#yes... they are all in this verse just for u c;

[deficd]

@immunityfcrged sent “Where she stops...” || Barely Conscious

The girl lays crumpled among the roots, as if some last muscle spasm has coiled her into a ball and then abandoned her there, half-drowned in mud. Ghanima has seen the remains of animal feeds: jagged ribs picked clean, skulls popped free of their sockets— but a living body, not yet finished with its own running, is a rare and dangerous sight.

She squats on her haunches, blade drawn but held along the length of her wrist, and peers through the low branches. The girl’s clothes were city-make, their color lost to grime and soaked through. Her mouth worked in spasms, a frantic gasp that sucked more moss than air. She was young, though perhaps not as young as Ghanima had first assumed.

She creeps closer. Each step is measured and silent, though the roots beneath her squelch with every shift of weight. The stench of fluids, half-rot, half-blood, hugs the chill ground and reminds Ghanima of the nights she has slept, wrapped in plastic, among the burials.

Hisses a warning in the back of her throat and receives no answer. Ghanima cannot see a wound. That is rare, and much worse.

She presses the point of her blade to the girl’s cheek: “You awake?”

[deus-ex-mona]

missing chizuren hours (again)

[euon111a]

B L O O D L U S T

summary: sleep with one eye open, don’t walk alone late at night, don’t trust strange men who show up at your gramma’s door. and definitely don’t move to Mississippi.

warnings: sacrificial pact/curse bond oath, themes of violence, self bloodletting, death, vampirism, supernatural elements, voodoo/occult themes, biting, minor choking/breath play, spitting, blood play.

w/c: < 11k

notes: okay, so ik everybody says this, but yes this is my first time writing, so it’s probably not gonna be perfect. yes, I’m hopping on the sinners train, I’m just original like that. there’s absolutely no use of y/n, this is entirely second pov and specifically afab reader. this also isn’t proofread, and like kinda fast and long so my bad. also, this was supposed to be out like last week, but i got kinda scared of publishing, and kinda hate how this came out, sooo yeah. i don’t have high expectations for this, chances are there might be a part two, but hopefully those who read enjoyed.

You weren’t stupid. You knew real quick what your family was.

There wasn’t a talk, or a conversation ‘bout it, but the older you got, the more clear it became. You knew when you overheard your neighbor talking to his wife ‘bout how your family ‘walks with shadows’, and how the other females of your blood ain’t ever been right in the head. It was there in the way folks steered clear of your doorstep, looked at each other like there was a secret there that only they knew of. You weren’t embarrassed of your family, never had been even when you put two and two together, you knew what you was, and you took pride in it. Safety was a rare thing to come by, and in desperate times, some people just had to do desperate things to keep the ones they loved safe.

That’s just how life was.

Blood was thicker than water, put above all else, and that’s how it’s been for generations. Blood kept you safe, kept you alive, and you didn’t know it at first, but you understand it now. It makes sense. Plus, everybody knew what New Orleans was like, the connection certain people had, the stories, the rituals, the pure energy. Who’s to blame a young couple hundred of years ago to do what they could to keep their children, their grandchildren, and their great grandchildren safe from everything wrong in the world? They did what was needed, and there’s no shame in using your resources wisely.

But everybody’s human, and people make mistakes, so when your older brother came to terms with things and realized his part of the pact was coming up, he got scared, tried to back out. He ran off, tried to get some sort of help and then he just— disappeared. Ain’t nobody know if he died, if he just ran away and got somewhere where the shadows wouldn’t interfere, or if his part of the oath was completed, but nobody’s seen him again. Talk went around about his disappearance, people claiming to hear his voice at night, hearing his screams, the earth listening to them, and then just emptiness as the sun came up. But that was all just rumors. Things grew as quickly as it started, people bringing up the jars your daddy had lined up by the porch, the roots under the porch chairs, the herbs on the windowsill. Then it was bringing up how your family never went to church, always had everything set up for y’all’s benefit, how your momma had slipped up one night and mumbled the same prayer she’d set over you to your father in public. The rumors stopped after a week, just magically went swept under the rug like a dust bunny, but everybody remembered, kept their distance and called out Bible verses to you whenever you stepped into a shop.

Your parents had their stuff packed by the next week, they’d always been waiting for a fuckup, told you to keep on your toes, but after a heavy lightning storm had lit a neighbor’s house on fire, people started suspecting your family. Before you knew it, you was dragged up to Mississippi to your gramma’s for safety and a fresh start. Your parents hadn’t bothered telling you what state they was holed up in, told your gramma to keep it strictly secret and to get you prepared for your “time”. They told you as soon as you was old enough to fully understand, not that ripe age before you finally develop a conscience but the moment before. Told you what was comin’, what had already happened for your momma, for her momma, and for every person born from the same blood before them.

It had to happen, can’t go around tryna change fate no matter how scary it seemed for your feeble mind when they first told you. It’d hurt, it’d be a hard transition, but it ain’t about the pain. It’s about the renewal, the safety. It’s about making sure you stayed whole, had a place among the shadows. So you embraced for the inevitable, learned to live with it.

Now that was five years ago, you’re a grown woman now. Your gramma was smarter at keeping things secret, had a little bouquet of herbs nailed to the front door and a sloppy baron veve etched into the porch wood where the door mat lay. Plus, life was a lil more secretive in the countryside, nobody really went around lurking for things they shouldn’t. Things was simple for a while, you helped her where she needed it, tended to her little shop in town, and she’d mutter that same prayer your momma did before you went to bed every night.

