#which is going to be a nightmare and a half

[spacerace-secondplace]

I get the worst of this when I'm baking (because literally ANYTHING can go disastrously wrong and ruin the whole dish if you make a tiny mistake) and it's always been a huge block for me, because we're supposed to learn from our mistakes, y'know? But if I make a mistake that sets my progress back two hours then suddenly I'm too blinded by anger and frustration to accurately retrace my steps and plan what to do next... a lot of times I just quit, or I put out a half-assed product that I'm too ashamed to call something I made.

But! Recently I have begun to learn what has become a dish-saving strategy: asking for help! I would never do this before, because the Mad would turn me stubborn and tunnel-visioned and result in me metaphorically knocking my head against a brick wall demanding results. The worst thing is when it's something I know I'm competent at (like cooking!), so the lack of progress doesn't make sense. But recently I've begun to recognize that "help" can mean something different than "do this for me"; it can also mean "do you see an alternative path that I don't?"

An example: I was trying to make Oreo cream-filled cupcakes the other day. The cupcakes came out perfect, and the filling tasted great, but for the life of me I could not get the filling through the piping bag and into the cupcakes. My mother suggested I thin the icing with milk, which I flat-out rejected at first, because THIS is what the recipe said and so THIS must work. After some (much) struggle and a couple irreparably crumbled cupcakes, I finally conceded and let her thin the icing.

But it was still too thick to squeeze out of the piping bag. We thinned it again and again and every time we had to unceremoniously scoop it out of the bag and back into the mixing bowl and wash all the sticky off our hands (sensory nightmare, and a waste of good icing). But because I was able to move past the Mad from before, I had the extra room in my brain to cook up an idea: maybe instead of thinning the icing (and risking soggy-bottomed cupcakes), we should cut a bigger hole in the piping bag.

It worked! Overcoming that hurdle reignited my energy and I was able to finish the rest of the cupcakes myself. And look how beautifully they turned out!

If I wasn't able to put aside my pride and my marriage to the rulebook, then I never would have finished my mole cakes! To do this I had to revise my definition of "help" from "save me" to "give me a new perspective." (And the results were delicious.)

you know when you get Autism Mad. like something happens in a non-ideal way and in your brain you know it literally doesnt matter but in your other more autistic brain youre like screaming & scrying & shitting the bed etc. i think you should be able to go into settings and opt out of that. i have better things to get upset about than failing to put up a decoration on the optimal day or being too stubborn to solve a problem via simple communication

[hedgehog-moss]

Pls give recommendations for Odd books 🙏

Here we go, a list of literary oddity :) This post contains majestic spheres, alien taxonomies, cruel subway polytheism, a fourth-dimensional cat, disturbing earthworms, infinite space football, existential mussel terror, a Parisian absurdist time loop, and a picture of a telegraph-pole-man-cheetah. I'm not exactly recommending these books, in the sense that I won't take any complaints if you find them more odd than good, and some of them transcend the concepts of good and bad anyway.

• The Other City, Michal Ajvaz. It's all like this:

• Contes du demi-sommeil, Marcel Béalu ('Half-asleep tales') —is the book that prompted my post about stories that have no ambition or justification beyond being odd. I'm sad that it hasn't been translated :( One of the tales is about a strange opaline sphere that rolls on the road. It doesn't accelerate when the road becomes a steep slope but continues rolling majestically. At one point it floats away towards the sky. Someone wonders if it was the moon. Someone else says authoritatively "It was an angel's egg." Everyone is reassured by this explanation. The whole thing feels exactly like remembering a dream you had. There is also a man who reads too much and whose body atrophies so only his head is left and his wife puts it in an egg cup for better stability.

• Leonora Carrington— The Skeleton's Holiday, or maybe the Hearing Trumpet. I've read them so long ago but I think the latter is the one with the old ladies and nuns? There's also a guy who was murdered in his bath by a still-life painter because he said there was a carrot in one of his paintings, but it might not have been a carrot? It's hard to remember details from this book without feeling like I might be making them up. Bonus Leonora Carrington painting which kind of feels like a short story:

• The Codex Seraphinianus, of course. I wish there were more bizarre encyclopaedias out there.

Also I love this review:

• Sleep Has His House, Anna Kavan —I really liked the way this book used language; making life feel like a fever dream even more than in Samanta Schweblin's Fever Dream (which I really liked too.)

The eye is checking a record of silence, space; a nightmare, every horror of this world in its frigid and blank neutrality. The actual scope of its orbit depends on the individual concept of desolation, but approximate symbols are suggested in long roving perspectives of ocean, black swelled, in slow undulation, each whaleback swell plated in armour-hard brilliance with the moonlight clanking along it . . .

• The second half of Michael Ende's Neverending Story, where things get stranger! I remember the hand-shaped castle with eyes and the city of amnesiac former emperors and the miserable ugly worms who cry all the time out of shame then create beautiful architecture with their tears...

• The Gray House, Mariam Petrosyan. This is the one I had in mind when I talked about a 'museum of the strange, but one you wouldn't want to be trapped in after closing time'. Another book that made me feel uncomfortable in a similar (good) way was Edward Carey's Observatory Mansions, the protagonist of which is a man who curates an odd private museum and can't stand the sight of his own hands.

• Oh, speaking of uncomfortable, and hands—He Digs A Hole, by Danger Slater. To me this book was in the more-odd-than-good category but I liked its refusal to have a coherent philosophical meaning. It's about a man who can't sleep so he goes to his garden shed and saws off his hands and replaces them with gardening tools. Then he starts digging a hole. And then it gets weird. (Read at your own discretion if you have a worm phobia; there's some body horror featuring sexually aggressive earthworms. And then it gets disturbing.)

• 17776 — Someone sent me an ask a few years back to recommend this online multimedia narrative to me and I really enjoyed it! Here's the summary, borrowed from the wiki page: Set in the distant future in which all humans have become immortal and infertile, the series follows three sapient space probes that watch humanity play an evolved form of American football in which games can be played for millennia over distances of thousands of miles. The work explores themes of consciousness, hope, despair, and why humans play sports.

• Saint-Glinglin, Raymond Queneau —the author admitted that this book presents some "internal discontinuities." I didn't like it much but I respect the talent it takes to write a novel where everything feels like a random digression, including the key suspenseful scene that matters to the plot. The one digression I loved had to do with the way the narrator is existentially horrified by various sea creatures. It's like he dreads them so much he can't help but think about them when he should be telling a story.

The oyster... This gob of phlegm, this brutal way of refusing the outside world, this absolute isolation, and this disease: the pearl... If I conceptualise them even a little, my terror starts anew. The mussel is even more significant than the oyster and even more immediately admissible in the domain of terror. Let us indeed consider that this little sticky mass whose collective stupidity haunts our piers, consider that it is alive in the same way as a cow. Because there are no degrees in life. There is no more or less. The whole of life is present in every animal. To think that the mussel, that the mussel has, not a conscience, but a certain way of transcending itself: here I am once again plunged into abysses of anxiety and insecurity.

Near the beginning he philosophises about what would happen if a man and a lobster were the only two survivors of the apocalypse. The lobster would break the man's toe and the man would say, "We are the only beings that remain on this devastated Earth, lobster! The only living beings in the universe, struggling alone against the universal disaster, don't you want to be allies?" But the lobster would disdainfully walk away towards the ocean, and "the sight of the inflexible and imperturbable lobster pierces the sky of humanity with its unintelligible claws." (I can't overstate how little this has to do with the rest of the book.)

• Autumn in Beijing, Boris Vian —needless to say the story does not take place in autumn nor in Beijing.* To the extent that it can be said to be "about" something, it's about people trying to build a train station in a desert with tracks that lead nowhere. (I just went on goodreads to check the title, and it's actually called Autumn in Peking in English. I also discovered that it was featured in a list of Books I Regret Reading. I liked this book, but I understand.)

