omega… Other than this.”

“Why do you insist upon changing my name?” the omega asks, voice harsh with his whining little growl. Geta has heard of northerners learning Latin, but he did not expect this prince to speak it so well.

“You are Stephanos, son of Ricardius, are you not?”

The boy frowns, looks away, and waits. Junius raises a questioning brow, which Geta answers with a wave of his hand and a soft, “Leave us.”

Junius bows and backs out of the tent.

Stepping closer, Geta grips the omega by the chin, and turns his head to face him. “I asked you a question, little prince.”

His hazel eyes flash with defiance, and he bites his lip so hard it bleeds. Then he takes a breath. “I am Stepan, son of Rikhardt Spear-Handed. As my father’s eldest child, I did my duty. Please, take your soldiers and leave my people be.”

Swiping his thumb over Stepan’s lip, smearing the blood, Geta wants so badly to taste. To bite. He resists, leaning in closer and whispering, “I am not here to conquer; that is my brother’s doing. I wish only to learn and see and experience what this world has to offer. I will be your willing student, sweet Stepan, but I shall also be your master. You have bought freedom for your people.” He withdraws his thumb and sucks it into his mouth, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, yet somehow sweeter than he expects.

The omega trembles, and Geta steps back to hive him space, eyes roving over his exposed body. His nipples are hard, pebbled along with his gooseflesh, and his small breasts are puffy, swollen like he’s near his heat.

“I will not take you tonight, so do not fear.” Geta circles him slowly, retrieving a length of soft, woven wool, and steps up behind him, arms wrapping the cloth around the omega’s shoulders. Stepan jolts at the touch, but doesn’t struggle as Geta holds him. “But you will be mine.” His right hand settles low on Stepan’s belly, presses firm. “Soon my pup will be here.” He sets his nose to the princeling’s neck, and Geta is sure he smells even sweeter as he inhales deeply. “Can tell your heat is coming, but maybe you’ll breed true before it can begin.”

He drops a single kiss over the warmth of Stepan’s mating gland, feels the flutter of his pulse. “But tonight we shall simply rest. Come, Stepan. Let’s to bed.”

🏛️🌙🌿

Stepan does not sleep that night, or if he does, it is a fitful sleep. But he has no hope of escape, his captor holding him tight from behind, trapping him in the bed beneath sheets softer than he has ever felt. And surely, the tent is well guarded.

He’s spent enough time awake, looking around the tent for anything he can use, either to incapacitate the roman, or if worst comes to worst…

He hopes it does not come to that.

Strong arms squeeze around his middle, a forehead presses into his shoulder, as the alpha wakes with a sighing hum. “Good morning, little prince.”

The mere thought of replying cordially locks his throat, but Stepan swallows and decides to get it over with; the words will only get easier with practice. “Did you sleep well, Dominus?”

“Best I’ve slept since coming north. How you can sleep in this cold I’ll never understand.”

“It is summer, Dominus?” How soft the romans must be to find a summer night cold. He wonders how his new master would handle traveling through the snow in winter.

“Yes, summer! The air should be hot and leave your skin sticky long after the sun sets!” His hold on Stepan changes, no longer a harsh grip, but one arm loose around his waist, the other snaking up so his hand cups one of Stepan’s breasts. “This is the first time I haven’t woken shivering.” He squeezes, kneading the soft flesh beneath his fingers, then pulls back just enough to grip the nipple between finger and thumb.

He pinches and pulls, and Stepan hates that it feels good. Stifling a moan, he brings his still loosely-bound hands up to grab the alpha’s wrist. “Dominus?”

“You are just so sweet and so warm,” he growls low in Stepan’s ear. Hand spread wide across his chest, moving with each shallow breath, he changes course. No orders to get on his hands and knees, no spreading of his legs, no hand pushing aside the cloth over his sex. Instead, he murmurs, “We shall meet with your father and his counsel today, to talk the terms of peace.”

“The terms being me. In your bed.”

“The terms being you. At my side. I am not looking for a mere bedwarmer, sweet Stepan.” He contradicts this entirely by kissing the side of his neck, sucking the salt from his skin. “You took a risk. It failed you, but now you have learned. And with my guidance you will learn more.”

Stepan’s mind races. He had been certain thot at best he would be a concubine; an omega to give this roman enough bastards to feel good about his virility when his high-born wife managed a sickly pup or two. He no longer thinks that is what his master has in mind. “Dominus?” he asks softly, wishing he could see his eyes now, even in the low light it would tell him more of what he means.

“Rome is a dangerous place. You and I shall need all our cunning when the army returns at the end of this campaign.” He relaxes his grip, finally, and rolls away just enough to make room for Stepan to roll onto his back.

His master smiles, wolf-like, and places a hand back over Stepan’s breastbone, holding him down with the lightest touch as he stares into his eyes. “Do not worry, my sweet omega, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you and our pups.”

“What pups, Dominus? We have done nothing to make any.” Stepan shivers under his dark gaze. “Besides, how can you be certain you won’t grow bored with me in a month’s time?”

“It will take far more than a month to do everything I want with you. Do not worry about my growing bored.” He leans down and takes a dusky nipple into his mouth, biting at the bud with gentled teeth.

Stepan pants, watches as the alpha removes his mouth, tongue lapping at tender skin. A hand reaches for his, working him free from the soft bonds at his wrists and casting the fabric aside. “But you are right; we’ve done nothing to make pups.” He reaches for the ties at Stepan’s waist, pulls them loose, and pushes the fabric aside. “We ought to get started now.”

He pushes off his own coverings, but Stepan does not look. If he doesn’t look, his body cannot lock up at the thought of the intrusion. He can relax enough to keep it from hurting. To keep from being torn apart.

His master has other plans for their coupling, catching up Stepan’s hand and wrapping it around the alpha’s half-hard cock. He guides Stepan in rubbing him to full hardness, tiny moans and soft praise falling from his lips, breath hot against his skin. “Good omega. Yes, touch just like that.”

Finally ready, he boxes Stepan in with his arms, and ruts first against his cunt, just enough wetness there to ease his way and coat his cock. “Even scared you smell so sweet,” he whispers, dipping to nose at his mating gland. “So sweet.” He shifts his hips, and the head of his cock nudges against Stepan’s entrance. He only waits a moment, long enough to whisper, “Deep breaths, my omega,” before thrusting forward.

Stepan gasps, is sure he is being split apart, and moans, “Dominus, please…”

“It will only hurt a little while. Your body will learn.” He stays buried inside, watching Stepan breathe, waiting for him to calm. Only then does he move his hips, picking up speed until he spills hot, his knot tying them fast.

Gathering Stepan to him, he rolls onto his side and holds him close, bringing one of Stepan’s legs over his hip, which opens his cunt enough to relieve a little bit of the pressure there. “Rest, my sweet. Once we untie, we shall bathe and eat. Then this afternoon we shall treat with your father.”

Stepan nods. He has done his duty. His people shall have peace.

part 2

[steventhusiast]

IM LATE BUT LIKE WHATEVER i just decided im gonna try and commit to @steddie-week so DAY 1: somebody to love by queen

--

when steve and eddie first tell the party about their relationship, a lot of them are a little confused. especially nancy. at first glance, the pair makes no sense at all.

steve is a soft soul that really enjoys basketball. he was a jock in high school, and doesn't really have any higher ambition in life than to make enough money to live and be with his loved ones. his favourite artists are the likes of tears for fears and abba. the hobbies he's most committed to are baking sweet treats and watching reality tv with claudia henderson.

and then there's eddie, who in a lot of ways is the antithesis to that.

he almost exclusively wears dark clothes that look three days away from falling apart, he despises sport. he was an outcast in high school, and even though he barely made it to graduation (a few years later than he should've) he is full to the brim of ideas and big ambitions. he's pretentious about music, hates pop and loves metal music. and he's a nerd.

they don't have much in common, so nancy's surprised they work as friends let alone as a couple. then again, she doesn't know eddie too well past what she's already said.

so her and a lot of the party don't really get it at first. until they're having a party over summer break, and everyone's out in the hopper-byers backyard watching hopper grill burgers for everyone and there's music playing through speakers somewhere.

the younger party members are all excitedly chatting amongst themselves, and the teens are sat leaning back on the grass. eddie and steve aren't cuddling for once, settling for linking pinkies as they lean back on their hands.

the song that was playing ends, and a new song starts. freddie mercury's voice starts singing, and nancy doesn't think she's ever seen steve move so fast in all her years of knowing him.

"can anybody find me somebody to love?"

freddie mercury is barely on the second word of that first line when steve and eddie's heads whip around to be facing each other. twin grins are on their faces, and they've jumped up together by the time the first line's over. steve seems to lose steam as he realises a lot of the party are now looking at them incredulously, and his cheeks suddenly have a red tint to them.

eddie immediately grabs steve's hands and starts dramatically serenading him. if nancy thought eddie was a little dramatic from overhearing mike retelling hellfire club anecdotes, she thinks he's extremely dramatic now she's seen his antics in the flesh.

he's gently swinging his and steve's hands as he encourages steve to dance with him. steve just smiles at his boyfriend, a little shy and a lot fond, but eddie's not put off in the slightest. he keeps gently pulling at steve's hands until steve gives in and starts moving to the music with him.

by the time the first verse is over, steve's almost as into it as eddie is, and nancy has never steve like this.

"i work hard, every day of my life." eddie sings along loudly, and steve sings the other part.

"he works hard." he sings softly with a smile.

his confidence amps up as the song goes on, and his dance moves get more and more ridiculous and less restrained as eddie encourages him and laughs with him as they sing. by the time it gets to the instrumental break, the entire party is watching them with smiles and singing along in some way.

the steve nancy dated would never be caught dead doing something like this, but here current steve is, back to back with eddie as they both dramatically play the air guitar. nancy looks toward robin to see if she's as shocked as she is at this display. but robin is just rolling her eyes, like she sees antics like this on the daily. she shakes her head at something dustin says to her, and then yells at the couple.

"i thought you promised to stop doing this every time this song came on?" she tries to look annoyed as she yells over the song, but fails massively.

steve stops his dramatics for a second, and points at her dramatically.