But when you got your menarche, or what your gramma called, “the final binding”, that faux simple life had changed. She shared her deepest secrets and knowledge with you, bathed you in the river, blessed you with her own gris-gris bag, and cut off a small portion of your hair just to set on fire. That night as soon as the stars started littering the sky, she slit open your palm with the same shard of glass she used on your momma, and letting the blood pour down onto the ogou feray she dug in the dirt behind the house. It was as if things shifted right as the blood hit the dirt. The air settled, the flickering of the flames in the fireplace stilled, as if the entire earth around you took a moment to rest, to soak in the warmth of the blood. Your gramma warned you of dreams that night, to not be scared and to be open, to let it happen, to listen to what they were telling you. She told you over and over to not speak, to let the spirits and the shadows do all the talking, that’s all you needed.

There was this change, this tension deep in your gut as if a heavy weight settled in you, like a hug from someone who wasn’t there, but who squeezed on tight to make sure their presence was known. The first man in your dreams hadn’t said anything, not at first. He just watched you, studied you, gazing at you as you struggled to wrap your mind on just how real the dream felt. His eyes bored into your soul as if he was peeling back every aspect of who you were and soaking up the information he learned. He told you to keep an eye out for the night man, but hadn’t told you anything else even when you tried to ask, just cut you off to say that you’d know when you’d see him, that you’d tell yourself before your mind knew, and then you woke up.

Every night’s been the same since your cross into womanhood, your sleep was the only interesting part of your day. When your eyes were closed, you’d be reunited with family members you didn’t know of, talk to people from the past and those who just encountered the cold touch of death. You’d see life as it was beyond dreams, the physical pull of something holding you back from going too far. You dreamt of visions of warnings with symbols of men on fire and rivers of blood, the weight of more than one person lingering in your dreams but only one ever being seen. It hadn’t stopped, kept growing, kept getting more real, more fulfilling, drawing you closer and closer to that magnetized energy that chased after you, but kept hidden behind shadows until it was time.

The heat was particularly heavy today, thick as ever, clinging to you like a second layer. Stuck to you the same way a quilt wraps ‘round you in the middle of the night. Ain’t no wind in the air this time, just the same scorching heat, pressing down like the same warmth of a brand against cattle. The nights had gotten restless, air so damp it’d slip through the cracks of the windows and have you waking up drenched in sweat. Just an endless stream of heat that don’t quit, even when the moon’s settled high up in the dark sky.

Not a lick of shade out in the countryside, nowhere to rest against to hide from the sun, just the same old open land and the same old humidity pressing on your chest. No trees in wrap around and cling to, no wild grass to linger on, just pure sun to skin. 24/7. The fields stretched out in endless rows, plants swaying like dying ashes in the breeze, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. That tiring damp in the summer air that stuck to your every pore thickened the further you went into town. The air was heavier there, clinging to you like a different weight, sticky everywhere you went, like the streets themselves was grabbing hold to you. But ain’t no peace anywhere in the summer, just the constant blend of day to night, the burn of the sun and the heat against your back.

Dust had clung to your shoes, your clothes, your hair, your lungs with every turn of the car had another puff of gravel thickening up the air. Moments like these you were particularly missing home, the weather down in New Orleans never reached as dry as it was in Mississippi. Normally, Mother Nature was less cruel back there, there’d be a week of hotness, but then the weekend would be blessed enough to have a long cloud of rain at night. Today though, it was extra sticky, and Gramma had been mighty adamant on going to town, so you brought it upon yourself to keep her company, despite her complaints against it. The shop smelled of old wood and herbs, the kind of scent that clung to the shelves no matter how often they were dusted. You traced your fingers along the countertop, the grain rough against your skin, listening to the way that momentary silence settled around you. It wasn’t an eerie quiet—just the kind that came when the world outside had dimmed, when the street beyond the window had almost emptied, when the only things left awake was the crickets and the slow hum of the overhead lamp.

“You stay home tonight.” Gramma’s voice was steady and sharp, carrying that same tone that told you that there really wasn’t no room to try to argue against her. She had you perched by the counter like some restless child who didn’t know when to quit, like you wasn’t grown enough to be on your own without her breathing down your back. Your eyes flicked away from the window, quick and ready to ask question after question as to why, but she was already turning away. Already shifting toward the older woman at the shelves, the one running her fingers along misplaced coffee tins like she had nothing else on her mind but finding the right one.

You scoffed—not loud, not reckless enough to be heard neither, just enough to let it sit on your tongue for a second before you straightened up. You settled back in as soon as she returned to the counter. “Gramma, it’s the weekend.”

The words carried, just enough weight to sound like they actually mattered, but she barely blinked, didn’t even react. Didn’t flinch, or pause, or give even the smallest sign that she was reconsidering.

Instead, she dragged that coffee tin against the countertop, tapping her fingers against the lid like the conversation wasn’t worth stopping her movements. “And?” That’s it. It was flat, unbothered, almost bored, and if you wasn’t related to her, you’d genuinely take offense to her tone. Like the weekends had never meant anything to her. Like you wasn’t looking for any excuse to get out the house tonight.

“Weekend don’t mean not waiting.” Your brows furrowed slightly, trying to untangle her words so they made sense. You didn’t even really understand what she meant, and right now wasn’t really time to go ‘round tryna decipher her words. So, you just let her talk, let the weight of the words you didn’t really understand sink in. Eventually you’d actually make sense of her ramblings, but right now wasn’t one of those times.

“Alright, prophet, you got any clearer messages, or am I supposed to just go ‘long with you?” It meant to be a joke, just enough of a tone in your voice so she would’ve known you wasn’t taking her too seriously, but from the look on her face it rubbed her the wrong way. It flattened that sad attempt to humor her and shut you up real quick.