(* French writers love doing this—like when Alphonse Allais said about his 1893 book The Squadron's Umbrella "I chose this title because there aren't any umbrellas of any sort in this volume, and the important notion of the squadron, as a unit of the armed forces, is never brought up at all; in these conditions, hesitating would have been pure madness.")

• The Library at Mount Char, Scott Hawkins—I fear this one makes a little too much sense for this list, but you can't say it isn't weird; and I loved it and recommend it any chance I get.

• The Eleven Million Mile High Dancer, Carol Hill —this book was so wacky and made me laugh. I've not yet managed to successfully recommend it to someone; its brand of odd didn't resonate with the people I know who've read it but that's okay. You could say it's about a woman astronaut whose weird cat disappears into the fourth dimension (or the quantum realm?) and she goes to space to save him—but that makes the book sound more straightforward and less messy than it is. Her cat leaves her a note before he disappears:

• The Bald Soprano, Ionesco —fun fact, there's a tiny theatre in the Latin Quarter in Paris where this absurdist play has been staged every night for nearly 70 years, with the exact same set design and costumes and everything, like the actors are stuck in a time loop. They celebrated the 20,000th performance this year! There's an actress who has been playing her character for 40 years and said joining this theatre was like joining a religion. I've been going to see this play as a New Year tradition with my best friend since we were 14, so I love it madly, though I wouldn't say it's good, necessarily—the author said it was about "absolutely nothing, but a superior nothing."

• Statuary Gardens; or Les Mers perdues (apparently not translated) by Jacques Abeille. This man is obsessed with weird statues. Unfortunately I find his writing style rather dull—I feel like he takes strange ideas and makes them feel mundane in a bad way...! But his books still have a nice, quiet, oneiric atmosphere, and images that stayed with me, like a solitary gardener trying to grow stone statues in the depleted soil of a walled garden. Here are some illustrations from the second one:

I'll look into some of the books recommended on my previous post! (and I agree with the people who brought up Cortázar, Borges, and Junji Ito. <3) Some potentially-odd books I have on my to-read list: Clive Barker's Abarat, Goran Petrović's An Atlas Traced by the Sky, Salvador Plascencia's The People of Paper, Jean Ray's Malpertuis; Jan Weiss's The House of a Thousand Floors; Brice Tarvel's Pierre-Fendre.

[monamipencil]

when strawberries bloom (teaser)

“When the strawberries bloom, I'll be by your side.”

premise. mingyu is content with his life in the capitol as a victor, although he's haunted by the images of the nightmare he lived ten years ago. but all that comes to an abrupt stop, when he discovers that you—his greatest demise had been alive all this time.

content. hunger games! au, victor! mingyu, f! reader, pseudo major character death, hints of trauma, mingyu is a blink away from alcohol poisoning, capitol shenanigans, mentions of og hunger games characters, this is set in the period of second rebellion, slow burn, jealousy, both of them are in denial, fight scenes, friends to lovers (?) to strangers to enemies (it's one sided) to ???, angst, fluff, crack, smut. heavy fruit metaphor, yearning, pining, happy ending.

warnings. will be added in the fic post.

word count. tba.

release date. around december end.

author’s note. this is a part of the ‘catching fire’ collab hosted by @vitaminkyeom. i'm very excited to write this and share with you guys. though i'm barely done with fic, i thought i'd put out as a teaser to fuel me to finish it. and pls feel free to come to my inbox and scream abt this fic <33 send an ask to be added to the taglist !

Mingyu controls a deep sigh as yet another woman presses herself against him in the name of dancing. He fakes his gaze, pretending to be enamoured. The strong perfume she’d used makes his head throb, and irritate his nostrils. 

The woman whispers sultrily, “I can’t believe I got you all to myself tonight.”

She flutters her eyelashes at him, her hands playing with the tie of his masquerade mask. It only covers the lower half of his face—a skillfully sculpted skull mask, lined with golden chains. He avoids looking at her, eyes darting all over the room to find something to fixate on. 

His lack of attention doesn’t seem to faze the woman as she only steps in closer. He bites his tongue and focuses on the details of the mansion. Gold painting lines the ivory walls that are basked in the dim lights of the party now. Grand, maroon curtains hangs by the arched windows, slightly swaying as the wind flows in. 

Awe turns into confusion which is replaced by disappointment when his eyes land on a glowing liquor fountain. But if he’s really honest, he’s a bit intrigued and his tongue feels dry, aching for the bitter taste of alcohol on it. 

Another shift of his eyes lands on a familiar lady, adorned in a black gown and dancing with an old man. He recognizes you as the lady from the balcony though your face is now obscured with a masquerade mask. Relief floods through his system, if he had to catch another glance at your face, his heart would stop beating once and for all. 

But as Mingyu had discovered long ago, things never really go the way he wishes them to. You turn your head, catching his gaze. Heat floods his cheeks and all the oxygen trickles out his lungs. He sucks in a sharp breath as you maintain eye contact. He doesn’t realise that he had stopped dancing till the woman whines. The sound prickles his skin, sending a shot of annoyance through him. 

All the voices around Mingyu drown out, turning into a mere buzz. A vine wraps around his heart, its thorns puncturing the gentle muscle. He watches as you shift your attention. Your beautiful lips curving into a smile, reacting to whatever the man had said. Your body leaning towards the old gamemaker, drawing attention to your cleavage. Rage courses through his veins along with another feeling. Jealousy. 

The feeling is foreign to him and he can’t even deduce why he’s jealous. Or, he knows why he’s jealous but even that mere idea seems incredulous. Still envy coils in his gut, rattling its tail at him and mocking him. Your eyes land on him again, and his heart skips a beat. 

Just then, the song switches, carrying a seductive note. Soon, the woman is whisked away and not even a second later, you end up in his arms. His hands skate down your silk gown to the small of your back and he pulls you flush against him. The proximity makes your breath hitch and you place your arm on his shoulders, swaying to the notes. Your breaths mingle together, body heat diffusing into one.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system or maybe you look too much like her, but he doesn’t find it in himself to care. With a sudden craving of intimacy, he holds you tight against him and the other intertwines with your left hand as you both sway to the flowing music. 

Any rational thought is chucked out his mind. The more he looks into your eyes, the more you look like her. In contrast to his prior wish, he wants your mask gone now. It obscures most of your face, cutting off near your right cheekbone to expose your right eye. 

He brushes stray hair aside. His soft, manicured nail beds caress the exposed skin off your face. You tighten your hold on him, doe eyes staring up at him with something he can’t pinpoint. His heartbeat quickens, a strange nostalgia permeates the air. Mingyu swears that this has happened before, a sense of deja vu fills his veins. 

Before he could comprehend his own actions, he undoes your mask. The sultry note tunes out into nothingness and the world seems to have stopped spinning. The mask hits the ground with a clank that gets muffled in the shock of the revelation. 

And there stands Kim Mingyu with his long lost lover and best friend who’s supposedly dead. 

You mirror his expression, horror staining your face as you shuffle to retrieve your mask. All while he stands still, going over the millions of possibilities. Why and how are you alive? Or is this a sick joke that someone is trying to play on him? 

You try to slip away from him, but he catches your hand, stopping you in your tracks. His grip tightens when you try to pull your hand away. His fingers brush over a bump on your skin, drawing attention to it. His eyes land on a scar that runs from the palm of your left hand to your wrist. 