"you asking us to do that is exactly why i am doing this in front of everyone." he claims, and gets a (subtle, because everyone respects joyce) middle finger in return from robin.

"his pettiness knows no bounds, buckley, you should know this! you can only take so much of the mean girl out of the jock." eddie adds on, and that gets the pair another middle finger.

steve throws his head back as he laughs, and nancy smiles at him. he looks a lot happier than she's seen him in a long time. probably happier than she's ever seen him, actually.

"find me, find me, find me love."

as the last little bit of the song plays out, and steve and eddie dramatically fall on top of robin to dog pile her, nancy decides that maybe steve and eddie do make sense.

even in seemingly polar opposites, there is common ground.

--

-> day two

[ramayantika]

Sakal Ban

Oh look how the streets have been adorned with colourful banners and flower boughs. The flags of my kingdom fly high on the beautiful carved towers, showing the grandeur of my city.

It's the time of the Spring festival. The fields look as golden as the sun with mustard flowers sprouting from the brown soil, their slender stalks flowing in the flower-laden spring breeze, and maidens wearing colourful robes with chiming anklets on soft red-dyed feet run through the golden fields.

I used to be one of them ages ago. These young girls donned in light shaded robes look as beautiful blooms of the royal garden, which used to be a place for my secret trysts with the handsome young lover, who is still elegant and regal as ever, but alas, no longer mine.

Mango buds hang from the branches, and little children play with stones and pebbles under the young tree. Somewhere in the distance, in the extravagant places of the courtly dancers and musicians, I see a lovely maiden adorn flowers in her braid.

Oh, honeybees, you traverse in circles

around the lone nectar-filled bloom in vain.

When you have the whole garden behind her head

Why go for the single little flower of a shrub?

I make my way through the crowded colourful streets once again like I do every Spring Festival, every year and pay my respects at the Nizamudin's shrine.

Dusty paths permeate with a fragrance of jasmine and lavender, and the bazaars are teeming with sweet shops, with small vendors selling savoury snacks. A husband gently feeds a milk sweet to his wife who glows with the little child growing inside her.

I clutch my stomach, and my heart grows fond but also silently weeps at the fate that I was shown but mercilessly snatched away from.

The chitter-chatter of the streets grow louder. In every courtyard, poets and singers sing verses of lovers and romantic union in spring. The patronisers of art fling their gold and silver in fine silk bundles.

And finally the Royal trumpet blows. The crowd stills. The garden girls with large flower garlands stand on the sides, their smiley faces glowing under the pleasant sun. I smile too.

The palanquin bearing the queen enters the street to the shrine. I caress the ring on my finger, a metallic symbol of a broken promise of yesteryears.

The soldiers cheering the empress's name flank the palanquin. Her maidservants and handmaidens donning simple shades and cotton skirts that lightly flutter in the wind walk by. The crowd amazed at all the riches, power and grandeur swoon in delight.

And then the announcer announces the arrival of the empress. He rules over everyone. He rules over our hearts and souls, but foremost mine, even when I can no longer claim his heart, forget the soul anymore, but some springs before, he was all mine, body, heart and soul, where we claimed each other in the golden fields of mustard blooms.

And fate is a popular jester, its jabs hurt the heart at times, but you have to keep smiling, keep laughing, for the show must go on. Life must go on.

An old singer sings:

woh mohe awan keh gaye ashiq rang aur beet gaye barson, sakal ban, phool rahi sarson sakal ban

The emperor hasn't once seen my eyes in all these years, and I never crossed my fate with his. Not all wishes come true at the shrine, and not all promises can be kept.

For some hearts, there is never warm beautiful spring

All they get is a merciless cold winter until death claims their breath,

With Death granting an illusionary hope of a sweet union in the afterlife...

Fate, a cruel jester! The emperor's eyes meet my steely ones. A lone drop falls and I drag the thin veil around my face. The Spring breeze burns my flesh, it's cool winds freezing my once warm and hopeful heart.

But the show must go on, and the Emperor of my city, the lovely Prince of my youth, the sole Ruler of my heart walks away majestically on the royal elephant.

Not once does he turn back and I feel the sharp chilly winds of winter enter my heart.

*＊✿❀　❀✿＊**＊✿❀　❀✿＊**＊✿❀　❀✿＊*

Tags: @alhad-si-simran @houseofbreadpakoda @swayamev @arachneofthoughts @krishna-priyatama @navaratna @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @madoucesouffrance @jessbeinme15 @kaal-naagin @aesthetic-aryavartik @krsnaradhika @krishnaaradhika .

Um so I have been listening to Sakal ban from heeramandi. Looked up to the translation a little and I am writing this inside my Pharmaceutical analysis lab before viva which I am actually not prepared for but we ball.

Please please tell me how it was okay. I haven't written, read and danced due to this continuous shower of exams and it feels so restless and suffocating. I was desperate so wrote this on my phone. So, yes, do leave reviews, comments etc.

Maybe I will post a dance cover after internals later on.

Also, if there are others who wsnt to be included in my writing taglist, do let me knowm

[aliorsboxostuff]

Idk if u will do this request but! Miguel’s time is like futuristic set right? ( trans people would just transition and be more accepted in this timeline sí right? 😭) so Miguel He went to college at a high prestige science university and so did reader for he is too an smart as him with his own creations in robotics and chemistry. Miguel had tried to get alone room accommodation but failed and got partnered up with transftm!reader and they became roommates. Reader fell in love with Miguel but he didn’t notice cuz he was too focused on his work and whatever. Years go by aka spider verse but suddenly miguel needs help from his old college roommate. Angst fluff maybe…smut??? Sorry English isn’t my first language 😭😭

Hey anon! I appreciate the idea and i love how much you fleshed it out! Dont worry, i completely understand your vision, and i get it english is hard for me too lol i hope i got your ideas right tho, sorry this turned into angst more than what i was aiming lmao enjoy all!

History

Tags: Miguel O’hara x FTM!Reader, Villain!Reader, Lyla, Past Relationship, Angst, Falling Out, Fighting, Arguments, Dirty Thoughts, Meet-Cute, Pining, Secret Crushes, Miguel is as dense as ever, poor reader on this one HAHA

They had a history. Of living together, spending time with each other, but despite all of that it all went downhill. Who knew your ex-roommate turns out to be Doc Oct

(Takes place before Post Credit Scene in into the Spiderverse)

—

"Miguel, I hate to tell you this but we can't-"

"There has to be another way, you designed this Lyla!"

"Hey! Don't blame the AI, blame the maker! I only followed what you said!" 

Lyla huffs and glitches to another part of the console. Miguel is currently hunched over a table in the corner of his lair, the only light illuminating his project is the light rod over his workbench and the monitors around him. 

The girl busies herself with schematics, working out equations and trying to find where they went wrong.

Miguel's latest work on the multiverse brace is to eliminate the glitches that it makes whenever someone uses it. It could potentially lead to wounds from the cells traveling to a different world, and even the healing factor won't fix it. Worst-case scenario, it would lead to a fatal wound, possibly death, and Miguel can't risk that if he's gonna start interdimensional travel. 

His eyes scan over the chip connected to his computer, adding and removing codings that might've gone wrong. He's wearing the headband Lyla gifted him, or mailed to him when it was his birthday months ago, to be exact. 

"I swear the shell is all good, Miguel. It should all contain the molecules needed for the portal bracelet,"

"Can you please stop calling it that?" 

"What? 'Portal'?"

"Yes. It's not a portal, we already have that," Miguel rolls his eyes, gluing them back to the screen.

"Then what are we calling it?" Lyla pouts, adjusting her heart glasses.

"Transdimensional Pathfinding Wristlet."

Lyla pauses her work, and turns to Miguel, her brows raised, the blinks once, twice. "Wh- seriously?" 

"Y'know what, I'm not even gonna try," He shakes her head before glitching to another monitor. "Leave it to the crazy scientist to name his things,"

Miguel ignores what his AI had said, instead focusing back on the chip. If this succeeds, it’ll be the first dimensional trip the prototype could make, and he’d prefer not to be a piece of burnt toast once he comes out of it. He coded another line, before he ran a diagnostic. The screen glares red, the annoyingly big letters of ‘ERROR’ pops up.

Miguel blinks, before he feels his claws coming out, promptly making him stand and throw his chair across the room. It shatters, the metal pieces clinking to the concrete floor. He heaves, sharp fangs bared, barely causing anger at his fingertips. 

Lyla fixes him with a look. “That your fifth chair Miguel,”

The man takes a steady breath, wiping his hand across his face, working at his jaw. He tilts his head sharply and something pops. He faintly hears Lyla clicking her tongue. 

"There's a guy I know,"

—

"What do you mean there isn't any- I booked a single room last week," 

"I'm sorry but there must've been a mishap in the system. I'm going to have to put you with an available roommate," 

"I don't want-" Miguel sighs, tapping his foot insistently. "Look, is there any way I can register for another single room?" 

"You can wait a couple of weeks for a vacant room, but you'd need to consult with the head of the faculty." She nodded to him, a regretful look behind those blonde bangs. Miguel huffs, hands on his hips, thinking out a decision. 

"Fine," He groans. "Who's still available for a roommate then?" 

The girl's brows raise before she quickly types something into the computer, reading out what looks like a list with numbers and names. "Oh!" She smiles. "Room 304, on the third floor is still awaiting a roommate,"

"Great, thank you," Miguel grumbles, already picking up his boxes where he left them on the floor.

"If you'd like-" The girl calls for him again. "I can talk to the faculty member, see if I can help you with the room situation," 

"Sure, I'd appreciate it," Miguel's back is already turned to her as he makes his way to the building's elevator. With his gym bag slung over his shoulder, and the boxes of his unfinished work, traversing the hallway takes a bit of an effort. Students were not mingling around because most of them were already in their rooms, with the time turning just after 5 PM. 

Finally, he reaches the elevator doors. Miguel shuffles the boxes into one hand, struggling to press the button before he is beaten to it by another hand reaching for the ascend button too. 