She shifted the tin aside, settled it among the others, before pointing a finger at you like you cursed her head off. “Ain’t my job to spell it out for you.” She didn’t raise her voice or scowl, just went back to cleaning up the counter with a dusty piece of cloth. And that was it. That was all she said. No explanation or soft edges to her words to make you think she was messing with you.

No room for another shit joke.

And no space for argument.

Just her certainty and knowledge that she wouldn’t share with you pressing down like the kind of knowledge that don’t come from guessing, just from years of watching the same thing unfold again and again.

The weekend clearly didn’t matter.

Not to her, so it wouldn’t to you.

And then it was quiet again. Not just cause she was mad or the fact that you was a little scared, but because there was that unease in your gut. The kind you get after waking up from a nightmare. The little jingles of the bells by the door, the slight sniffs customers made when scanning different candles and herbs was the only thing that distracted you. That and the muffled sounds of lively conversation outside. Your gramma must’ve snuck up behind you while you did your best to try to eavesdrop on the conversations that went by ‘cause next thing you know, she’s giving you a quick swat to the back of your head. You jolted in surprise, quickly turning around to face her instead of being nosy as you rubbed the back of your head, fixing her with an annoyed look.

“Junebug, go’n get some more tins— and none of those dented ones again.” You sucked in a slow sigh at your gramma’s order, sharply turning your head to watch her as she busied herself with helping a customer. You hopped off the stool, letting the wood creak under the shift of weight. Your eyes followed her as she slipped behind the counter, fingers tapping against the wall like she wasn’t waiting on you.

“Yes, ma’am.” Words carried out of habit more than anything else, rolling off your tongue without thought. And then you moved, purposefully slow. Like the steps to the back of the shop were new, unfamiliar, weren’t anything other than the same thing you’d done a hundred times before.

Like it wasn’t routine or repetition, just so you could experience something new.

Because Gramma asked.

Because the night hadn’t changed anything yet.

Because you did the same things you’d always done— even when she allegedly knew something was coming to break the cycle soon enough.

Stuck doing the same bullshit routine, everyday, every week.

You had all night to think now. Time to sit and stew in her words. Which wasn’t always a good thing, because the possibilities was practically eating you up. Thinking meant letting every idea come to fruition— the weight of expectation, the uncertainty, the fact there was no turning back. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. Couldn’t afford screwing everything up. Your gramma had left after supper to close up the shop, said she’d come back before to play audience in case tonight was the night. But the echoes of her words still sat heavy in the your heart, pressing against your mind like a reminder.

You’d already cleaned the house two times over, not from the what-if’s or the possibilities, but just out of habit. It was always like this whenever she rambled unexpectedly. Bringing yourself to clean every nook and cranny of the house. To keep yourself from going crazy in anticipation. You hadn’t really meant to, but your body would move before your mind caught up—back and forth, tracing the same stretch of floor like movement might keep you steady. But your hands always needed something to do. Not because it’ll matter, but because control is control, and if you can make sure everything is in place, at least something will feel certain. Something other than wringing themselves over what might happen. Preparing for the unknown ain’t just about routine— it’s about settling the nerves, about making peace with the unknown, about bracing for something that doesn’t come with clear instructions because your gramma wanted to use it as a teaching moment.

Your breath came slow, fingers curling against the countertop, repeating Gramma’s words under your breath to remind yourself that this is just another step, just something possibly meaning to happen. And then you sat, forced yourself to just wait, like stillness and movement kept fighting for the reins of control. Forced yourself to take a breath and relieve the weight in your chest.

You weren’t sure why you were panicking, ain’t like she admitted that tonight was the night, but something in your gut shifted. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the clock— but you noticed the stretches. You could practically feel everything, the way time dragged on, the wind outside, the cool of the night seeping through the window you was standing too close to, just so you could see before you were seen.

Gramma never said it’d come gently, never said it’d be announced— just that it was coming. That’s the way it was with her when she was your age, so you just needed to be ready. You couldn’t let yourself freeze, no matter how heavy the air gets, no matter how much your pulse shifted, you had to force yourself to move, to breathe, to listen. Had to check yourself, to make sure you were there, awake, whole.

After an hour, you made peace with not knowing who will come, how it will start, or what will happen next. You told yourself you were prepared, even if that doesn’t quite feel true. You weren’t scared, or unsteady, or doubtful, just ready for the test. The moment everything would change. You took another breath, long and deep, because what else was there to do?

Just sit.

Just wait.

Just make peace with the inevitable.

Nothing felt different.

Nothing looked different.

But that didn’t mean the weight of it wasn’t pressing down on you. So you waited more, and more. Sat with it for a while. Let it settle. But then two hours came, gramma wasn’t back, and the night man wasn’t here, so you took the liberty to finally make do to your room.

The sun’s set, darkness has come up, the sky black, empty and cloudless. No stars, no moon, just a long stretch of black on an endless canvas. The air’s thick, heavy, weighing down every movement of nature and every breath of the land. The trees connect through their limbs, tangling up into one big blob of wood and leaf. They speak to you, sway with every inhale the ground takes, deep and low. They sob, they weep, they ache, they groan. The wind stops, and for a moment, there’s stillness, no crying, no breathing, just emptiness.

The ground shifts, it moans, hollow and ragged as if life itself is pained just from its own existence. And then the earth inhales, and you’re back home. Everything’s the same, the dining table, the old painting on the wall, the faint crackling from the fireplace, but something’s not right. You can’t move, you can’t breathe, you’re not there. Not really. You’re rooted to the floor beneath you, stuck in time, prisoner to the land as it shackles you through your bones.