Just then, you free yourself from his grip and escape into the bustling crowd of the party, leaving him alone. Though the mansion is filled with hundreds of citizens, an impermeable bubble seems to surround him—as if no one had witnessed what had occurred. It makes Mingyu question whether you’re real or if he made you up, like a mad man. 

send an ask to be added to the taglist !

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: leya's struggles

authors note: this is super short and not anything major. literally wrote this in like half an hour. i could expound on it if people are interested. just wanted to give some insight to what it was like for roso and leya dealing with her ocd when she was younger.

only gonna tag a few people. if i end up expounding on it, i'll tag my usual "everyone" list.

words: 800

masterlist

warnings: angst, depiction of ocd in children

The sound of horns honking startles both Leya and Tama, the latter of which starts to stir in his car seat, single handedly exacerbating an already nightmare of a situation.

“Hurry up!”

It’s a single voice that’s followed up with several others, all expressing the same level of pressure and rudeness.

Solana is seconds away from marching over to the woman directly behind the suv behind her car when Tama’s soft, sleepy voice serves as a deterrent. “Mama, I wanna go home….”

A shared sentiment, one that makes most sense for him, as he’d either be back in bed by now or cuddled on the sofa with her while he takes a nap. 

Obviously, that’s not an option. 

“I know, baby,” she comforts. Solana does take a step back but instead of acting out of character, she directs her clear, unmistakable command to Jacob. “Shut them up.”

With a nod, Solana only catches his face shifting into that infamous scowl as he walks over to the cars lined up behind her, a line that has to be backed out into the street at this point.

With that handled, Solana moves back to the issue at hand. 

Leya continues to cry, sniffling as her little chest moves up and down. Solana can see the tips of her fingers turning red from the repeated, forceful buckling and unbuckling of her seatbelt.

“Leya….” Solana’s voice breaks. As best as she’s doing to maintain her composure, it’s a slowly losing battle. “Baby, it’s okay. We can g—”

“No!” Leya cries, shaking her head, still not looking at Solana as the concerned mother continues to gently stroke her hair. “I gotta—I gotta do it right, mommy, or something bad will happen!”

“Cataleya, I promise you nothing bad is going to happen, baby.” A reassuring statement she’s had to have stated at least ten times now over the past almost half hour that’s passed since the start of Leya’s episode. “But, you have to get out the ca—”

“No!” Leya begins to cry harder, once again going to remove her seatbelt, counting to three with her fingers before doing it all over again. A repeated, consistent, obsessive act that’s led to the situation they’re in now. A situation Solana has no idea how to handle. This is the first time it’s ever been this bad.

“What’s wrong, Leya?” Tama asks in his sweet voice, worry filling his little face as he tries to comfort her. Unfortunately, that only does the opposite. Leya cries out and jerks her body away, swatting his helping hand, prompting his bottom lip to poke out as he too starts to cry. 

“Leya, please don’t hit your brother.” It’s hard for Solana to be upset with or even scold her daughter, because she knows Leya can’t help it. Knows that it’s only because anyone else’s touch other than hers feels “wrong” to Leya, thus her reacting the way she did.  “Tama, it’s okay, baby boy. Leya just doesn’t feel good.” 

Solana is sure none of them are feeling good, especially herself, her hand moving to her small baby bump as a sudden wave of nausea washes over her.

God please, not right now.

Of all times, not now.

She just can’t handle this.

Solana moves to open the passenger door and reaches over to grab her cell phone out of the cupholder. Shaking, trembling hands move to Roman’s contact, as she too quickly hits the call button.

Three rings followed by a soft, feminime voice. “Mr. Reigns office, how can I—”

“Shit,” Solana curses and closes her eyes. She dialed his office number instead of his personal cell. “I’m sorry, Alicia, this is Solana. I need you to put me through with Roman.”

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Reigns,” she greets, voice kind but almost unsure. “Ummm—Mr. Reigns is in the middle of—”

“Alicia,” Solana doesn’t hesitate to interrupt. “Get my husband on this line now.”

The woman nervously clears her throat. “Of course.” A pause. “Just a minute.”

And it’s just about a full minute that passes when Solana hears her husband’s deep, baritone voice on the other end. “Solana? What’s wr—”

“I need you to meet me at the school,” she cuts in, emotion in her voice as her eyes start watering all over again. “I can’t—I can’t get Leya out the car. She’s—she’s stuck in a ritual, and I’ve got Tama, and he’s crying, and I can’t—I don’t know what to do.” Her voice breaks at the end, the overwhelming nature of it all finally trampling her

“Mommy, don’t cry,” Tama comforts, eyes focused on Solana from the backseat.

Solana is unsure if Roman can hear their five-year-old, because he’s doing the same, “baby, don’t cry. It’s okay.” It provides some solace but not as much as Solana knowing how to help her daughter could provide. “I’m on my way.”

[venomwrites]

Pure unadulterated post-cannon Christmas fluff/angst to say thank you for being the best readers. On Ao3 too

Caitlyn wakes alone on Christmas morning. 

It’s not strange in itself. The room shuffling that has taken place still has her waking up every morning wondering why she is in her parents bed. Then she remembers it is her bed now. Some mornings it makes her want to cry. A lot of mornings that feeling wins. It’s not where she wants to be. She wants to be back in her room. She wants her mother and father to be in this bed. She wants to feel awkward perching on the edge of it. No, she wants to go back to the days where she refused to perch on the edge of it because that bed was where her parents kissed. But time does not allow her such luxuries. So she wakes to the grander room every morning. And every morning she wonders if she has somehow ran to her parents for comfort like a a child. But the nightmare is not when she is asleep anymore. It greets her every morning. Stretches endlessly in front of her as she looks at the thing she calls a life and wonders if it will ever make sense. 

She doesn’t even remember it’s Christmas until she smells the perfumed soap in the cavernous bathroom. Her parents bathroom is a double, massive thing. Two sinks, two showers, two toilet closets. In the center is a massive tub. It’s completely foreign to her bathroom in everything except color. Everything is settled in different corners. Which is fine by Caitlyn. She refuses to use her old bathroom. To this day, she would rather mess herself than step foot in that place. When the staff had put her things here they had nestled them in the middle, but she had immediately gravitated towards her mother’s side. Now her bottles nestle next to her mother’s. Sometimes Caitlyn mixes them, but she wants to make all those products last. Wants to keep anything her mother touched for as long as she possibly can. It’s foolish and she cannot stop. On days when it is unbearable she washes her hands in the other sink and ignores everything. 

That’s the benefit of having two of everything.

The rest is just drawbacks. 

This room is not designed for one person. Especially not one who lives most days half scooped out. She was not supposed to occupy this room until she could make it her own. And even then, she was not supposed to occupy it alone. This room was her parents, but truly it was her mother’s. And before that it was her grandmother’s. The room is a suite for the head of the house and their partner. It is designed to make the task of running the Kiramman family as easy as possible. Two wardrobes, two desks, endless nooks and crannies and cabinets. Two people are supposed to have a life in here. Caitlyn tried to bring something over to the other side but snatched it back. Her things are sparse on the side she has taken for herself. The other is just bare. Caitlyn doesn’t know who it is waiting for yet, but she cannot bring herself to touch the room and admit it may be waiting for no-one at all. 

Caitlyn dresses in her usual black and heads down the hall. She raps on the door gently but it swings open to reveal an empty room that was once hers. 

She never would have agreed to the move if not for Vi. 

She tucked Vi into her bed after the fight with Warwick and she just never truly left. During those weeks of preparation they would tangle there and talk. Vi brought such life back to the space it made it tolerable. Before that Caitlyn had just occupied a guest room, unable to bear the thought of returning to her own bed. After the fight when Vi had staggered down and walked past the ashes of at least one member of her family, when the medical team had finally released them, she had just staggered back to the bed. Caitlyn would never have given up her room for anyone else, but if Vi was willing to collapse there, then Caitlyn was willing to surrender it. Surrender was somehow the tenant of Noxian warcraft she was drawn to. So she surrendered her girlhood room. Surrendered to her father’s quiet, tearful insistence that she belonged in her mother’s old room. Pressed another key into her unworthy hand and choked out that she would have wanted to give it to Caitlyn herself. Then he retreated as he always did. 