"Here man, let me help you," The person says, already picking up the two boxes that cover Miguel's vision even before he said anything.

"Hey don't-" He begins, before he finally gets a good look at the person that dared to touch his scraps. The man in front of him, standing just inches taller than him, hair with an unintelligible style, captivating eyes and the faintest smirk on his lips. 

Miguel's brain stutters a bit. "I'm- nevermind, thanks," 

"Of course dude," And Miguel's interest plummets. "What floor?"

"Third please," He nods, pressing the button once he and Miguel get in. The door closes and leaves the two in silence, only the faint whirr of the elevator's machine. 

"So, late to dorm assignments?" 

"Nah, they messed up my request," 

"Shit, really?" He turns to Miguel, his brows furrowed. 

"Yeah, now I'm stuck with a damn roomie,"

"Oh yeah? What room?" 

"304, apparently," Miguel huffs, looking down into the box he's carrying, the tape on it peeling slightly. The guy halts, now his brows are raised. 

Miguel's turn to look confused, before the guy chuckles lightly. "Funny you say that 'cuz," 

"I'm room 304," He smirks, readjusting the boxes. 

There's a pause, before he feels the red of embarrassment gathers on his cheeks. "You're-" 

"That damn roomie? Yeah,"

"Fuck, sorry I didn't-"

"No no, it's fine! Really," The guy laughs, shaking his head while Miguel tries to formulate a coherent sentence. "I don't mind man, I get wanting your own space though," 

"Hey, I hope I'll be a good roomie," He bumps Miguel's shoulder lightly, his smile not fading. Miguel finds himself mimicking it slightly. After that, he introduced himself to Miguel, his major and such.

The elevator opens just after that, the two make their way down the hallway. He asks about Miguel's major too, just as they reach the door. 

"I seriously didn't think I'd get a roomie," He chuckles, turning the key with a million other key chains. It jingles, before he pushes the door open and into the room. "I'll go check with the front desk-" 

"Oh!" He turns after putting down the two boxes he was carrying. "Just got the text, said they'll give you the key tomorrow," 

"Great," Miguel rolls his eyes, putting down his box on the vacant desk and his duffle on the chair. He turns, inspecting the room that he's been sent to stay in. One side is already cluttered with his roommate's stuff, plants and books and papers strewn about. He tilts his head when he spots a flag on his desk.

"You're trans?" Miguel asks, turning to him where he was still standing with his phone out. He hums and lifts his head, meeting Miguel's browns.

"Oh that old thing? Yeah," He scratches the back of his neck. "I know, I get it. No one really cares nowadays, the worlds moved on, whatever," 

He glances at the little flag, pink and white and blue adding color to the messy desk. He smiles. "It's a reminder, I guess," 

Miguel stares at the flag, just once, before he nods and shrugs, turning to open his boxes. "Sure, that's cool," 

He can practically feel the sunshine radiating from his roommate behind him. He crosses his arms, turning again to face him, and he's right because his roommate has a really bright smile. "I hope we'll be good friends, Miguel," 

—

"Miguel there's so many people in Nueva York how am I supposed to-'' Lyla stops, before she grins. "Nevermind, found him!" 

Miguel finishes his spider shot, cracking his neck again as he sets the syringe down. He turns towards Lyla, the AI already projecting the location. "Looks like our guy lives in… the slums? I thought you said he was a prodigy," 

"Yeah well not everyone gets a decent job even if they are a genius," Miguel huffs, running his hand through his hair as he looks at the mirror.

"Who's you said the guy was again?" Lyla begins to scroll through the data. 

Miguel sighs. "Old roommate, back in college," 

"Ooh, interesting," She giggles.

"Lyla don't-" 

"I'm not looking through his history! Just a peek, though," 

Miguel lets out another sigh, walking towards the large opened window. "Uh, hey Miguel, are you sure about this?" 

"Why what's wrong?" 

Lyla displays her screen as it glitches in front of Miguel. According to her research, the old roomie has been caught by the police stealing items from hardware stores and electronic stores, a handful of accounts of disruption of peace according to the other tenants in his old apartment. And he's currently deemed missing.

"Where did you say his location was?" Miguel reads through the file, his brows knitted. 

"Just here, some abandoned warehouse in the slums," 

—

“Miguel, man, you’ve got to eat,” A tray for warm food was suddenly placed between Miguel's paperwork. He huffs, pushing the plate away and to the edge of his already small table. He hears a sigh, before the plate is moved out of his peripherals, and Miguel is back into his work.

“Dude, you only ate like, one energy bar after going to the gym,” 

“I’m fine,” 

Another exasperated sigh, before his roommate goes back to whatever robotics he was working on. Miguel has been perfecting his latest assignment the whole week, going back and forth on his computer, writing down research papers and consulting with his professors. Meanwhile, the man that he shares his room with is tinkering with a recent robotic piece he’s been pouring his heart into.

It’s correct that they share most of their schedule together. Miguel would wake up before dawn, and so would he. They’d run a couple of laps around campus before hitting the gym just before it gets too crowded. He’d spot for Miguel while Miguel would comment on his form if it needs any improvement. Sometimes they’d share breakfast together, before they head for their different classes, though ever since Miguel has been engrossed in his recent paperwork, their time spent together has been blessed. It'd be a lie to say Miguel doesn't miss their shared time, but he supposes seeing him back in their room after a long day is enough. Though, it doesn't seem enough for his friend. 

Unbeknownst to Miguel, his roommates have been supporting a devastating crush on him. Stolen glances, longing eyes whenever Miguel's back is turned towards him. Times when he’d stare a bit too long whenever Miguel was doing his bench presses, times when he’d stand close just to feel the comforting warmth beside him. He’d fuss over Miguel, bringing food or drinks, bringing things Miguel might've forgotten with his busy schedule. Sometimes, when Miguel worked too late and too much, he’d fall asleep on his desk, at which he’d bring his blanket to cover Miguel’s back. In the morning, he rolls his eyes and says something about Miguel getting a bad back, which Miguel would promptly ignore. 

It’s currently Friday night. The man that's sitting on the opposite side of the room has seemingly lost interest in his robotics and decided to peer out of their bedroom window. Suddenly, Miguel is bombarded by a loud shout coming from outside of their room, and snaps quickly to the source. He sees his roommate has opened the bedroom window and is looking out into the campus’ courtyard. 

“Yeah, I'll join you! Be right down!” He hollers, before he shuts and locks the window. Miguel turns, blinking away the slight dizziness he got. 

“Who was that?” 

“A friend, they're having a party at one of the frat houses, you wanna join?” He grins, pulling on his leather jacket and pocketing his belongings. Miguel has never been to a party and he's not about to start going, especially when he has a deadline to push. He shakes his head, always swiveling back his chair. 

“No thanks,” 

He hears his friend scoff. “Come on Miguel! You’ve been working on that thing for ages now, you deserve a break, and the deadline isn't for another month!” 

“I’m not interested,” Miguel bites back, barely glancing at his pleas. 

“Just this once, I promise it’ll be fun! I’ll be there and I can take care of-”

“I said I'm not interested.” He spits out, already hunching into the part he’s soldiering. He doesn't hear anything, not an answer or another push for him to join. The air has changed, something heavy hangs between them. The tension is palpable, but despite it all Miguel only hears the shuffling of his friend's boots. 

“Sure, whatever,” His roommate fixes a stare at the back of Miguel's head, before he unlocks their door. “Y’know, one of these days that work of yours is going to destroy you if you're not careful,” 

And with that, he leaves Miguel alone for the night. 

—

“What the fuck!” Miguel jumps and manages to hold on to the side of the building. “Lyla searches for his weakness points!”

“Hah! You think this has a weakness, Miguel?!” The man shouts, a wide grin on his lips. “I’ve perfected these arms, they are practically indestructible!” 

“SO this is how you greet your old roommate?” 

“I’d prefer for us to meet for coffee, but after how you treated me, I think this…” He brings a menacing robotic arm towards him, as if to inspect it. “Is way better,” 

The arm suddenly lunges towards Miguel which he narrowly avoids. He jumps and entwines two of the appendages together as he lands behind the man, at which he growls and breaks free of Miguel’s red webs. “I never treated you badly!”

“No, not really huh,” He smirks. “But you never noticed the shit I did for you anyways!” 

He spears those sharp arms towards Miguel which he does a couple of doges before jumping down the rooftop they were currently fighting on. 

“All of those morning coffees, late dinners, all for nothing! None! All because you were so fucking focused-” He sharply turns, grabbing Miguel’s wrist and stopping him from dropping a punch. He suddenly pulls Miguel towards him, burning anger behind those eyes. “On combining a damn spider's DNA with yourself!” 

He throws the Spiderman across the street, breaking several walls until the momentum finally stops. Miguel groans, cracking his neck when Lyla suddenly pops up. “Boss, the control panel for those arms is on his back, if you could pull it apart from him, it’ll stop him from controlling it,”

“On it.” Miguel swiftly stands, running through the many rooms he passed before leaping into the air, catching the man off guard. He throws a punch that lands on his face, throwing him off balance and into the concrete street below. He grows, and fixes his jaw, before launching back to full force against Miguel. 

“It was all fine until you went out with that fucking brunette!” He shouts, throwing debris towards Miguel which he weaves and dodges. “Did I ever mean anything to you?!”

He’s got Miguel pinned to the ground, and pushes all of the arms to stab at him, but instead misses and gets buried in the ground instead when Miguel swiftly pulls away with his web. He struggles to get the appendages out of the strong concrete, suddenly finding them stuck, an opportunity for Miguel to rip the control panel off. He swings above the man, landing directly behind him where he quickly digs his nails into the seams of the panel. 

“I’m sorry,” Miguel manages before he pulls. An ear-splitting scream, before deathly silence. Miguel could only hear his heavy breath, before sparks of green ran through the man's body, and it jolted him. He shouts, before falling into the pavement. Miguel takes a beat to examine the control panel, before throwing it somewhere on the ground. He spots the bareback of his once roommate, a horrid sight of root-like marks growing around the man's back. Miguel furrows his brows, before he hears the faint police sirens, no doubt coming over to clean up the commotion. 