And then, a light. Freedom.

You can’t see it, but you can feel it, in your core, running through your veins. It’s hot, warm, a brand burning you beneath your skin, keeping you there. The red glows, vibrant and thick, and then just there, in you. He whispers your name, right there, in your ear, in your head, in you. The heat grows, it’s intense and pulls you down, magnetizing you to his voice. You try to move, try to blink, try to breathe, but you can’t. You try to listen to him, but he’s not talking anymore, you know he’s there, can feel the weight of his gaze even as you can’t see him.

Then— just, nothing.

No darkness, no silence, no weeping.

Just, emptiness.

You wake up to the same emptiness, that gnawing hollowness, that gut feeling of something being terribly wrong when nothing’s gone wrong yet. The house itself was still, like even it knew something was just off. The air was too thick, too quiet, too unmoving. The shutters of the window slapped softly against the glass, a soft ray of moonlight pushing through the wood and onto the raggedy rug by the foot of the bed before bleeding slow into the dark corners. Everything’s the same, everything’s okay, but something wasn’t quite there.

Maybe it was the dream, the heaviness of its weight still settled deep against your ribs. Maybe it was the whispers still lingering in your mind, unintelligible, unknown, but latched onto your chest like a sickness with no name. That silence that stretched too long and too thin finally interrupted. The familiar sound of the front door opening in the distance, shutting with a screechy creak and it was only then when you heard the faint sound of gravel crunching beneath wheels, that you sat up.

The air in the room sat too still, thick with the kinda silence that came when something was taken away from a child and they’re getting ready to unleash all hell. You slowly rose up from the bed, the floorboards silent under your feet. The hallway was too dark and way too empty.

The chair by the hearth was empty, rocking ever so slightly, like it had only just been left by someone. The shadows along the corner of the room shifted, melting into each other before disappearing out the window and into the night again.

Then— three knocks.

Soft, slow, deliberate, like the owner of the hand knew patience, knew you’d answer. For a moment, you wasn’t sure if you imagined it— too caught up in your own mind and the tricks that was surely being played on you. But the air shifted. Like the entire world had stilled and listened, waiting for you to respond.

Then it came again. Three knocks, heavier this time, sharp enough to carve through the prolonged silence.

Through the thin curtain, you could just make out three figures, standing still on the doorstep, waiting— like they’d been expected all along. The moment stretched even further, threatening to snap out like a band. But then you heard it. Finally noticed it.

The silence.

Not just the absence of sound, but something heavier, stretching into your ribs until all you could hear was your own breath, your own pulse beating against your ears. But you were stuck, rooted by the fireplace, caught between the weight in your chest and the whisper in your mind telling you to stay put— to just forget, to sleep, to leave the door alone. But that lump in your throat disappeared, and without thinking, without meaning to, your body moved on its own. Standing by the door, slowly turning your head to the side, you pressed your ear against the cold wood. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, maybe the sound of the wind, the creak of the porch floor, the rustle of fabric against fabric, but there was nothing.

Just a stretch of air.

“Junebug,” the nickname snapped you out of whatever trance you were in, the sound cutting clean through the walls. Your fingers curled around the door knob, not turning, just there, like the weight of your own grip was the only thing keeping you from moving and taking a step back. The voice that called out wasn’t your gramma’s. It had a feeling to it— low, smooth, drawn out just enough to make room for silence, to let it settle in the empty spaces between the syllables. There was another pause. Not long, but long enough— the kind of pause meant to remind you that this wasn’t a dream or a trick of your own mind. “I know you’re awake.”

There wasn’t any rise in his tone, no accusation or teasing in his words. Just fact. Like he knew you were alone, like he knew it had already been decided that you’d be alone, right now, tonight.

You stepped away from the door, staring at it like it would’ve forced the damn thing to tell you what exactly was behind the door. Like if you looked long enough you’d see straight through the wood, past the silence and whatever waited on the other side. There was something different, the living room felt wrong, the walls were off, it was too— raw. Like they was listening to you, like the air itself was watching you, getting ready to judge you for every wrong move you made. You took a slow look around, scanning the room like it was your first time actually seeing it.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for this time. A sign that you weren’t going crazy, or that this was the thing your gramma tried to warn you about. Maybe you were looking for a clue, a strange flicker from one of the wax candles, the same whisper in your head, or some kind of confirmation that this was happening now. They should’ve spoken by now, the shadows should’ve told you what to do, what not to do, but they didn’t. Just kept still and quiet.

It was the test, had to be. You knew it, had to know it. Gramma wasn’t there, wasn’t able to help you no matter how much you needed it right now. She wouldn’t come back to help you, wouldn’t come back to guide you, to remind you what needed doing. And the longer you brewed in your own thoughts, the more you came to realization of what had to happen. You couldn’t be scared, couldn’t run off like your brother did, this was the inevitable.

And then, something inside you just clicked.

You hummed low and certain, not a strangled gasp or a means to fight the truth, but of understanding. Before you even meant to, before your mind even had the ability to second guess, your fingers tightened around the doorknob and twisted. The door creaked open, just enough for the night air to seep into the warmth of the house.

You didn’t know the people in front of you. If you were foolish, and didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought they was some lost folks, some wandering souls who knocked on the wrong door. But you were smart, and you did know better. Hell, you knew what they were before they even introduced themselves. Your gaze peeled off the three shadows in front of you to scan the porch, to the familiar stretch of land in front of you.