The bare walls of her room seemed ill suited to someone like Vi. But Vi had no things of her own. So Caitlyn has dragged in things she might like when Vi is off on an endless walk or a long-fought over medical appointment. Caitlyn picks out books and pretty things and piles them on the shelves that once held her shooting trophies. She may leave one or two of those there as well. She leaves out a paint set and a ball of yarn, little things that Vi can do with her hands if she wants. Sometimes Caitlyn catches a glimpse of something moved, but she tries to give her privacy. Mostly, Vi reads. The place where she lay next to Vi has become it’s own small library of whatever she is working through at the moment. Caitlyn knew Vi could read, but she also knew she had little access to books. Vi is not fast, she does not sit for hours turning pages. Sometimes Caitlyn hears the sound of something heavy and book like hitting the ground. But then it is always picked up a moment later. 

Caitlyn doesn’t care, Vi can burn the books for all she cares. But Vi handles them with upmost care. When she’s finished she leaves them in a neat stack on the table by the door and Caitlyn makes sure they are always replaced if she is unable to do it herself. 

Today there is just a note there with a single word on it. 

Kitchen

As Caitlyn makes her way down, the hallway takes on a wonderful smell. Savory, sweet, tempting. Caitlyn has been eating when she is hungry or when it’s insisted, but she can’t remember the last time she felt her stomach rumble with want. The gurgle is almost embarrassing. But no-one is here to hear it. Actually, when Caitlyn glances around she realizes the house is shockingly empty. There is usually a skeleton staff on the holiday at least. Maybe they were lured in by the smells coming from the kitchen. Caitlyn realizes the kitchen she’s walking towards is not the polished one for entertaining but the one the staff uses more regularly. One where they can make a mess and no-one will see. It’s a large, rectangular room with an island in the middle and appliances tucked on the sides. It’s always warm thanks to the stove that hums in the corner. Caitlyn was petrified of it as a child. Even now she rarely comes down here. But she can tell that is where Vi is. 

Actually, it’s where everyone is. 

Staff, her father—everyone is gathered around a table filled with food. There’s meat and rolls and golden brown cakes with butter and syrup. But more than that there’s Ionian dishes from Caitlyn’s childhood. Congee and dark marinated eggs and green briny seaweed sprinkled with sesame. She enters and no-one looks up. No conversation stops. People glance at her but only to see her come in. It’s strange to enter a room and not destroy the sound of chatter like taking a needle off a gramophone. It just continues around her. Caitlyn swallows against the lump it brings to her throat and finds the culprit easily amongst the chaos. Mostly because one of the cakes goes sailing up in the air and she catches it in the pan she’s holding to voracious cheers. 

���Hey,” Vi says with something almost resembling a smile, “merry Christmas. I made some of everything.”

“It smells wonderful,” Caitlyn says politely as her stomach makes the rudest noise. She can feel Vi watching as she picks up one of the bowls. Caitlyn is determined for it to be wonderful, but she’s caught off guard when it actually is. Texture, flavor, all of it is flawless, “how on earth—“

“You left a cookbook,” Vi says with a proud shrug, “I just followed the instructions,” she clears her throat, “it’s gotten better though.”

“It was good from the start!” Someone calls and Caitlyn realizes much more work went into this than she thought. 

“Save some room,” Vi says as a ding rings out. She hefts a tray of scones from the oven and Caitlyn’s mouth waters at the sight. Especially when she spots the pot of blueberry jam on the table, “your dad said it was your favorite,” Vi tells her. 

“What’s yours?” Caitlyn asks. She hadn’t even thought Vi was eating, let alone that she was cooking. Vi gives her half a genuine smile and jerks her head towards the skillet on the stove, “share that with me.”

Something lights in Vi’s eyes and she nods. Vi likes her pancakes dripping with butter and syrup. There have to be at least two though, so the butter melts between them. They are tangier than Caitlyn ever remembers and completely delightful. Vi is suspicious of the scone when Caitlyn holds it out, but agrees to take a bite. She seems equally surprised and delighted by the taste and texture. Despite never making them before, she’s managed to do it nearly perfectly. People come in and out of the room through the morning as they try each other’s favorite dishes. It’s a new sensation to learn each other. Somehow it’s the easiest conversation they’ve had since Caitlyn lost her eye and Vi lost everything. Jinx’s name even slips from Vi’s lips a few times without the gut punch of emotion that usually follows it. The only miss between them is when Vi wraps some kind of cured meat around a briny pickle. Both of them immediately decide it’s too salty and choose something else from the spread. 

“Who told you to do that?” Caitlyn questions. 

“Ekko,” Vi says, taking a large sip of tea, “do me a favor and say you loved it if he ever asks.”

“Is he coming?” Caitlyn asks, looking around. 

“Here? Nah,” Vi says, “I wouldn’t bring him to your house.”

“You live here too,” Caitlyn points out. Vi shifts her weight and shrugs.

“Yeah but—“ she mumbles something that sounds like fancy.

“So bring him here,” Caitlyn says with a shrug. Vi looks surprised. Caitlyn isn’t sure why unless she considers that Vi has only witnessed people coming through the front door and being led to the sitting parlors, “you know you can bring people wherever you want, right?” Caitlyn asks gently. 

“Course,” Vi says, her finger fidgeting on the tabletop, “yeah I just figured—“

“Vi I brought you in through a window,” Caitlyn points out. Vi still looks hesitant, “you weren’t the first. You can bring Ekko into the kitchen.”

Vi is silent for a moment. Caitlyn braces herself for whatever Vi is abut to say. But her face breaks into something not miserable. Something almost mischievous. 

“That’s why the lock was broken on your window,” she says and snaps her fingers, “that’s why your mom looked annoyed.”

Caitlyn drops her head to her folded arms as Vi laughs. The sound catches her off guard, though not as much as the laugh it pulls from her own lips. The notion that Vi was able to see past the shotgun to her mother’s annoyance makes a warm feeling settle in her chest. She raises her head to see the first genuine smile she’s seen on Vi’s face in a long time. It echoes on her own as they laugh. For once Caitlyn doesn’t think about sitting up straight. She lets her head drop into one of her hands and gives into the urge to press the heel of it to her currently empty socket. It’s a constant urge, one she’s fighting not to become a nervous tick. But at the moment it feels wonderful to just sit in the warm kitchen with Vi and be comfortable. Even Vi’s posture has shifted to something more relaxed as they chuckle about her mom’s annoyance at Caitlyn bringing girls through the window. 

“It’s your room now,” Caitlyn says, “I invite you to continue the tradition of bringing people through the window,” she motions, “it will probably be easier for Ekko on that board.”

“Yeah,” Vi says and seems to perk up a bit, “maybe, yeah.”

Fully fed and pleased with this turn of events, Caitlyn picks up the gift she tucked under the chair and holds them out to Vi. 

“Since we’re exchanging,” she says motioning to the food. Vi hesitates, “I picked them out myself,” Caitlyn adds. 