Just as Miguel was about to make his leave, he heard the man cough, a horrid groan behind him. Miguel glances slightly, as he hears him begin to speak. 

“I was right… Your work did destroy you.”

Requests are opened! Remember to reblog!

[rattycattyfanfic]

(you drive me) crazy

for @mirroredmemoriez's prompt!

1.) Lynn or Amanda reacting to one another’s music tastes! Can keep it broad and just have it as looking at a genre or pick a specific song. Setting wise it can be anywhere, such as oh I’ve bought this CD and sliding the disc in the car.

a shocking 1,521 words! no real warnings except mentions of mandy brain. can kinda sit in bark like a god verse? but doesn't have to.

if anyone would like to submit some simple easy prompts that i can deal with in 500-700 words ideally (although im finding these are spiralling out of control!) my inbox is open :)

One thing Lynn hadn’t anticipated about Amanda, but finds herself continually pleasantly surprised by, is all the strange little commonalities they share. Amanda’s music taste is not particularly vast or varied, but her taste for the alternative overlaps with the soundtrack of Lynn’s own youth in a nostalgic way. 

She remembers the first time, back when they were new and slightly tense – the relief of a common ground in the form of a familiar song playing faintly on the radio. The Cramps, she thinks it had been, but she couldn’t for the life of her name the song. She had simply known that she’d worn it out in her late teens, and that this strange girl was now in her living room bobbing her head along to the same song, oblivious. “I used to love this one,” Lynn had said, breaking the comfortable quiet and hating herself for it. But then Amanda had looked back, up, at her with this odd expression, something akin to surprise or respect, and it had felt easy. She’d smirked, said something snarky, a bit rude, and Lynn had laughed, and it had been a rare easy moment for them amidst all the turmoil.

It’s nice. Unexpected, but nice. Lynn welcomes the throwbacks to her undergrad days, and the insight that the day’s music choice provides into Amanda’s strange head. Her thoughts are still a mystery to Lynn some days, but the music – it helps shine a light on whatever Amanda is thinking that day.

Sometimes, she finds the girl in an oddly energetic mood, spinning Bikini Kill or Blondie whilst she busies herself with household tasks. Often she’ll be bent over some gadget in the backyard, taking the thing apart and putting it back together – the VHS player, or the old bike in the garage that hasn’t been used in years, or some other currently unidentifiable pile of scrap metal and electronics. Lynn can’t even be mad about it. Amanda always puts them back together in perfect, or better, working condition, and so she’s content to hang in the doorway, watching curiously until Mandy perks her head up and notices. 

“Was it too loud?” she says, with grease on her cheeks and a look somewhere between defiant and owlish. 

And Lynn says, will always say, “No,” and then usually, “I love this album. What are you working on?” Amanda grins and launches into an explanation that goes straight over Lynn’s head, however similar metal and electronics and flesh and nerves might be. She furrows her brow and nods attentively, and thinks that she loves Amanda like this, almost childishly excited and hyper-focused to the bright tones of Eat to the Beat.

Similarly, Lynn can tell when it’s a bad day. She knows that when she hears Fiona Apple, Hole, even the rare occasion of Patti Smith whining from Amanda’s oversized headphones, she needs to tread a little more carefully, treat Amanda with a little extra care. That brain of hers is still a mystery to her, especially days like this when she doubts even Amanda can make sense of her tangled thoughts.

She gets this, though, the appeal of quietly enraged vocals, angsty guitars and pianos, fast or slow but equally intense either way. She remembers listening to Revenge as a teenager and how it had spoken to her, soothed emotions she hadn’t even realised she’d had, and she thinks she gets it a little bit. So she sits down on the back porch next to Amanda wordlessly, and lays her head on the girl’s shoulder to catch the odd angsty refrain leaking out of the headphones. She says nothing about the edgy look in those dark eyes, or the raw pink of her sharp cheeks and wrists from where she’d scratched and rubbed restlessly. Lynn sits silently with her, until Amanda lets out a shuddering breath and relaxes just an ounce. 

Today she unplugs her headphones and allows Lynn to listen with her fully. She leans against her shoulder heavily, allows the tenderness of backrubs or fingers combing through her hair. Other days, the headphones stay on and Lynn remains a voyeur, held at arm’s length, the vulnerability of unplugging simply too much for Amanda to bear. Either way, Lynn tucks these shared moments away inside herself and thanks whatever god there is for the safe catharsis of rageful nineties singers. 

Amanda is not a good driver. This is the main, overarching reason Lynn will give if asked why she always prefers to be in the driver’s seat of her own car. She can drive, legally, and does so without accident, but she is not good at it, and Lynn spends most rides with Amanda holding onto her fucking seat wondering if this was part of her torture repertoire when working under John. But then, she supposes, her victims would’ve been unconscious during transportation, and so all the swearing and sharp veers must be either unintentional or for the sheer thrill of it. 

That is the reason Lynn will give for not getting in Amanda’s car if she can help it. The reason she will not give, is that Amanda’s baseline – and her favourite driving music – is largely completely fucking unlistenable industrial metal. Nine Inch Nails, Nitzer Ebb, and Ministry take pride of place in the driving fast and badly playlist. It all sounds like construction site noise to Lynn, and only adds to the distressing experience of being driven around by someone she has to remind herself is criminally insane. 

Her car is in the shop, though, and they need groceries. And so, Lynn is white knuckling the seat of Amanda’s beaten up shitbox while KMFDM screeches through tinny speakers. She thinks there’s probably never been such an intense fucking drive to the grocery store in all of history.

She’s about to say something bitchy, maybe ask her to turn it off or down at the very least, but when she looks over, she snorts. Amanda has her sunglasses on and is nodding to the beat, tapping her fingers rapidly against the steering wheel, looking fully in the zone whilst she swears at another driver for daring to obey the highway code. “I can’t believe you like this shit, Mandy,” she says instead with an exasperated laugh, and gets a bright grin in response. 

“It’s fun,” Amanda defends lightly, and glances back at the road, veering around another corner way too fast. “It’s fast. I like it!” 

Lynn rolls her eyes. “‘Kill motherfuckin’ Depeche Mode?’ That’s fun?” She doesn’t see the appeal, honestly, but it fits Mandy she supposes. Erratic, brash, angry in a gleeful way. It fits her perfectly. She’ll grin and bear it, maybe even learn to love it like she had Mandy, despite all the ways she had infuriated her at first. 

Amanda opens her mouth as if she’s about to respond, but the song fades out and into the next, and she turns a soft pink instead. She reaches out awkwardly towards the dashboard to skip the song, but Lynn is fast too. Lynn knows her 00s pop music – put it down to having a young daughter and nothing else, nothing else. She grabs the girl’s slender wrist and stops her in her tracks, and the song continues. A grin spreads across Lynn’s face, and Amanda groans.

“Lynn–” 

The unmistakable intro to Toxic plays out through the speakers at the same volume as the heavy industrial stuff, and there’s no hiding from it. Amanda goes a deeper shade of pink, as if this is somehow the most embarrassing thing Lynn has learnt about her to date. 

It must be her growing sadistic streak, but Lynn can’t help but dig a little. She holds Mandy’s wrist still, hovering inches away from the skip button. “I would never have pegged you for a closet Britney fangirl, baby,” she teases, and delights in the way Amanda flushes and splutters. 

“I don’t know how that got on the playlist, Lynn – fuck – Lynn, skip it,” she stammers. 

“No, I like it,” Lynn says smugly, and sits back, entwining their fingers together and effectively stopping her from skipping it lest she crash them both into a ditch. “And so do you, apparently – keep that hand on the wheel.”

Amanda groans, but stops fighting. She squeezes Lynn’s hand hard, digs her nails in a little viciously, but keeps her other hand on the wheel and lets the bubbly pop keep playing. Even as she flushes, loudly proclaims her embarrassment, Lynn can see her knee subtly bouncing to the beat. She looks one second from whispering the lyrics to herself.

One last dig, for the fun of it. Lynn feels high on the silliness of the moment, a bubble of unfamiliar giggliness in her throat. “Do you know the dance moves too?”

“Oh my god!” Amanda exclaims, throwing her head back. She steps on the pedal in exasperation and the car surges forward. She really shouldn’t be allowed to drive. A minute later, when she finally manages to swallow down the worst of her humiliation, Amanda mumbles, barely audible above the autotune. “...Yes.”

Lynn laughs out loud.

[tewwor]

𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗖𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗥 … like for a starter and/or ask! multi's please specify

STATS .

name: yuma kochiya

alias: tba

age: 34 ( verse dependent )

height: 5'11''

gender & sexuality: cis man ; he/him & bisexual

occupation: doctor at a small clinic during the day & on call semi-grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer / nightshift doctor at tokyo jujutsu high

fc: tba

CURSED TECHNIQUES & ABILITIES .

bone destruction ( names of fractures — oblique, compression, comminuted, segmental, avulsion, etc ) & regeneration ( fuse ): able to break, splinter, crush, etc. any bone in his, and another's, body at will. the need for physical contact is required when manipulating others. he's also able to regenerate, mend the bones, and transplant marrow to boost blood regen.

density manipulation ( brick - heavy & feather - light ): this ability allows him to shift the density of bones at will i.e. 'hollow bones' and 'dermal armor'.

osteokinetic constructs ( manifest ): can turn bone into tools, objects, weapons and other items, create semi-living constructs and/or create structures/buildings of varying permanence. being rather efficient and near masterful with his technique, yuma's able to create anything within his mind's eye.

invisibility awareness ( passive ): yuma is able to detect anything that is made of bones — living or dead. thus, makes it practically impossible to sneak up on him if someone, or something, has a skeleton.

puppetry ( rally ): able to control and morph skeletons at will. very rarely does yuma resort to this as he thinks it disrespectful to the deceased & the living ( unlike his family ).

wing manifestation ( silver vein ): able to construct skeletal wings that act as both defense and offense. despite it's name, yuma isn't able to fly with these additional limbs.