She really was gone, her car wasn’t in the driveway, that faint cinnamon smell that lingered on her wasn’t close enough to be smelled. This really was happening. The very thing she’d been getting you ready for this whole time. And that weight, the one that was sat in your bones for as long as you could remember, the one that pressed down to keep you tethered to reality, kept you waiting for what was to come— wasn’t there anymore.

The wind spoke it. The glow in their eyes confirmed it. The energy sealed it. Those whispers and dreams finally came to be.

He was actually here.

“Well now,” a pause, and then a long, slow exhale, like he was deciding whether to speak at all. He tilts his head, just a fraction, not from curiosity or amusement, but just to watch. His gaze slowly drags along you and the space you’ve wedged yourself into, forcing yourself to block that small gap between the door and the doorframe. “Ain’t exactly the way to treat company, now is it?” The tone in his voice was what set you unnerved, like he had all the patience in the world, like he knew you’d eventually open the door, but the look on his face told something different. You saw it, it was quick but deliberate enough for you to see the glow in his eyes, the weight to them. He didn’t say anything after, let the silence drag on as he watched you, not rushing or giving you a look that demanded you to answer.

“You gon’ kill me?” Quick to the point. The one to the left of him let out a little sigh, maybe it was amusement, maybe it carried something deeper that you just couldn’t catch. The kind of sigh someone releases from the same question being asked over and over again. The night man barely looked over to her, had barely attempted to reassure you, to actually acknowledge it. Just glanced back at you, a quick flicker before turning back to the open door. Then with a measured breath, a subtle shift forward before finally speaking, his voice low and deliberate.

“That what you think this is?” No frustration. No sharpness. Just a question without a question mark, something that didn’t need an answer but demanded one anyway. The silence pressed on again, like everything around you wanted you to answer first. You weren’t sure now, not with the way his lips twitched up, not a full smile, just the suggestion of one. You waited again. Waited for something else, a whisper to guide you, for the wind to say what needed saying.

But nothing came. Just more silence and waiting. And the man was watching, watching like he already knew what would happen, already saw how this would play out and how it’d end.

“Aren’t you?” He let your question settle— didn’t push you to say anything else, just let the air stretch as his eyes shifted towards the people on either side of him. Then, a slow shift. Not much, just the slightest lean back, just enough to make it feel like he was really listening to you, like he was actually considering the words before deciding whether they’d mean anything at all. And then, the same flicker of a smile, like he was testing how long you’d hold out before deeming the silence to be too heavy to carry.

His eyes followed your every move. Even when you glanced back into the safety of the house, even when your gaze flickered down to your feet as you thought to yourself. You didn’t need to look up to know, you could feel it. Like he hadn’t moved at all, but somehow, with that silence, he was closer to you.

“That really what you wanna ask me?” You finally looked up, eyebrows furrowing at his question. You gave him the slightest shake of your head, not of certainty that you could’ve asked something else, but because you forced yourself to accept that you asked the wrong question. That much was clear. He made it clear. You nibbled on your bottom lip, pressing your teeth against it, trying to hold onto something physical to keep your mind from running in circles. And suddenly, the only thing you could think about was what gramma would do. Digging through your every thought, every rule and every warning you’ve been taught for this very minute.

What should you be asking?

What were you supposed to know?

What could you do so he wouldn’t stare at you like that— like he was waiting to see how you’d hold up before you overthought his very presence?

Nothing came. No pull in your chest, no reminder or flicker of knowing. Just that same hollow stretch.

“Don’t reckon I ever learned the right thing to ask.” You admitted hesitantly, rubbing the side of your neck as you pressed your lips together. A rough, vibrating sound left the man, something that came deep from his throat and rumbled into the air. Half a laugh, but heavier than one, more felt than heard. Or maybe the kind of laugh that never really forms, just the edge of it, that slight drag at the end, turning into something that was just shy of a growl but had some sort of bite to it.

And then finally, the sound— the ragged drag of breath, the edge of something close. It lingered in the air, and then a whisper. Right against your ear.

“Antre.”

Just there, curling against your skin like breath in the cold winter air. Like the moment has already moved forward before your mind could realize that it was. It was the push you needed. It’s fate. The thing you needed to get the safety you needed.

The whispers were done now. There wasn’t nothing left to try to negotiate, nothing left to question. They spoke for you, and it was needed. Already set in stone. So, you stepped back, slow and steady, opening the door despite the fact that you ain’t even know his name, or who they was. The earth made it happen. The door swung open, not with force or pressure, but the way it had to, like it knew what to do. Then he moved, a small step forward until he was close enough for you to fully see him without the casts of the shadows around him. For a second, he was just watching, like he was judging you on how you were measuring the weight of what was about to happen, the sight of you stepping back, the weight of the land moving for you. His tongue peeked out from in between his lips, dragging slow across his bottom lip, like he was ‘bout ready to pounce on you the same way a lion does to a deer.

“Come on in, then.” Your words landed soft and steady, wasn’t just permission but a statement of what was already happening. His eyes flicked up to meet yours again, a lazy grin on his face that ain’t shown an ounce of comfort or kindness. With slow steps, crossing the threshold like he’d already been inside a thousand times before, he made his way into the house. His shoulder brushed yours, not forcefully or by accident, but a deliberate gesture just enough to be felt and to stick to you. And when he turned towards the living room, the space stretched out before him, his gaze dragged. Not admiring the warmth of the decor, not on the shadows lurking around or the flicker of the fireplace, but at you. Then he took a deep breath in, savoring the air like he was settling back in after a long trip, like he was coming home from work.