Vi takes them in her hands with a mumble of thanks and undoes the red twine. Caitlyn forwent all the fancy papers and wrapped them in simple brown. She can’t help but watch as Vi tears one of the corners carefully. Her face shifts and the paper comes off the first parcel much more quickly. She turns the book over in her hands and slides her fingers into one of the dented letters, looking at the list of words that spiral across the page. Her eyes light up with a hunger that has nothing to do with food and Caitlyn feels a beat of pleasure. Vi is smart, but Caitlyn knows some of the books use words she might not be familiar with. The dictionary is the only book that has not moved from the shelf, as though Vi does not want to admit some of them are strange. But the books Caitlyn hears her throw in frustration are ones Caitlyn often needs a dictionary for. 

“I figured you needed one you could mark up,” she says. 

“This is—“ Vi swallows, “thanks,” she says and the tone is so sincere it makes Caitlyn’s heart ache. She picks up the second package and tears the paper a little more carelessly this time, but Caitlyn can see when it clicks on her face what she’s holding, “no way,” she breathes. Her head flies up, “how?”

“Abuse of power?” Caitlyn says. Vi’s eyebrows shoot up, “and Sevika.”

The name makes Vi’s throat bob but her focus is drawn back to the book. All things considered, it was a mild abuse of power. Just a bribe really to get into the Enforcer archives. It wasn’t like anyone was actually doing anything with the contraband from an old half war. She had made Sevika aware of it’s existence and she had immediately demanded access. She was part of that fight. She took most of it back to Zaun, where it belonged. Where it always should have been. Caitlyn had simply smoothed the wheels so the Enforcers didn’t kick up too much of a fuss. Sevika had almost yelled when she had asked if there was anything in there of importance to Vi. Caitlyn had learned it was a good idea to let Sevika yell first, then let her consider the request. Then she had told her she had no idea. Then two weeks later she had dropped the book on Caitlyn’s desk. She didn’t bother saying what it was, Caitlyn didn’t need to ask. It took longer to have it properly cleaned up from the dust and decay of sitting in a box. But every cent had been worth it to see Vi reverently brush her fingers over the cover. 

“What is it?” Caitlyn asks. 

“You didn’t look?” Vi says. Caitlyn shakes her head. Vi gets up and comes around to her side of the table, sitting on the seat next to hers and thumbing open the book. Caitlyn is surprised to see pictures accompanying the words, “our families would pass it around when there was a new kid,” she says, “so you could read a crying baby to sleep,” a smile tugs at her lips as she looks at the page, “when Mom said she was gonna have a baby, I was so excited because I knew it’d be our turn,” she lets out a laugh, “I think I was more excited for this than I was for Powder.”

“May I?” Caitlyn asks and moves the book before Vi’s tears can stain the pages. Vi wipes messily at her cheeks, “did you read to her?”

“No, I’m shit at reading aloud,” Vi says, “I remember telling my mom she had to show her the pictures though. I really liked those.”

Caitlyn does not know how to comfort her. She knows they are not just sad tears, that Vi’s memories usually bring them up. Risking it, Caitlyn tucks a piece of hair behind Vi’s ear. Just something to let her know she’s there. Vi sniffles and wipes again at her cheeks before looking over at her with a wet, honest smile. 

“Thanks, Cupcake,” she says, “these mean a lot.”

For the first time in her life Caitlyn helps with the dishes. 

Vi takes pity on her and assigns her drying duty. Caitlyn knows better than to point out someone else can do this. Vi won’t hear of it. Vi scrubs, she dries and then Vi directs her where things go. By the time they are done, Caitlyn half knows her way around the kitchen. That is also incredibly strange, but Caitlyn tries to commit it to memory. It wouldn’t be terrible to make a cup of tea down here every so often. Especially if this is where Vi spends a lot of her time. Vi makes sure her hands are dry before she gathers her precious books in her arms. Caitlyn has seen Vi lift impossibly heavy loads with and without the Gauntlets, but she wraps both her arms around the books like they might fall away. They both go back to their rooms to attend to various things and Caitlyn expects Vi will go on one of her long walks. There’s some silly bead of hope in her heart that maybe Vi will invite her along. But she pushes that aside. She knows those walks aren’t for her. Maybe one day, but not yet. It’s something that makes physical therapy a bit more bearable as she learns to navigate her new world. 

Still, her heart jumps when there is a knock on her door. 

“Come in!” She calls and watches Vi step into the space. 

She doesn’t spend a lot of time in the room. Caitlyn can’t blame her. She’s lucky Vi was willing to accept her old room and she half thinks that’s only because it was somewhere she could navigate to and from with minimal help. This room is worse somehow. It’s even more grand. The ceiling is set with colored glass that sends rainbows across the polished floors. It takes two fireplaces to give it any kind of heat and Caitlyn thinks when it is empty when she one day changes it, there will be an echo. The only part of the room Vi ever lingers near is the balcony. It’s still set with the small table and two chairs from when her parents would sit every morning before the day began. Caitlyn hasn’t set foot on it. Vi’s eyes sweep the grandeur and the balcony before they settle on her. Caitlyn turns to face her but Vi doesn’t cross the room. She half fidgets in the empty space, her book of fairytales clutched to her chest. Her eyes are still reddened but there’s a set in her shoulders that makes Caitlyn aware she’s come to some decision. Feeling oddly nervous, Caitlyn pushes herself to her feet and stands on her side of the room. 

“I don’t want to bring anyone but Ekko through the window,” Vi says and Caitlyn’s heart begins to race, “I know there’s a lot going on and you’re sleeping here now but—I’m not bringing anyone else through the window.”

“I’m sleeping here so you can be comfortable,” Caitlyn blurts out. 

Vi swallows and runs her fingers over the edge of the book, like she’s drawing comfort from it. They tighten on the corner and she looks almost nervous for a moment. 

“I thought I could—“ she jerks her head towards the empty shelves, “if it’s okay with you.”

“They’re yours,” Caitlyn says without meaning to. Then she realizes what she’s said and has to fight the urge to throw herself off the balcony, “I—“

“Yeah, okay,” Vi says simply. 

As if Caitlyn has not just said the most embarrassing thing. She says it as if she knows it too. Caitlyn realizes she may be the only one who was hoping and everyone else just knew. She watches as Vi walks over to the empty shelves. Caitlyn realizes it’s not just the fairytale book in her arms. There’s that one, two cookbooks and a book on cartography. Vi settles them on the shelves sandwiched between two heavy metal bookends that made Caitlyn think of her tattoo. It’s just a corner of the shelves but immediately they look better. Vi considers her handiwork calmly as Caitlyn stares at it with a pounding, hopeful heart. Then Vi takes the fairytale book from the shelf and walks over to the empty desk. She pulls out the chair and seats herself in it, shifting her weight on the upholstery to get comfortable. She winds up with a knee drawn to her chest in what Caitlyn’s learning is a comfortable position for her. She thumbs open the book as Caitlyn sits back in her own desk. Whatever she’s supposed to be doing is forgotten as she looks at Vi sitting there. Vi is aware of her gaze but is focused on the book. So Caitlyn forces herself back to her own work. 

“We can change anything,” Caitlyn says to the paperwork, “make it our own when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Vi says quietly, eyes still on the book, “can Ekko come through the balcony?”

Caitlyn is silent long enough for Vi to glance over at her. 

“That lock isn’t ‘fixed’,” Caitlyn says finally and Vi snorts out a laugh, “I wasn’t planning on sneaking in when I took this room!” Caitlyn defends hotly, “if Ekko comes though the balcony you’d have to actually unlock it from the inside.”

“Noted,” Vi says and turns the page. 