HISTORY .

tw : car accident

The rumbling ambiance of gravel paths against thinned treads is what wakes you. Slow, like the meandering of that stormy cloud across the crescent moon above. You hear the faint wash of radio talk crackle from tinny speakers. Breathe in verbena buffed leather and clove scented smoke. The faintest tap, tap tap punctuates the switch in talk show speakers before a familiar, "hey-yo, sleep well?" pushes you further into the present. The first response you give is a groggy huff. Then a whine curls with the back of your tongue upon stretching what you can in this all too cramped car. Something's said about how you slept well enough with all things considered. Your older brother answers back with a huff of his own. Ends on an understanding, "fair 'nough" before a jaunty transitional tune takes over.

The two of you are squabbling over something stupid, something small. Both sides are justified in their own right, but there's an overlap of beliefs. A bunch of 'well I think's and 'no, you're wrong's being flung back and forth. Any hope of reaching a middle ground gets trampled by big personalities and even bigger opinions. Remember, it was stupid and small — you cannot forget this. You cannot let the looming thing caught in headlights eradicate it. Your brother was spirited; a shared likeliness of resilience and mulishness inherited by parents you've never met. He cannot be reduced to something only characterized by pain and suffering. There was zeal once, modest pride, undefeated geniality. He cannot be lessened to his last moments, writhing in agony by the shaking craft of your hands. You knew not of flesh nor organs then ( far too young, too green ), the complexity of nerves and skin, but you did know of marrow. Enough to mend the breaks with nothing else to stilt the hurt or staunch the ceaseless flow of blood. You have to remember how relentless he was in reassurance. Between the wet sucking of lungs, the crushed rasps and grunts and groans — trembling body misshapen among the debris of metal scraps and laminated glass. '—'s okay. I'll be.. Okay. —'m alright... Be fine.' Remember how you wanted to scream back? Take him by the torn, bloody collar and shake him back into sense? Shake more life into him somehow, by some miracle? But a shooting star didn't blink across the night sky — finally lit bright by the full width of silver moon. All that's left is you, your dying brother, and that thing still on the road.

MISC. FACTS .

interests: ginger, rest, cute or funny bandaids, gag gifts

dislikes: taking things too seriously, his parents

often fights with a mass of bone ( yes, it’s his own — don’t ask or do 🫣 ). it’s kept fluid to act as extra defense and solidified when on the offensive. usually molds the bone into gauntlets, scythe, or spiked bullets. if he’s really feeling some type of way ( enraged ) he’ll cram liquified bone into a target’s mouth, eyes, ears, nose, or open wound and solidify it with spikes.

injuries sustained was a broken arm and 80% loss of sight in the left eye. otherwise, he was more or less okay.

yuma's trademark greeting of 'hey-yo!' came from his brother. the same applies to how he treats current patients like they're children ( constant gentle conversation to distract from the pain, the promise of a sweet threat after, etc ).

his favorite & most used scents are clove and leather. again, influenced by his brother.

after the incident, yuma threw himself into constant training. he took on far stronger curses to get a better understanding of his powers — both to harm and heal. his efforts paid off at a steep price.

VERSES .

main — jjk: works the nightshift at tokoyo jujutsu high ( so shoko doesn't have to ) and enjoys it! had a stint where yuma was a teacher for some brief period of time, but decided that he could help bolster their recovery instead. stayed with principal yaga & shoko during the shibuya arc as extra defense.

main — modern day / au friendly: works as an underground medic. good, bad, whatever’s in between — he’ll patch anyone up if they can pay the fee ( can be money or favors ). somehow weaseled his way into something legally binding so neither side tries to shake him down for information.

the marked: tba.

op: tba.

[theyluvlyss]

𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 !

today, I figured I'd make a list of all of my DRs/places I'm shifting to :). I do actually have quite a bit, and while most of them aren't really all that fleshed out (I'll indicate which ones I have the most info on with a key), I figured it'd still be nice to share.

plus, who knows, maybe you'll find that we have a common DR that we can bond over🤷🏽‍♀️. you guys can even ask me whatever questions you want on any of the DRs you see listed below, and I'll be happy to answer them (it gives me an excuse to run my mouth💀). Also, I listed them in alphabetical order!

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐤𝐞𝐲 :

♡ - fully scripted out/main DR

° - tons of lose ideas/thoughts

* - some lose ideas/thoughts

if there's no symbol, that means I have literally nothing on it to tell lmao (but I do welcome suggestions of any kind pertaining to literally anything, idc, I just want shifters to engage plz😭🙏🏽).

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐩𝐫𝐞-𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 :

- avatar (the blue ppl lol)

- blue beetle

- avatar: the last airbender

- °darby and the dead

- *descendants

- °fairy tail

- *henry danger

- *insatiable

- *jessie

- *kick-ass

- marvel cinematic universe (mcu)

- °nope

- once upon a time

- *rise of the guardians

- ♡shazam!

- *shazam! (but it's a fairy shapeshifter(?) princess based one that has nothing to do with the plot of either of the previous movies, I'm just super in love with Billy lol)

- *spider-verse

- °speed racer

- *stranger things

- °super sons

- teen titans

- °the black phone (the grabber doesn't exist, nobody dies, but Max is the loveable local ‼️RECOVERING‼️ crackhead)

- *the imperfects

- *the walking dead game (except there's a cure for the zombies so that's cool)

──────────────

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥/"𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐮𝐩" 𝐃𝐑𝐬 :

- *(teen/20s) actress

- (2000s) actress

- boarding/prep school

- *coven/witchcraft-popstars

- girl group/pop stars

- indie band

- *"last" person on earth

- metal band/rockstar

- *nepotism baby

- *rapper

- *reality tv show

- *runaway (with possible alien and/or power-having elements? idkidk-)

- *travel/vlogger

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐩...

those are all my desired realities that I wanna shift to lmao😭. I know, it's quite a bit, but you've gotta understand, I was/am the type of person who - has not only constantly wanting a way out/knew there had to be more than, yk...THIS (if that makes sense) - but has always, always, always wanted to be apart of so many of the cool dynamics and whatnot I've seen in all of my fave medias. like, I'd give anything to live any one of these lives at least once, so ofc I have a lot😭✨️.

but anyways, yeah, like I said, feel free to just engage however you want, I truly just felt like showing them off and will definitely be expanding more on each one later in separate posts :)!

𝐜𝐲𝐚/ᐠ•˕•マ~!

[gorillastraylight]

Fang of Flint

At the age of 17, they killed the boy who would be Fang of Flint. Deep in the womb of Turambek, a red-robed priest anointed him in black engine oil, then flayed his back with a barbed lash, and sprinkled holy salt over the exposed flesh and muscle. Out came the knife, old and gnarled black lapis Devilbone. They slaughtered the boy with awe and respect, the same way the plainsmen of old brought down Feroloths. In his place was born Fang of Flint, the Righteous Judge, the Lictor, a receiver of the Blood of Kings freshly freed from his pathetic chrysalis.

The godless traitors of Mesa and the hated Union tell lurid tales of Ambek, how impossibly cruel the reign of the Salt King is, how human life is spent needlessly and how the priests and feudal lords slaughter any who fail or disobey. These are baseless lies fed to the populace by wicked politicians who have betrayed humanity to evil forces. In Ambek, no human may take the life of another for any reason, so long as they live in service of the Godbreaker. It follows, then, that the job of executioner must be performed by one who is more than human. To be a Righteous Judge is to be close to the Salt King, nearer the emanating power of Storambek the Godbreaker. Fang of Flint is one of these, charged with passing judgment on those who turn their backs on their King and fellowmen. His badges of office are the jagged chainblade and the brass mask, symbols that remind the humans in his charge of the perils of waywardness. When those humans forge his Armour in the scorching, radioactive foundries beneath Turambek, it will bear the same badges.

The Armour of a Lictor is superior to any other found in the legions of Turambek - it is resilient but agile, with wicked claws and synthetic muscle coils that snap shut like a vise around the unworthy. Its monstrous chainblade mirrors that carried by its pilot, and it also weilds a sacred barbed lash, that none might escape judgment. The cap of each suit is a grinning bronzed skull-helm: the death’s head, a symbol of each Righteous Judge’s death and rebirth. Fang of Flint has always believed that silence suits those of his office well, and since his death he has only ever spoken the name of the Godbreaker, and then only as he punishes one of the wayward. Most other Lictors regard this practice as strange and unnecessary, even blasphemous. Voice of Fury sees Fang of Flint as an arrogant fool, to be sure. But Voice of Fury is yet young, and comes from a noble geneline besides. Fang of Flint knows what it is to be among the wretched and damned, the ones whose faithlessness dooms them to the eternal torment of Samsara. It is why he is so dedicated. Every soul he must take, he does so in the hope that the Godbreaker will turn aside the evil eye of the Deathless Devil and allow them blessed oblivion.

The Legate favors Fang of Flint. He is more able than his brothers to recognize that she speaks with the authority of the Salt King, regardless of her status as a woman. In his mind, this is why she gave him the task of consigning an entire tower to the dirt - a task he relishes. When the charges detonate and the monument of the offworlders collapses, he will whisper his prayer to Storambek. Perhaps even turncoats and aliens can be saved, he thinks. It is worth it to try. He and his Vanguard become the spear of the Godbreaker, and the few defenders of Hightower down below are utterly unable to stop them. They have planted 4 charges, suffering no casualties along the way. His Armour sings in a way it never has before as he wills it forwards, each step is a metal drumbeat accompanied by the hiss of pistons and whir of servos, and it sounds to him like a verse in a ceaseless hymn. He shuts his eyes for a moment, and his vanguard’s Armour joins his in the chorus. DOOMssskreeesUNK- DOOMsskreeesUNK - DOOMsskreeesUNK. His reverie is only interrupted as they come upon the fifth support structure. 4 fusion signatures, blinks his sensorium. Enemy Armour. A challenge, at last.