“Juju always did say you’d be a smart girl.” His words landed easy, absentminded, but they wasn’t. Not really. He didn’t bother looking at you when he said it. Didn’t even really bother waiting for a reaction, didn’t seem to need one. He just stepped aside, giving space for the others to follow. Like they all understood they belonged here, and you was just some slow girl who was catching up too late.

You opened your mouth, to ask how he knew your gramma by name, to try to catch that missing piece before it disappeared forever. But the moment already passed, had kept you just a step behind them. By the time you realized it, he was already at the couch. The fabric groaned under him as he settled in, not stiff or weak, but at ease, like the house had already decided to hold him. His legs stretched out against the floor, spread out in a way that’d only be comfortable for a man. His fingers dragged lightly along the grain of the wood, taking in every texture of the couch, purposefully letting the place sink into him the way he was sinking into it. He leaned his head back against the head of the couch, his gaze glued to you as if he was waiting for you to say something before propping his arm up against the back of the couch.

“How you know gramma?” You asked quickly, a little too quickly, and he noticed. His brow lifted, not like he was startled or offended by your question, just letting the question sit before deciding what to do with it. He moved slightly. Just enough for the couch to groan beneath him, for his shoulders to sink a little lower, for his hips to shift up deliberately, like he was settling into the comfort of the house before answering your damn question. The woman snickered, but his hand was already lifting up to wave the sound off before it could finish off into a laugh.

That couple was too settled, too at ease. When your eyes finally dragged back to him— you caught the way he was looking, not like he was just watching or peeking at a stranger. It was something deeper, something far too intimate for a random. It was like water moving into cloth, taking its time to sink in, to claim space, to belong where it wasn’t invited. It wasn’t hunger, though it was almost there. But then his gaze slid down just slightly so his eyes could linger on the exposure of your neck, before he gave out a small breath of air.

“Funny that you don’t already know,” he spoke gently, curling around the space between you two. The weight of it settled into the quiet between you. He let it sit there. Let the silence soak into him, like it belonged to him as much as anything else in the room. He ran his hand along his inner thigh before casting a quick glance towards the empty space beside him. Just long enough for the meaning to settle before his eyes found you again. “Ain’t your fault, I s’pose. Got all night to remind you, ain’t in no rush.”

You blinked in momentary surprise, your eyes following his as he looked down to the cushion beside him. You could hear his order even if he didn’t speak it. The whisper in your ear, telling you to sit down, was enough confirmation. The whisper wasn’t there, not in the way the voices usually were, or the way instructions were given, but in the back of your head like you would’ve been stupid to not want to listen. But it was there, spiraling in your head until it was all you could think about. The words were soft, pressing against your ribs like a breath that hadn’t even left your mouth but still forcing through every fiber of your being. You were moving again before you had the opportunity to object, the cushion sinking beneath you as you forced a gap between the two of you. Not enough to be safe, or to go unnoticed, or out of arm’s reach, just enough to remind yourself that you had the opportunity to move if you needed to.

“You scared, or is that pretty head of yours just figuring out how deep the remembering’s gotta go?”

“I ain’t afraid.” You snapped back, a little too sharp, a second too quick, and an awful lot defensively. He caught it. Didn’t bother calling you out, or pushing back, just casted a look towards the two people he came with. For a second you’d expected one of them to call you on your bluff, but the three of them shared a glance, like they was having a conversation with just their eyes. His tongue pressed slow against his teeth, just a moment of hesitation like he was holding himself back from words that weren’t necessary just yet. All he did was take a look down to the space between you two before trailing his eyes up along your body.

“Ain’t me keeping all that space there.” He noted with a low voice, letting his eyes dip along the curve of your waist before finally meeting your face. You held his gaze for a split second before looking away towards the comfort of the fireplace like it’d give you all the answers you sought.

“That’s ‘cause you’re a stranger.” He didn’t respond at that, tilting his head to the side like he was weighing the word. Stranger. He tapped his fingers on the back of the couch just where your shoulder rested against, and though it wasn’t a means to get your attention back on him. It worked.

“Stranger ain’t the right word, girl. Reckon you know that too.” You captured your bottom lip between your teeth hard enough to keep the annoyance from surfacing at his lack of a real answer, but gave him an unsure shrug.

“I don’t know y’all, you won’t tell me what you are.” The words hung between you, capturing the heaviness of your words, the helplessness at the edge, the frustration there. He let the silence drag even longer at that. Not in avoidance or the lack of an answer, but just to study that look of annoyance on your face without the interruption of his own voice.

“Ain’t the name that matters,” he shifted forward, slow and certain, like he wasn’t considering the movement, just following a second instinct. His hand slowly moved along the curve of the couch, inching its way up to lightly brush along the fabric of your nightgown. You tensed under him, tight enough for the muscles in your shoulders to coil up just enough that you were certain he’d notice. “You can call me whatever you want— the night man, the stray, night walker. Most call me Remmick,” his hand didn’t stop, not right away, just kept following the curve of your neck before letting his hand settle there. The weight of his palm rested lazy against your skin, like it fit there, like it was a missing piece. “Ain’t too picky. S’pose I’d like to hear how it sounds from you first.”

Your gaze flickered down, catching the lack of warmth to his hand, that tight steady pressure against your neck. His thumb pressed against the side of your jaw, a slow, guiding gesture as he turned your head back to him. You peeked over, just a glance, to try to see through the shadows that hid the couple he came with. But it didn’t linger, not long enough before his thumb was tapping against your jaw to bring your eyes back to him instead. “Eyes on me.”