Suddenly the life that stretches out before Caitlyn seems a bit less impossible and a bit less scary. She tries to imagine the room with a tangle of Vi’s books and her things. Closets jumbled together because they will probably keep things like gear in the other. Mornings at the sink and night in the bed. Her throat tightens at the thought of coffee on the balcony and one day the sound of smaller feet running to their bed in the middle of the night. She’s not sure she deserves the thought of any of it, but when she glances at Vi’s half smile, she knows she probably never was worthy of it. Not with someone like Vi. But Gods, Vi is worthy of all of it. Deserves all of it. And if she wants it to be with Caitlyn, Caitlyn vows that she will rise to the occasion. But for now, it’s just nice to sit in the room at the two desks. She’s glad it feels nice. At some point Vi uses the bathroom and settles into a chair by the window. She’s a bit closer but it only takes a minute for Caitlyn to move to the neighboring chair. 

“What are you working on?” Vi asks. 

“Staff payroll,” Caitlyn says. Vi actually looks interested though Caitlyn finds it unbearably boring, “do you—“ she holds up the paper. 

“You can show me another time?” Vi offers, “if you’re busy—“

“I don’t mind,” Caitlyn says. Vi swallows but the interest doesn’t wane from her eyes. Caitlyn doesn’t know what possesses her. Maybe the books on the shelf or the fact that Vi is sitting here, “it’s a lot to learn,” she warns, “but it would be easier if we went slow,” she tries to smile against the sudden burning in her eye, “I wouldn’t recommend learning it all at once alone.”

“Cait,” Vi is suddenly half on the chair with her.

She wedges them tight together. It makes the burning worse but Caitlyn fights the urge to cry. Vi has been stupidly wonderful and Caitlyn doesn’t want to burden her. Not when Vi has lost everything and Caitlyn is only dealing with the consequences of her own foolishness. This is Vi’s first Christmas with them and Caitlyn wanted to make it special. Instead she’s fighting tears as Vi wraps her arm around her shoulders and presses her lips to her temple. 

“You’re not alone anymore,” she says in that firm, convicted way of hers. Caitlyn shakes her head, “I’m here.”

“No,” Caitlyn protests, “you shouldn’t be taking care of me,” she sets the paper down and wipes her cheeks, “I suppose payroll really does bore one to tears,” she says, fumbling for the humor even though it feels dangerously like she might sob. 

“Great,” Vi says and takes the paper, “I need to start with something boring before we get to the hard stuff.”

“But—“

“Hang on, I need to concentrate,” Vi says and tightens her arm around her shoulders. 

If she’s not talking though, then there’s nothing to do but choke on her sobs. And if there’s nothing to do but that, then at some point her body forces her simply to cry. Even though she’s been dreading it with the lack of an eye. It feels terrible, as crying usually does. The lack of an eye is worse but the feel of Vi’s arm around her shoulders is better. Somehow it puts her back even with the miserable tears that remind her she’s powerless against some things. 

“Gives us a minute!” Vi calls and Caitlyn realizes someone has knocked. But Vi holds her close so she can be tearful in peace. She somehow lets Caitlyn have privacy and let’s her know she’s not alone, “tell me how to help,” Vi murmurs into her hair when the tears have slowed, “I was gonna invite you over to the old room,” she says, “what if we stayed here?” Caitlyn nods.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Vi says, tightening her arm around her shoulders, “I’m sure.”

“I can’t believe I made us both cry your first Christmas,” Caitlyn says, embarrassment churning in her gut, “that wasn’t my intention.”

Vi gives her a long look and then tugs her upright. She guides her over to the bed and spares one fond, annoyed look towards it. Caitlyn rolls her eyes. This bed is even larger than the monstrosity in her room. Despite all her tossing and turning, the other side of the bed is completely untouched. It’s that big. Vi guides her down until Caitlyn’s head is resting on her lap. Her remaining eye still trickles with tears. Vi makes sure her hands are dry and thumbs open the book. Caitlyn realizes she’s already tucked a scrap of paper into one of the pages. When Caitlyn looks at the illustration, she can see why. Multiple girls are twirling in some kind of ballroom, but two that clasp hands are dressed in pink and blue. 

“I told you I’m shit at this, right?” Vi says. Caitlyn nods and curls her fingers around Vi’s thigh in a silent plea. 

Vi clears her throat. 

And starts to read. 

[fairy-writes]

Hello I don't know if your requests are open, but can I request something for hoshina and Gen?Maybe a bit of angst but ends in Fluff.In this scenario his in a relationship with the reader,but the reader has had a very rough past which ended with their entire family being killed in a Kaiju attack.And they sometimes get nightmares about their family,they reveal the reason why they joined was for revenge they want to kill every existing Kaiju.Their reckless in the battle field,don't care about their life and suicidal.During a mission they were protecting their fellow soldiers and taking down maybe a numbered Kaiju,they ended up getting a very life threatening injury but luckily recovered.

You can choose if you wanna make this dw- I just want some angst with fluff rn 🏃🏻‍♀️💨.

HAVE A NICE DAYYY

FIGHTING TOOTH AND NAIL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8

Pairing(s): Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

Narumi Gen x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Overworking, Nightmares, Suicidal Tendencies, Gore

Notes: Doing this a bit differently, the beginning scenario is the same for both Narumi and Hoshina. The hospital bit is where it varies. 

I did already do a similar scenario with Narumi on my page. It’s titled “Running Away From What?” if you wanna check it out :)

The scenario part went a bit longer than I hoped, so I cut them off a bit prematurely, mostly because I didn’t want to overwork my already overworked brain. 

Make sure to read the tags!

__________________________________________________________________________

In the world of kaiju extermination, it was well-known that you were a workaholic. Even more so than most people. You got up earlier, stayed later, and trained with any scrap of free time that you had. You weren’t particularly powerful when going up against powerhouses like Ashiro Mina, Narumi Gen, or Hoshina Soshiro. But you still pulled out enough power to be a formidable opponent in your own right. 

You were scrappy, clever, and quicker than most. But that didn’t mean you had magically gotten that powerful. No. You earned every percentage you pulled out by fighting tooth and nail and with broken bones. In short, you earned your team’s respect. 

If only you could eradicate every damn kaiju on the planet with that power. 

But that was going to be more challenging than you thought. 

The battlefield was chaos. People were getting hurt, dying even. 

And in the midst of all of it, you were frozen. Your grip on your weapon was loosening, slipping from your fingers, and it took all your mental strength to keep from dropping it. You stared blankly at the kaiju before you. 

It was on the smaller side when it came to kaiju, though it was still the size of a horse. It stood on all fours, with a long tail swinging back and forth and blistered skin melting into bulging muscles. There wasn’t a single hair follicle in sight, leaving the skin covered in pustules and blisters that oozed green liquid. It stunk, the overwhelming scent of infection making you gag through your respirator. The beast’s face was corpse-like and looked pieced together with loose skin and a mouth full of broken teeth. 

The monster was disgusting. But the smell of its breath brought back memories of bodies torn in half and fires consuming your childhood home. 

Your name being called broke you out of your stupor, and you tightened your grip on your weapon. Turning ever so slightly, you spotted a comrade in arms running toward you. 

“The kaiju is a daikaiju! It’s rated an 8.0! We have to—” Quick as a whip, the beast’s tail swung around and cut your comrade in half. The light abruptly dies in their eyes, and the top half of their body topples to the ground with a wet thump. 

Abruptly, a raging fire bursts within you, and you grit your teeth, ignoring the bile rising in your throat from the stench, and you leap forward, ready to vanquish this monster that killed your fellow soldier. 

Hoshina Soshiro

The light scorched your retinas when you opened your eyes. 

So you did the logical thing and closed them again. 

But the quick glimpse told you what you needed to know. 

You were in the hospital. 

The beeping of the heart monitor didn’t take long to start driving you up the wall, and part of you was tempted to try and turn it off. 

But you knew you were in no condition to do anything but lay there. 

It was then that the door opened, and someone swept in with the force of a hurricane. 

“How are they?” 

Soshiro. 