Red. Red. Red. The heat is unbearable in his brass mask, the noise as his Armour’s limbs are cut away by the edge of a plasma-actuated blade. First a heavy, reinforced arm hits the rock, the scream of the giant chainblade suddenly silenced. Then the right leg, bringing him to his knees. And finally a stab to a fuel line, the blinking sensors fading to darkness as he feels his Armour careening downwards to crash onto the floor of the cavern. Silence for a moment. A minute. Two minutes. His chainblade, his badge of office, is digging into his side. A reminder, thinks Fang of Flint, from Storambek. I am not dead. I will not die here, in the dark, blind and deafened. The hiss of the cockpit opening, the rush of blood from his head as he stands, the only light is the burning of his vanguard’s corpses and the gaudy colours of the offworlders’ Armour. She is walking toward him, out of her ruined Armour. Good. Come closer. The chainblade roars to life, but only briefly - she is on him, the blade clatters to the dirt, he is on his back and the helmet comes off and for a brief, brief second he is afraid. He can *smell* it on her, he can see it in her eyes. The grasp of the Deathless Devil. But no, no, NO, he is shielded from Samsara. He is close to the Godbreaker. He stares through the blood and rapid swelling as his own helm is brought down again and again and again like a priest’s barbed lash. His eye contact is one final act of defiance, a final prayer, the punctuation on a life lived in service to Storambek. They stay open after he ceases to breathe, and there is no one left for him to defy.

**************

Another little NPC vignette from my Lancer campaign, this time about an encounter boss they fought last mission! Basically an indoctrinated pilot for the weird theocratic despotate that used to control the planet the campaign is on before being overthrown by Thirdcomm and local revolutionaries a century or so ago, then pushed back to a much smaller region around their capitol, Turambek. In the campaign, they’re trying to reconquer the planet, which ofc invites conflict with our PC mercs. Ambek, the theocratic despotate, has a bunch of jumbled beliefs telephoned from their colonist ancestors (hence the weird misinterpretation of Samsara), the state religion worships their king as a living deity descended from their patron, Storambek the Godbreaker and hates and fears a satanic figure called the Deathless Devil. They’ve got some funky esoteric lore I can’t get into without spoiling my players, but I had a lot of fun with this one. I understand why people like to write abt the Imperium of Man, it’s so delightfully fucked up to write from this perspective.

[witchofthesouls]

(In which Bayverse see what Other strange things that happens near the TFP Autobots. And they get another visitor from the Prime verse.)

“Oh.” Jack dropped the homemade charcoal, courtesy of the human base personnel that didn’t want another tickle-induced false fire alarm, and tilted his head. Antennae flicking and fanning out, wings twitching in a certain direction.

“What’s wrong, sparkling?” Ironhide asked, keeping his peripheral sensors on Jack since that particular bitlet had a habit of wandering away when unoccupied. Not a good combination with the little one's inclination to fully suppress himself.

Jack made a questioning noise at the back of his throat, slowly tilting his head to the other direction, auditory gear flickering in rhythmic clicks before catching every single Cybertronian's attention on the island as he pinged out curious-query-location please.

Especially when the growing menace of a murder began to shrilly cry and bounce the signal beyond the perimeter-

And something had obviously answered back.

Raf swiveled his whole body, jaw open and tail thumping the concrete. Slow as if unsure, but quickly gained a rapid tempo as the unknown signature kept pinging over: I am here-I am here-I am here. He uncharacteristically ran away from his piles of rock offerings, speeding toward the hanger’s entrance. Barking as he pawed and pushed at the gate that was raised to keep the smallest ‘bots contained inside the bunker.

The Baby Gate 7.0 was designed in mind of Miko’s agility, Jack’s electromagnetic talents, little talons, and the solid weight of a cute, grounded dragon.

Of course, it didn’t matter when Jack simply hefted the baby dragon of solid metal and boosted his own jump by igniting his heel-thrusters. Miko simply hitched a ride on his back, blankets fluttering behind her in a messy trail from the nest.

Sweet Liberty’s undergarments, Agent Fowler thought from the platform, they were airborne now.

The kids wobbled in the air for a moment, and then they all hit the ground running on the other side. Jack was hiding other talents since none of the ‘bots were able to catch them. Giant palms remained empty as Jack simply grabbed the other two to disappear and reappear several meters away. Sand pelting their vanishing forms as they ignored everyone else’s hails.

Ghost, the massive not-dog canid, had done nothing but leisurely walked over to the gate. Agent Fowler expected it demolish the whole thing, but it condensed down to a slimmer form to shimmy itself through the opening at the top slipping easily and reconfigured itself back.

In the horizon, a small speck became visible and the UFO wasn’t an alien jet. Not even vaguely plane-like.

It was a dragon.

A giant, metal dragon.

“Is that the mama?” Some poor son-of-a-bitch whispered behind Agent Fowler.

“No,” the human dimensional-hopper said, “I’m betting that’s the sister.”

“Jesus…”

The dragon screamed.

The kids screamed.

The dragon then delved into the ocean.

A bipedal figure broke the surface and began to swim to the shore, an eerie flicker on their visible outline, playing tricks on people’s eyes as the dragonformer’s frame melted and recondensed.

Of course, shots were fired when a serpentine form darted out of the newcomer’s armor and was sidewinding its way upon the water's surface and over to the gathering on the beach.

Gleaming in variations of black and blue, the once flesh and bone snake had been cyberformed into a massive serpent of interlocking metal plates. It reared its fangs, large a full-grown man’s height, and dripping a venomous purple at anyone trying to nudge their way to the kids. It wrapped itself loosely around them, slowly tightening its coiled body with every closer step someone made to them.

The Autobots, both iterations of them, looked so damn tired with this absolute bullshit. And never in his life would Agent Fowler agreed with such a haunted expression with giant, metal titans of an ancient alien race, but here he was and here came the headache at his temples again. 

“Jack, why are you yelling?” Optimus from his universe asked.

The boy bounced out the protective coil and scurried up the mech’s frame, latching into the available seams in his back for a piggyback ride, his face peeking over a shoulder. “I felt left out…”

Miko and Raf were still screeching, beyond ecstatic, their sounds muffled by the snake’s density, its yellow gaze piercing as it eyed everyone else in its perimeter. 

The newcomer was in audible range, frame grinding, water steaming. They were definitely melting, face shifting all over as their features bubbled, mouth dripping off lips and cut wide across the middle of their face, eyes swimming for placement, armor whirled and clicked as it tried to settle, sharp pieces jutting and twisting. 

A few attempted to step forward, including Ratchet but June immediately stopped them. Hair whipping out and physically dragging the mechs back, except Ratchet where she grabbed his shoulder. “Have no fear. Just wait for her to get a grip on herself.”

With Agent Fowler’s thought confirmed, he watched her wade her way over and when she was half-way out of the sea, she reared back and clapped her hands together.

Her entire frame seared- 

Red to yellow into blue-white flames with a heat so intense, he felt it even in a distance, seawater flashing to steam and bubbling as she walked forward, features fixed and armor dry. Instead of the massive height, she was far more condensed down to a human-appropriate height

“I’ll never get used to that!” She shouted, a digital overlay present in her voice as well as the sounds of crackling fire. Blue-white plasma flared out of her helmet, pooling over her shoulders and  matching her burning optics and the unknown sigils carved upon her frame, the marks rapidly cooling and darkened. “I finally found you fu-”

June made a noise from the back of her throat. Hair-raising and an armor-flattening one.

“-dge eaters!”

Good save, he thought. “Where have you been? What in the name of Lady Liberty did you do to yourself?!”

“I fell.” She held hand, counting each point of her adventure with a thick claw. “I got lost, then was found. I signed on a contractor. Been working.” She then spread out her hands. “And now I’m here.”

That explained nothing at all and Agent Fowler wasn’t even surprised by this point.

“And you are?” The flame-covered Prime asked.

“Someone trusted and an ally,” replied Optimus, Jack humming tunelessly on his shoulder, focused on something else…

“Pilar Esquivel,” the dragonformer said with a wide smile, teeth gleaming sharp. “First-class Adventurer and Being in the Know. And by the way-” Out of thin air, she flicked out a large, dark envelope. “The Foundation sends its regards and welcomes this place to the company picnic.”

[cabeswaterdrowned]

18 for trc? 🥺

A plot hole that makes me want to tear my hair out

I honestly consider myself a pretty laid back person when it comes to plot holes for most media and especially for trc; plot holes on their own I’m usually fine to gloss over they only bother me if they coincide with something character related or thematic that I dislike, then I’ll bitch about them, but other times they are simply not my priority compared to other things. And TRC & TD3 are extremely character driven so that’s especially true regarding it, I’m sure there are more major plot holes but the ones that actually bother me would be: 

not addressing in Greywaren when all the magical or dreamt creatures go into a coma because the ley line energies are dead, that Gansey is also a ley line powered creature and should be fully dead rn… like… if we’re going to jump through so many hoops to not bring in or address what’s going on with Gansey Blue and Henry, I feel like you should just address it and/or bring someone in… 

This is more a dropped thread (I was actually making a list of plot holes that borrowed me in trcverse and then realized most of them are actually dropped plotlines so only addressing the two that are kind of both) than a plot hole but the fact the tapestry of women with Blue’s faces never gets brought back beyond that tidbit about it being a sweet metal which isn’t even related back to Blue and her plot line so I don’t think that’s satisfying enough. Part of me wonders if there was going to be a Blue is related to Gwenllian and therefore Glendower thread, or something about other mirror women in Gwenllian’s time. Also think it’s possible this was Mstief playing with the concept of adding clones to the verse before she’d really fleshed that out and committed to what she’d eventually do with the Hennessy girls. Women having to be reflections of the world around them or other people is such an interesting theme to explore and it is sort of a through line in the verse between the Blue as a mirror, the Blue and Gwenllian stuff in BLLB and the Jordan/Hennessy and Aurora/Mor dichtomities (which also gives Blue’s Extreme Distaste for Aurora and more ambivalent discomfort with Gwenllian interesting connotations imo), but it’s only really properly explored with Jordanessy and then not even to it’s full potential. And the red hands… okay I need to save some of this for when I get to taking BLLB notes which will be real soon. But I have many thoughts on how it was not used to it’s full potential at all which includes the lack of explanation

This is also like partially plot hole partially just dropped storyline but the lack of follow through on the thread in MI about Ronan’s fear about Adam being bonded to him because of Cabeswater not being followed through on is sooo odd. Like yes that’s more about his self esteem + abandonment stuff and it’s obviously not true but the fact we never witness a conversation where Adam is like “no your wrong because I made the deal with Cabeswater of my own volition, it was separate from you etc.’ I won’t go into all my thoughts on this am planning to have it come up in my Reading TRB fic as a conversation between them to deal with some of my own gripes… I think td3 on some level is meant to address the consequences of the sacrifices deals choices etc. of trc for Ronan and Adam but it’s also very adamant about not engaging with huge chunks of trc canon like the other chars or dynamics or locations or magic … and like there’s certainly a way to flop as a spin off from trying to be too closely tied to the og series so if she was trying to avoid that I get that impulse, but the desire for the series to be about thematic consequences of the first series while also having nothing to do with the first series and it’s themes…. resulted in some truly bizarre choices imo. So this is an individual example that brings out a lot of my frustrations with this lmao. Also with my gripes about how Pynch’s arc and conflict is handled in td3 but I feel like I’ve spoken on that enough I don’t have to go into it here.