You were quick to look back at him, not just cause he gave your throat a gentle squeeze to snap your attention to him once more. That ain’t what pulled you back. Not really. Your body was already moving before you did. Like it was second nature. Like you was already following something that wasn’t spoken, something he didn’t have to voice twice for. That slight pressure, not like he was forcing you or demanding, just enough to remind you of where his hand was and where you were. He slowly leaned forward, just enough for the tip of his nose to nudge against the side of your cheek. “Remmick?” You mumbled slightly, tense, taken aback, confused. But the question just hung there in between the silence of the room and the creak of the couch as he moved closer. He didn’t answer right away, apparently didn’t need to, just kept his hand firm against your neck and his nose pressed against your cheek.

He inhaled slowly, deeply as if savoring every molecule of your scent and the way his name fell off your tongue. His lips brushed against the warmth of your skin in a languid path, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he inched his way towards your ear. He paused, taking another long, deliberate inhale, flooding his senses with every inch of you. “Ain’t even started yet, and you already tense,” his words murmured against the delicate skin of her throat, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. His head dipped lower, his lips dragging a path of heat downwards until he found the flutter of heartbeat at the base of your throat. He stilled, the heat of his breath heavy against the pulse he hovered over. “You feel that?”

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the nerves in your stomach and that red flashing light in your head that told you this was a bad idea. "Feel what?" It came out real pathetic, barely audible like he was choking the life out you. His tongue flicked out, a fleeting, teasing caress against that rapid pulse but he was quick to reach down and grab hold of your wrist to stop you from moving.

“I’ll show you.” His grip on your throat tightened, just enough to get your heart beating against your chest like an impatient bird locked up in its cage. You jerked under him, your feet kicking and sliding against the fabric of the couch as you sucked in a sharp breath through your nose. The first touch is barely there. Then— the weight of his hand. Not holding you still, just there, pressing up against the side of your face like he was tryna give you something to lean into.

This is wrong. You gotta move. Who cares ‘bout the test? Do something. Don’t just let him sniff up on you like a dog in rut. Do something idiot.

But you couldn’t, you weren’t sure why. Maybe you liked it, maybe you was afraid, but you let him. And then, that press.

The faintest drag of teeth against flesh, just enough to have you pulling back with a shiver, enough to feel the sharpness before they sink in. His lips grazed the spot, pressing a soft kiss there, tasting the skin, testing to see if you’d pull away or lean into it. But when you didn’t fight back, just gave out a strangled hum, his teeth pressed against the pulse. It ain’t a lunge or a tear. Not sloppy or all tongue. Just pressure. That brief shock of something sharp, turned into heat, thrumming against his teeth like your body already knows what’s happening. Just sharp, fleeting pressure, like the moment before a needle breaks the surface.

Then a slow bloom of heat, something real warm rushing through your nerves like a delayed reaction. And again, your body registers it faster than your mind, not in alarm or fear, just instinctive awareness that something’s pulling, something’s taking. The faint ache of punctured skin shifts curling deep into your gut, and there’s that tug, like a slow surrender. Your pulse stutters for half a second, like your body was fully adjusting to it, almost liking it. And then— a strange, lingering warmth. You could barely make out the little groan that slipped from his lips, like it took everything in him to not indulge in the moment.

A deep, humming sensation sits beneath the surface, not of pain, but a profound growth of pleasure that suffused through you. You hadn’t even noticed the way your head had gone slack, lolling back against his hand until the pad of his thumb running along the side of your jaw had brought you back to your senses. A weak, breathy grunt escaped your lips, pushing yourself up against his hand, and he let you, quietly easing your body back. Keeping the warmth of his mouth against you deliberate, and lazy. “Shh, I know,” He murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble against your skin. His thumb traced the hinge of your jaw, a slow touch as he cupped the side of your face to guide you to look away.

Not too deep. Not too much. Just enough for the taste of you to hit his tongue, enough for the air between you to shift, and stretch so damn thin you was sure you’d pass out. It was something far more complex, a maelstrom of sensation that curled like smoke through your veins before it transformed into a quieter, more deliberate pleasure. Something just enough to mean something without taking too much. And when he pulls back, the wound isn’t much. Your hand flies up to the side of your neck, instinctively searching for the two marks, just a lingering warmth, just enough that you’d feel it long after he’s moved back from your throat. Heat blooms first, a sudden rush, something bright against the dull ache where his teeth settled in.

“You bit me.” You slurred out, as if the realization had only just dawned on you now that’d he gone pulled away from you, your voice laced with something between shock and offense. You brought two trembling fingers to your face, staring down at the crimson slick of blood and saliva that clung to your skin like a dark, glistening dew. His eyes followed your movement, a constricted, hungry glint in the shine of his pupils as he took in the sight of it. Your eyes flicked around the room, only to be met with the absence of a crowd, the dark curl of shadows stretching out over the walls.

He grinned then, a slight, wicked curve of his lips that sent a bolt of energy straight to your soul. His tongue darted out, painted in the crimson smear of your blood painting his tongue a dark, enticing red as it swiped across his bottom lip in half means to clean up the mess he’d made. “Gon’ be good and let me do it again? Or stay all dramatic?” You blinked in confusion at his question, like it’d be a normal thing to go around getting your neck chomped by the night man, but you couldn’t find it in you to try to speak or object. He leaned in closer, breath hot and heavy against your skin as he dragged the slick flat of his tongue against the indented mark his teeth left on your throat. The sensation was a sharp bolt of pleasure, one that seemed to send a warmth in your belly. His hand slid higher, fingers curling around the slender column of your throat, squeezing with a deliberate force that made your vision blur.