He sounded upset, which was odd for him. In all your years of being together, you could count on one hand the amount of times he had been upset around you. 

“Same as yesterday. There was a blip in their heart rate a moment ago, but it’s back to normal again.” Someone said—a doctor or nurse, maybe?—and you felt someone adjust something attached to your arm. Perhaps it was an IV?

The medical personnel left, leaving you alone with your fiancé. You immediately felt his hand in yours as he sat at your side. His hands were calloused, as were yours, but you could practically feel the grime from the battle. 

Had he not showered since the battle?

How long had it been anyway? 

“Y’know, I really wished you’d wake up… So I can both reprimand and congratulate you.” Soshiro said with a breathy laugh. His hand squeezed slightly, tangling his fingers with yours, and you felt him press his mouth against your knuckles. 

You fought to open your eyes again. This time, it felt as if your eyelids weighed a million pounds. They wouldn’t cooperate. You couldn’t get your body to do anything you wanted. 

Until��� Your eyelashes fluttered.

A gasp. Your name being exhaled on a breath. Like a wish on the wind. Soshiro’s hand tightened again around yours. 

And then light. 

Narumi Gen

(He still doesn't get a gif. I still don't like his anime design)

How were you alive? 

At least, you assumed you were alive. 

You were pretty sure the afterlife didn’t have this damned beeping all the time. 

There were two types of beeping. 

The first kind, which you knew well, was the beeping of Gen’s handheld gaming device. 

And the second? You also were very familiar with it—the beeping of hospital machines.

“I know you’re awake.” Yup. That was Gen. So, you agonizingly peeled your eyelids open and tried to look over to the side. 

Keyword being tried. 

There was a neckbrace around your neck restricting your movement. So you settled with groping with your free hand that didn’t have an IV in the back of it for Gen’s hand. He obliged you and took it, pausing his game and setting it aside to focus on you. 

You could tell without even looking at him that he was upset. You told him as much, and he scoffed. You could see the ruffling of his hair in your periphery as he ran his free hand through the black and gray strands.

“No shit, Sherlock. You almost died. Of course, I’m mad.” He snapped, and you closed your eyes because you couldn’t do much else. 

“Did I at least kill that motherfu—”

“Worry about something else for once!” Gen bit out, and your mouth shut. 

The situation dawned on you as Gen started to speak, explaining what happened after supposedly watching the surveillance. 

You almost died five times. Twice when fighting the number kaiju. You remembered those moments just fine. And three times, when your heart stopped those three separate times on the way to the hospital. You didn’t remember this. You remembered gutting the monster and killing it, but after that, it was just… Blank. 

Had you really come that close to death? 

Hearing Gen’s voice crack, something that never happened, cracked your heart, and you squeezed his hand. 

“I’m sorry.” You croaked and heard him sigh. 

“Just… Don’t pull something like that again… Okay? I almost lost you.” He said softly, and you felt a tear streak your cheek. 

“Promise.”

[tokiwarcube]

Baby, It's Cold Outside

It's getting cold out, and as luck would have it, you seem to have forgotten your jacket at home. Thankfully, your lover is here to help!

[Just some quick headcanons about the boys lending you their jacket... or their own equivalent. All boys + Charles!]

Charles Foster Offdensen

Bold of you to assume he’d let you forget your jacket at home. It’s cold outside and you’ll be walking at the end of the night; therefore, you should bring a jacket. Yes, he understands that it doesn’t go with your outfit. He’ll hold it for you, if you want.

Unfortunately, he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. And so, when the end of the night comes and you’re trying not to shiver (God forbid you admit he was right), he’ll still give you his jacket. The quiet, sassy part of him wants to say something, but he holds his tongue when he watches you pull your arms through the sleeves out of the corner of his eye. He’d prefer you stay warm, but he can’t lie — he does love the image of you in his jacket.

Nathan Explosion

This man is a spaceheater, but that doesn’t mean he likes the cold. He grew up in Florida, for Christ’s sake — a Winter day under 70 is a nightmare, to him.

Once he gets over his whole complex with wearing jackets, he refuses to part with his own once the weather gets chilly. But… well, you’re an exception. There’s a better solution to this, though! Press yourself against his side so you can share — believe me, he absolutely does not mind this compromise.

Pickles the Drummer

He left home early, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember the winter wasteland that was Wisconsin in December. He much prefers the sunny weather of LA, and while he much prefers the life he leads now… he won’t lie, he misses the Winter sunshine.

After he quit S&B and joined Dethklok, he became basically glued to his jacket in the colder months. Half of it isn’t even because he’s terribly cold, persay — it’s half out of habit. He’s always waiting for the weather to turn into a blizzard, like it would back in Wisconsin. This is all to say that while he can tolerate the cold, he’s always prepared. So when you’re out on the town, and things get chilly… he’s surprisingly willing to hand over his coat to keep you warm. He’s not giving it up without payment, though… He deserves a kiss for his forethought, right?

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

You’d think growing up in the Swedish taiga would have prepared him for American Winters… and to be fair, you’re not wrong! He has a pretty good tolerance to the cold… but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like staying warm. You can scarcely find him without a sweater and a jacket when Winter rolls around.

When you’re caught out without a jacket, he’s stuck between teasing you for your forgetfulness and playing the hero. He makes the best of both worlds by giving you exactly three teasing jabs — one when he catches you shivering, one when he pulls you to his side to share his coat, and another when you relax into his hold.

Toki Wartooth

You know, it’s funny — Toki is the most resistant to cold of the bunch (and, subsequently, is always the first to offer his jacket to you when you’re cold) and yet, he’s the one who needs it the most. He genuinely struggles to tell when he’s cold, which would ordinarily be fine, but unfortunately its a bit of a risk due to the whole diabetes thing.

One one hand though, this makes you fantastic at making sure you both keep warm in the Winter months. He’s prone to either forgetting it, (or let's be honest, leaving it entirely due to his massive ego around the subject) and thus, you’re in charge of making sure he brings a coat to your winter outings. And that means that you need to bring one too, because if you forget your coat, he’ll be offering his own, and he refuses to take “no” for an answer. And hey, you can still hold hands in his jacket pocket. Win-win!

William Murderface

He likes the cold, but this is just excessive. He tolerates it pretty well, up until it starts snowing, and that’s when he starts getting sick of the weather. He rarely brings a jacket with him out of sheer ego, but he does like a good sweater. He gets better about bringing a coat over time though, especially when he realizes your propensity to forgo your own.

That is to say, he loves giving you his jacket. He both does, and doesn’t, make a big deal out of it. He doesn’t hold it above your head, but he definitely makes a little noise of importance as he shrugs it off to hand to you. It’s just a good thing he runs so warm, huh? No big deal, all part of the job. (He’s very proud of himself.)

[effervescent-fool]

took him all of five minutes to figure out he could get on top of the mattresses

he is very pleased with himself

[gwalch-mei]

what is the round table but the worlds biggest blunt rotation

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Melatonin

A FluffyNight drabble to celebrate reaching 50 followers on this account. It's pretty short & not beta read, but I think it's alright for being written in one sitting. Happy reading!

Beep! Beep! Beep! The sound of Ccino's alarm forced him awake, pulling him out of the pleasant dreams he had been having. Even now, Ccino could feel them slipping from his skull, leaving him wondering what exactly he had been dreaming about.

The continued beeping of his alarm pulled him from his thoughts & Ccino groaned, pushing his face into his pillow. Blindly reaching for it, Ccino attempted to turn it off without looking, knocking his hand against the other things on the nightstand before finally managing to push the button to silence it.