There are things about TRK I’m sure count and Gansey’s resurrection might count but I can’t really articulate my thoughts there rn well say what I have to say on this reread.  thank you

[ikkosu]

BOUNDARIES

warnings : nudity. slight non-con. slightly suggestive(?) part of MDM (my darling medic verse)

PHARMA lacks a conceptual understanding of space. He might despise bursts of affectionate touches from his love little pet but if it is his turn to show off his streaks of intimacy you're in for a ride — any semblance or care to your own boundaries are disregarded.

Oh, you're working? Too bad he's got you on his lap, prying the reports off your brittle fingers. You've got twenty four hours in a day. You can do it later. No, he doesn't care if the deadline is today. You're to be disciplined about diligence and work productivity. That's on you.

It's not that he doesn't want to care, he's well-versed in the cultural differences between a Cybertronian's mindset to a human one in regards of nudity, he just needs more than a brush of your fingers against his own.

You're endearing just as you are amusing with the thing you call 'clothes' draping over your soft little body. In many of his cold days, he thinks about ripping the fabric to shreds. A fantasy of how you'd feel underneath that primitive fabric takes up much of his waking hours. However, the only thing stopping him for doing so is the fact that you'll reduce his beddings to the outside lawn with the dogs.

It's atrociously blasphemous! How dare he be restrained from touching his pet by a mere textile linen from worms? If anything, it was you who should be grateful he cared enough to press about the matter in the first place. To be graced by the touch of the best medics in Delphi.

Pharma glares at the chronometer.

It's ticking close to the end of his shift and a quick swivel to his datapad, it's clear he hasn't drawn up a single report. No, no, no. Whatever happened to diligence? He's getting frustrated. This thought. This feeling. It's distracting his work. He needs answers, quick. Even if in unethical terms he'll have to seek it.

After a lengthful day in Delphi, forbid he ever said it's 'quiet', he slinks Into your shared room — half a habsuite and a normal apartment, if that's even possible to describe — and his hearing processors perks upon the running splash of water. A snake-like grin curls the corner of his dermas. Perfect, he muses. He's just in time for your evening bath.

So again he's goes, off to concoct another of of his unruly experiments. Will it end well? No, probably not. But who cares.Why would you ever want to hide a body like that from him?

"Dear? Are you in there?" He calls out, turning the knob.

You're too busy belting off to that song again. Skyfall by 'Amdbele', or whatever.He should've smashed that jukebox the moment he laid his eyes on it. That four sided, two, three (?) inch of metal you call a 'phone' take sup too much of your time and it irritates him to no end.

Really, you are blind sometimes.

The door gives way with a pull and the warm mist of the bathroom prickles his face. Your figure is a haze amidst the mist and his optics shutters, adjusting to the dim, golden lighting of the bathroom. Then he halts with a harsh jolt. His wings flare up just as how his face does when he regards the nape of your neck down to your back, to your—

"My, my, oh my..." He mumbles with a raised brow.

"Pharma!?" You gave a girlish shriek and on instinct, whether it was reflex or reflux, you ploughed the cleaning sponge to his helm. It bounces off with a plink against the metal. The mech,however, lay undeterred.

Pharma regards your scrunched up face and your arms — he only now realized how slick and glistening your body was — clutching your chest and legs pressed together like that'll cover up your modesty.

Oh, and your hair is matted much like a wet, tattered cat freshly wrung from a bath. He's especially fascinated by the way the fat of your chest is pushed up, though. Two circular mounds of flesh. So soft and so snug. How, pretty.

Now that would make an interesting study.

On the other hand you're stunned. Speechless. You hadn't expect him to be home this early — usually he'd come by ten. But that doesn't matter, you're too speechless that all you could sputter was his name again and again, finding the familiar grip of his name.

And when you do it's another shout. "Pharma!"

"I heard you the first time, dear." He mumbles lazily, his optics drifted off to the side and lower a bit.

"You can't just barge in here anytime you want!"

"If I wasn't suppose to then why was it unlocked?" He stares, bemused, as you curl around the curtains to hide yourself further. He catches you eying the towel within reach of his arm on the sink.

"You should be careful next time you decide not to follow simple basic house rules."

Pharma begins stalking towards you, blatantly ignoring the towel on the sink. Forget the curtains, you push yourself up against the tile wall to prolong the distance between the mech and your bare body. He's got that stupid smug smile on his face and his servos are clenching and unclenching on an invisible stressball. Said stressball is about to be the mound of your flesh in a moment. But that's fine. You've got a plan. Come any closer and you'll jam a foot up his dick.

"That doesn't mean you can just—" You cut yourself short, feeling your face burn up. He's so handsomely irritating that the urge of throttle him dead overrides your prior chagrin. "I told you, you can't just come in here unannounced like that. I was naked, Pharma!"

"And?"

"What do you mean 'and' ?!"

"Depends." He shrugs, now a foot away "What's there to hide?"

" Everything! There's this thing called boundaries, you walking, talking piece of—" You feel something metal and cold groping the flesh of your ass and you're pulled flush against his chest.

"Oh, I would love to be educated on such matters, sweetheart." He's hunched over, helm craning down close to your own. You feel the ozone breath of his mouth prickling your face. "I can't even begin to comprehend the little evolutions of every miniscule organs you stock up that little body of yours."

"What's with you and organs?!"

"That aside. I have another inkling. I was quite curious why humans are so insistent on hiding their flesh from other humans..."

"And how's that working out for you, huh?" You bite back. He grins.

"My conclusion comes clear. I'd prefer it if you were to expose such delicacies to me and only me alone..." He purrs and, much to your chagrin, buries his face into the mound of flesh that is your chest

This bastard, I swear. Your face flares up and you try to pry away from his grip. He doesn't care, however, too focused with peppering kisses down your sternum and the crook of his nose trailing after. You feel yourself lowered until you're backed against the cold, unrelenting touch of the tile floor.

"Why must you hide this from me?" He's hovered above you now, casting a shadow over your face as his head blocks the light from the ceiling. "I think it's high time we should have ourselves a little bonding session, no?"

And on cue his modesty panel opens. You disregard the slick member pressing against your stomach and wrangled away from his body, braced your stance into a standing position and well, jammed a foot up his dick.

Safe to say, he won't be using the baby factory maker for a while.

[BONUS]

It's just another day at Delphi.

Ambulon stares, concerned as the CMO waddles from ward to ward with a grimace etched on his face.

"Pharma, you're limping." He speaks up eventually and the jet halts.

It felt like hours as he did a 180 swivel around. His face twitched, a forced grin and he grits out. "You don't think i know that?"

Ambulon stands his ground. After all, wounded doctors are a blemish to the system.

"I understand you might not need a helping hand. But you don't have to hide it. I'm well verse with the feeling as well." Ambulon trails off, glancing at his own prickled off paint job. "It's not something to be ashamed of. In fact, it just means your circuits are faring well."

Pharma blinks. Once. Then, twice. "Ambulon, my man. What in Primus's spark are you going on about?"

"Your joints." He seems equally puzzled. "Aren't they rusty?"

What returned, however, is a funny look.

[homeagainrose]

Oh wow a tagging game I'll actually play. Gasp! Tagged by @orangepanic.

Words are face, false, water, fight

We'll drop this under a break because probably going to be long...

I tag @ekwolfwriter-blog, @ryu-slayer, @badlucksav,

Words for you guys if you want to play: Star, Dragon, Night

Face/Fight

This is from a Zutara WIP - Circling Celestial Bodies if anyone is following. It's my current favorite, I'll get back to everything else, I swear.

Zuko starts, his fire burning through him with his temper. He knows waterbending is illegal in the Fire Nation and since the escape, the punishment is horrid. Katara glances around like a terrified cat-deer. This is her absolute worst fear. He reaches for his swords. He doesn’t have his mask and they’re not going to listen to the Blue Spirit. Uncle would be proud; he at least thinks part of this through. “Release her!” Zuko orders, the carefully trained commanding tone of a crown prince leaves his lips. The villagers jump. The magistrate glares at him. “And by whose authority do you think you are? This woman has committed horrendous crimes against citizens of the Fire Nation, she will therefore face justice for her actions.” The magistrate scoffs. Zuko draws himself to his full height, his temper fueling his words. “By order of his Royal Highness, Crown Prince Zuko son of his Imperial Majesty, Ozai son of Azulon, the Fire Lord.” Zuko tosses his metal identification tag, complete with gold tassels, at the magistrate. He stares open mouthed. “She stays with me.”

Water

This one was supposed to be Oshamir Week's fantasy but it spiraled and now it's going to be part of the Halloween Fics. A in verse Star Wars fic heavily inspired by Dracula because there is so much vampire coding and it's me. They also said it first!