Blissful quiet filled the room as Ccino felt Nightmare shift next to him. Arms wrapped around him & pulled him close, holding Ccino close to Nightmare. Ccino smiled sleepily, turning on his side so he faced towards the other. He hummed quietly as he observed Nightmare looking back at him with a lidded socket, an annoyed expression on his face.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Whispering so as to not ruin the atmosphere, Ccino questioned worriedly. Nightmare shook his head & moved slowly, readjusting them both until they were situated comfortably against each other.

Ccino smiled wider & closed his sockets, holding the other in his arms. Together in each other's arms, they both quietly drifted back to sleep.

Bonus scene!

A shrill beeping jolted them both back awake, causing Ccino to jump in Nightmare's arms. Grumbling to himself, he slowly sat up & reached over to the alarm, shutting it off.

Sitting up properly, Ccino stretched his arms above his head & groaned as he heard his joints pop, rubbing the bottom of his sockets with one hand. Picking up his phone & turning it on, his sockets widened in shock as he let out a loud, "Shoot!"

Scrambling & throwing the blanket off of himself, Ccino barely noticed as Nightmare sat up in alarm. "Is everything alright?" Ccino stammered out a reply, mild panic in his voice as he began changing out of his pajamas.

"Everything's fine! We just overslept a bit!" Relaxing slightly, Nightmare observed as Ccino got ready for the day, rushing around quickly so he wouldn't be later than he already was. If he concentrated, he could swear that he heard the meows of hungry cats impatiently calling for their breakfast.

Hastily walking over to Nightmare, having gotten dressed quickly, Ccino leaned over & placed a chaste kiss against his lovers cheek, smiling. "Love you, see you later!" With that he exited the room, leaving Nightmare sitting alone on the bed with only a warm imprint of where Ccino laid as company.

[blueflipflops]

Had a dream where I commisioned a horror digital artist to draw The Guy™ that stars my frequent nightmares and they sent me an uncannily accurate hyper realistic digital art of The Guy™ at its terrifying glory at the POV of me on my bed and its mangled hands on 'my throat' and my hands grasped at its wrists. I sent the dude a 15 minute recording of me screaming and babbling nonsense in terror because i was genuinely suprised and scared that they got The Guy™ so scarily accurate then i sent them like $250 i think. When i turned off my phone, i saw The Guy™ in the reflection of the screen behind me. He lunged at me and i woke up with sore throat and a fever like DAMN

[e-adlirez]

Do you have any thea stilton ocs yourself? tell us abt them!

Uuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh *awkwardly stares at my little OC closet*

Okay so two things about me: 1. I am not typically an OC maker, and 2. I thrive better on bouncing ideas off of other things instead of trying to create characters from scratch. Both of these mean that I don't make OCs particularly often, and the ones I do make mostly end up being antagonists or villains (as I find it easier to make a foil to a protagonist than a protagonist that everything will be bouncing off of). Soooooooo with that preface, allow me to show you my tiny, tiny, tiny collection of TS OCs ^^

The first one is a guy who was made for a concept where the girls go to China for a student exchange and have to deal with China's.... cutthroat education system, to say the least. This character was cooked up by me and my friend @starlight-4eva, and the name he's most known by is "Yi", or "one" in Mandarin. (He does have a proper Chinese name, that being Wáng Wěilóng (王伟龍))

Now, Yi is essentially a product of the aspect of the Chinese education system where everyone is publicly ranked so there is a motive to excel (but also to be super-toxic to those in lower ranks). He is extremely cocky, arrogant, and unfortunately very intelligent. He was in the same school as Violet in China, and he competed extremely fiercely with her for the position of top-ranked student in their class (if this sounds like two kids fighting over a video game leaderboard yeah it is, just imagine it in a school setting and the score is their grades). The rivalry is very one-sided but also not really kinda, since Yi is actively trying to mess with her in their competing, while Violet is mostly just trying to survive in school (and by that I mean bringing her A-game to everything). No cheating in exams though-- Yi is way too good for that! Besides, why cheat when you have psychological warfare?

For the longest time, Violet dominated her class's leaderboard with Yi hot on her heels, but the entire time, Yi wasn't bitter. Named "Er" at the time, he knew that all it took for him to take the top spot was a single screw-up. A single mistake. A single millisecond where Violet let her guard down. And it happened.

Violet fell from first rank to second, and he, now taking the rank "Yi", was ruthless in letting her know all about it, giving her the name "Er", which in Chinese means "two", but also has connotations of inadequacy, worthlessness, and lack of intelligence. He never failed to gloat about it, and as a rattled Violet attempted to regain her top rank, Yi was more than happy to watch "Er" struggle and fail, all while holding an iron grip over his new title.

Violet was able to recover from her fall, but she was never able to regain her top rank. Even in her gaokao, the infamous college eligibility exam, she missed the chance to overtake Yi by 0.1% in score. 0.1% too short.

Mouseford was a good place to heal and open herself up to new people with different ideologies, but in this student exchange, some old wounds burst back open as she finds to her horror that she is not only having the exchange in the same school Yi is studying in for university, not only is she in the exact same class as Yi, but Yi is just as arrogant and smug as ever. He is a walking, talking red flag (a male green tea bitch, if you will), and he does everything he does to make Violet as uncomfortable as possible (down to mild sexual harassment. Nothing too crazy, just him being an unfortunately smartass delinquent who constantly says he and Vi are "tied together by Yue Lao's Red Thread of Fate and flirts with her, knowing full well how uncomfortable Violet is with it. Hey, anything to throw her off her game even by just 0.05% of her 100%. A small number like that is enormous in an exam that's worth 33% of their entire grade in a single subject, right?).

(Here's some old doodles I did of him and Violet in 2021, something something I headcanon that Violet is Year of the Steel Dragon while Yi is Year of the Steel Serpent, something something Chinese dragons are unable to fly when injured on the crest of their head according to some site I don't remember rn, something something allegory to how Chinese communities is basically like playing socially political 3D chess constantly)

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The second one is a bit weird, but you're gonna have to hear me out on this one. If you've seen him in my Artfight, then yes, he technically originated from a Thea Sisters fic concept.

Du Yaoguai/DYG is a snake demon (Chinese demon, not Western), and while his Artfight profile says all, I do have to give a little bit of extra context.

He was supposed to be an antagonist in a fic scenario where the girls, in a Seven Roses Unit thing, crash-land into a fantasy world based on mythical China, and because it's not supposed to be kid-friendly and because the Heavenly Court put a "VIP pass, no VIP no entry" sign in front of the world's barrier, outsiders are to either be killed or kicked out as soon as possible, whichever happens first. DYG, being a human-eating snake demon monster, has his eyes on the girls and would like to have them for dinner, and he's willing to use every trick in the book to get them to fall into his trap. Mansplain, manipulate, manwhore, if you simp I'm not stopping you, but my Artfight rules do apply to him even outside of Artfight

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And finally (for now), this is Olovo.

"But E, I can't make heads or tails of this crappy concept sketch!" Oh, I know.

You'll get to know him eventually :]

Anyway that's it byeeee--

[thevioletcaptain]

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[hjemne]

MOTHERFUCKERS I AM GOING TO SURVIVE THE WEEK FROM HELL 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

[apocalypticdemon]

I am so beyond ready to quit this job. Wednesday cannot come fast enough.

[fluentisonus]

waking up from.a frightening dream at 4am in which a scary book was central which in the dream (could sort of tell I was dreaming on one level) I thoroughly believed was a real book that had been brought up the other day irl & that my dreaming mind was riffing off of bc I had not read yet. but having woken up. I'm not entirely convinced this is the case. and now I'm kind of scared to look it up tbh bc what's worse that it doesn't exist but I've dreamed about it several different nights & it's broken down my dream/reality conscious barrier (& I might dream it again??? this does happen to me) or that it does & I have to live in a world where it exists & I could read it.