“I don’t like to reveal all my tricks the first time.” Qimir says, his voice shifting. Osha can’t tear her eyes away from the expression on his face. He looks like he wants to devour her. She’s not sure where that thought came from. “You don’t?” Osha asks. Her voice less strong than she would like. Qimir has stalked towards her, stepped into her space, as he looks over her. Osha can’t look anywhere but his eyes. Something shifts between them. The storm suddenly feels diminished and not important with what is going on here. She usually hates people being in her space, but Qimir feels different. He raises his hand to brush his fingers along her cheek. Her lips part as she stares at him. She can’t look away. He’s close enough Osha can feel him brush against her Threads. There is a desire to weave them together, but she fights it. Qimir’s fingers rest under Osha’s chin, turning her up to face him, as if she wants to look anywhere else. His thumb runs along her lip as his eyes practically bore into her. Osha is held captive by his attention. She’s vaguely aware of his other large hand at her waist, spread out over her hip. She likes how it feels. Qimir shifts his hand to brush his fingers against her cheek. “I have crossed oceans of time to find you.” Osha gasps at Qimir’s words. His voice is low, a raspy whisper meant only for them. She can’t look away. She can’t look anywhere else. She is suddenly aware of the fullness of his lips as his teeth with their rather pronounced canines worry the tender flesh.

False

A bit of Sokka and Hakoda fun, heavily inspired by Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

Sokka remains on edge even as they take their seats in the airship’s lounge. Hakoda orders them drinks. He seems far more relaxed now. Hakoda gives his son a look. “Relax, we’ve made it.” Hakoda says as he raises his glass. Sokka gives him a look. “When we’re airborne with the Fire Nation behind us, then I’ll share that sediment.” Sokka says. He really wishes he was better at relaxing, but he keeps getting caught up in these hairbrained adventures. At least this one is a favor for a friend. Sokka tries to relax as Hakoda turns back to his newspaper. He is still very much on edge. A steward moves through the lounge checking tickets. Movement near the entrance of the ship catches Sokka’s eye. Admiral Zhao. He needs a plan and quick. “I’ll be right back, Dad.” Hakoda nods as Sokka gets up from their table. How does this keep happening to him?

[kinetic-elaboration]

April 24: Murven, Couch

Murphy/Raven, past Bellamy/Raven, ~600 words, written in about 15 minutes, same 'verse as it is new moon and twilight

*

Murphy has a bed big enough for two people, but he makes up the couch for her without asking or telling: a scratchy blanket on the bottom, with a ribbon of soft silk along the edge, the color of sand, and then something knitted, and then a blanket she recognizes from college and a couple of pillows that have mostly gone flat. Raven perches on the edge of his only chair and watches his careful preparations. She turns it around in her head: does he think she'll be more comfortable this way, or will he?

They slept together once in college--twice--but it doesn't count.

When he's finished, he pats the top blanket like it's all settled then, sits down and looks at her like he's startled to find her still in the room. Then almost immediately his expression settles: steady and appraising, narrow, how she knows him well. "Having regrets yet, Reyes?" he asks.

If she is, too late now. She's cleared her stuff out of the old apartment and the lease is up. She doesn't have much anyway; most of it was shit she and Bellamy bought together, and she let him take the plates and the appliances and most of the bedding, because he had another place lined up and she's bunking on Murphy's couch. So what's the point? It's just stuff. She won't be fighting over knickknacks in the divorce, in the broad sense of the word divorce.

She doesn't answer for a long time because she's picturing Bellamy in the second bedroom that used to be an office or something, because she's wondering if Clarke has that same drill-sergeant vibe around her even in the mornings or if she looks sleepy and soft then, if he'll fall in love with her, if Raven herself will feel jealous. If that's in her it's still a wave far off on the horizon. What she has now is shock, mostly, and that feeling that comes over her in hotels and airports and train rides after dark, that everything is limned in some strange light, that she's in a nowhere place and a nowhere time.

Murphy's new apartment and the couch he's made up for her.

It's his home, his space. She doesn't know where the glasses are. They aren't her glasses. Some of them are chipped and he tells her he's borrowing them from his mother's house, cause he's still working on this homemaking shit.

The crack in the bathroom wall, snaking out from behind the mirror. The way she can crawl through the living room window and out onto the fire escape and sit there until the metal digs in too cold against the soft flesh of her back and she can hear the whole city.

"Having regrets yet, Reyes?"

She flicks her gaze over to him. He's watching her soft-eyed. He knows how to do that, a look other girls have probably fallen in love with.

They used to lie half on top of each other, reading, silent. He didn't mind when she rested her head on his stomach. The day after the thing happened, the first time, she didn't want to speak to him alone because she wasn't sure what it would mean--on the edge of everything, anything, she'd just been playing pretend.

She slips forward to the edge of the chair. Her legs stretch out in front of her, and she squashes her hands between them, takes a deep, elongating breath in. "No regrets," she answers, and Murphy snorts under his breath like he doesn't believe her.

[sinbadalexandros]

Please help by donating to my book ‘I Hide Among the Words” to make it across the finish line to publication. PayPal.Me link: paypal.me/forcedevolutio…

I Hide Among the Words

By Sinbad Alexandros

Poetry and Prose from within a schizophrenic's mind, heart and soul. Come explore, find me, and maybe a little of  yourselves. We are not so different.

322 pieces of my own work written over the last 40 years and 14 by my protege & fiance, Jaira Gena, in the final chapter of the book

tinyurl.com/Soul-Poetry

This is the first time I have written something which I said to, as a quote, and it became something else. First, a 4-line poem, and then a poetic story verse where I try to explain something to a friend. What's unusual about it is I tried to write it from the female perspective for her. Both works share the same name.

"Cages 1"

{ 4-line poem / quote}

"Not all cages,

are of metal, wood, or stone.

Sometimes we consign ourselves,

to a prison of flesh, blood, and bone."

"Cages 2"

{ Poetical Story Verse }

I feel chained up, like I'm all tied down,

but I'm lying in the park, lazily upon the ground.

Can't figure out what's up, don't know what's wrong,

so, I do some daydreaming, while listening to a song.

The next song begins to play, the lyrics strike deep to my core,

they make me hurt in every way, and there is no mystery anymore.

I see people fight like children, every day they scream and yell,

they act like complete animals; it feels like we’re living in hell.

I think no one understands me, no way they could feel the same,

our lives are so very different, and most think it's a big game.

I feel broken and damaged, in this there is no crime,

but others did this to me, with their actions over time.

As the days grow colder, and the light becomes dim,

my mind begins to wonder, will I sink, or will I swim?

I wish to know freedom, and experience real love,

please send me an angel, from the sky up above.

After long years of searching, I finally meet someone new,

who treats me so special, to keep me from being blue.

We go out on some dates, and I have an amazing time,

I wonder if he's like the others, Will he also commit a crime?

I want him to hold me, and to kiss my sweet lips,

yet I'm afraid all he wants, is only between my hips.

I hope he won’t hurt me; his love feels oh so real,

he is different from others, and makes me start to reel.

I talk to him of my fears, and try to drive him away,

he stands his ground firmly, and says, “I'm here to stay.” 

He speaks to my heart, with love in his voice,

to give it reassurance, he made the right choice.

We talked of our bad times, and seeing tragedy’s vision,

then what he did to escape, from his own lonely prison.

And I now realize not all cages, are of metal, wood, or stone.

Sometimes we consign ourselves, to a prison of flesh, blood, and bone.

But every jail can be opened, no matter how solid its pawls,

by offering love and compassion, you can bring down the walls.

He’s healing my damaged heart, and wishes to unshatter my soul,

I wonder if he's strong enough. Can he reach such a lofty goal?

Something has started now, I’m not sure I can finish,

and if it all goes wrong, the man I love will diminish.

We take things slowly, setting our own pace,

leaving those around us, to fight the rat race.

And each day gets better, than the ones before,

being given more reasons, to protect a man I adore.

Perhaps it’s manifest destiny, or just a simple trick of life,

all that time longing for love, and now I’m becoming a wife.

[darlingpoppet]

Where The Dead Forget — Chapter 5: Together

Hades Gameverse Memory Loss AU | Achilles/Patroclus | M | Chapters: 5/21 | Words: 50,751 (Ch 5: 10,463 words)

Cover Art by: @alibonbonn

Excerpt:

“What have I ever done to earn residence in such a hallowed place?” He says aloud again. “Simply rubbing shoulders with greatness should hardly qualify. An unremarkable life, snuffed out in an unremarkable way. A few lucky strikes here and there perhaps, but still reduced to rotting flesh and then ash and bones, just like all the others. No friends or family to speak of… no name, no honor… not even a verse in song, surely. Just another—“

He pauses, as he thinks he has just heard a faint rustling over the sound of his own voice. He listens carefully, and indeed: there is a distant creaking, and then the clang of the metal gate at the entrance to the glade.

This is not so unusual. Patroclus occasionally receives visitors and passers by—perhaps more often than he would in fact prefer, but most of them are quickly sent on their way once he has made it clear he is not interested in sparring or feasting or fucking or whatever else it is that shades in Elysium divert themselves with for eternity.

Except.

There is a certain one who passes through sometimes. He is a god, by Patroclus’ estimation—princely and well-mannered, but unsettling, in his way, as all gods are. When he visits, he is always asking Patroclus such unusual, confounding questions, to such a degree that Patroclus often fears he is being toyed with. He has already searched his mind to recall if any of the stories told of Chthonic trickster gods: Eris? Apate? Dolos? Or perhaps even Hermes, the artful Olympian psychopomp? This particular one possesses a youthful countenance much like Hermes, but he is more akin to the spirited, flickering flame of a campfire, rather than the swift breath of wind from a bird’s flapping wing.

In any case, Patroclus does not trust him. He is wary of his easy smiles and friendly, insistent manner. Patroclus can only think to bribe him with his untouched collection of healing draughts and refreshments in order to make him go away whenever he appears. He sincerely hopes it is not that odd stranger who has decided to come back again.

Patroclus picks another cluster of flowers to busy himself with as his visitor approaches. He can see the shade cresting the stairs out of the corner of his eye. Patroclus does not deign to look in his direction, and yet the shade stands there, as if quietly observing him, expectant and waiting.

“Hello,” a man’s voice says.

Read the rest here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43292178/chapters/126220315

Previous Chapters: 1. Drown | 2. Grief | 3. Grace | 4. Weakness