“You gon’ kill me.” Your breath came out too ragged, messy and taut, dragging in shallow breaths, like your body was forcing you to stay still but your mind was fighting for you to run.

You could hear the tremble in your voice, tried to ignore the ragged breaths of your body to keep from panicking any more. You tried your best to keep a level head, to remind yourself that this was a test, and you had to do what you could to not get cold feet. You forced yourself still, to remind yourself that this was a test, panic wasn’t an option. Couldn’t afford cold feet.

“Ain’t taking more than you can give,” he corrected with a gravely voice, lips hovering a mere hairsbreadth from the dark, blooming mark he'd left upon your throat. You wanted to push him for an answer, to ask him to help you make sense of his words, but instead, you lavished in the feeling of his lips planting a soothing kiss to the tender flesh. “You gonna let me?”

And without knowing, you was already nodding at his question, sucking on your bottom lip to keep from getting a shaky mouth. “Is it gonna hurt?” You could feel the smirk growing on his lips at your question, humming low and firm against your skin as one hand slipped down along the curve of your hip.

“Wasn’t easy for your brother. Can be easier for you.” His hand slid from your jaw to your shoulder, fingers curling around the delicate bone, anchoring you to him. His eyes held yours, a molten gaze that seemed to see straight through to the terrified, like he was tryna make sure you fully understood his words, yet didn’t say anything else. You stared up at the ceiling, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to connect the puzzle pieces he laid out for you.

He brought two fingers to your chin, tilting your head to the side so you can meet his scorching gaze once again. You felt the slow, deliberate slide of his fingers against the flesh of your bottom lip, parting it with a gentle insistence that brooked no resistance. “Open your mouth,” your eyes snapped to his face, scanning every inch to see if he was making a joke of you. He looked down at you, the glow of the fireplace casting a dark light in his eyes that shadowed his face so perfectly he looked unreal. “Ain’t gonna say it again.”

You hesitantly parted your lips, your eyes following every subtle shift of movement in his face as he watched you. He slowly nudged your lips further apart, his fingers pressing deeper to prop your mouth open just a little wider. Just enough that he could see the pink base of your tongue. His mouth opened, and before you could react, he was spitting the thick mixture of the coppery tang of your blood with the warm, iron laced flavor of his saliva directly onto your tongue. For a split second, a wave of emotions slapped you in the face, more offense to the man who just spit on your tongue, but the longer the taste lingered there, the more you actually liked it. It tingled across your taste buds, a dark, taboo essence that sent a strange sensation alive in your stomach.

Before you could even begin to process it, his fingers were pushing in deeper into your mouth, easing you to swallow that offering. As his digits pushed past your teeth, your tongue instinctively curled around them, the muscle fluttering and moving against his fingers with a mind of its own. He sucked in a slow breath at the sight, giving you a little nod of silent encouragement to keep going. He took cruel advantage of your mouth, using the slick, silken heat of your tongue to coat his fingers. “Oh, look at that.” He strained out with a slight groan, the hand placed on your hip slowly guiding you up against him so he was rested pressed in between your legs.

He eased you to swallow the combination of your shared essences sliding down your throat in a thick, viscous rope. The sensation was odd. The sheer depravity of it sending a bolt of hot, forbidden pleasure moving through your veins. It was as if, in that moment, you could feel his presence inside you, the claim upon your body and soul growing stronger, more absolute with each passing second. Your throat worked convulsively around the invading fingers, muscles clenching and rippling as they struggled to accommodate the sudden, unwanted intrusion.

As you finally managed to force down the last of the combination, your lungs burned with the need for air. As you gasped and choked, fighting to fill your lungs with much-needed oxygen. As you fought to regain your breath, lungs sore with the desperate need for oxygen, his fingers remained an unyielding presence in your mouth, a lewd plug preventing the heavy gasps from escaping. Each ragged, strangled inhale sent a fresh surge of humiliation coursing through you, the hidden knowledge that your body kept responding to him without hesitation. It was a twisted parody of intimacy, a perverse mockery of the way lovers might share breath and saliva in the heat of passion. And yet, despite the degradation, and deep humiliation of it all, you couldn't deny the way your body reacted, the way your skin burned up like it was on fire.

His lips crashed against yours in a messy kiss, his tongue slipping against yours, as if he meant to devour you inside out. He licked into your mouth, his tongue swirling and twining with your own in a way that physically stole your breath. It was quick, and sloppy, and not nearly as long as you secretly wanted it to be. He broke the kiss, forcing your head to turn towards the warmth of the fireplace before trailing quick kisses along your jaw. Moving further and further down back towards the mark he left a few moments before. His breath ghosts over the skin first, dragging out the anticipation. The way he kisses against your skin is controlled—slow, wet, not rushed, not impatient like the kiss was. You were so locked onto the feel of his mouth against your neck that you hadn’t even noticed the feeling of teeth there again.

The bite wasn’t like the one from before. It was sharp, deep, cutting through skin enough to the point it bordered on painful. The bite was this hot fire that seared through your flesh and bone, piercing the very essence of your being. You couldn’t even force out a scream or a gasp at the heat of teeth tearing through skin, muscle, and sinew to pierce the pulsing artery beneath.

All you could feel and see was the blood that gushed into the air, a scarlet fountain that splashed across his face to paint his skin a glistening red. All you could smell was the scent of your own blood, thick and cloying, the metallic tang of it burning through your nostrils and your tongue. The room spun, tilted wildly as the strength drained from your body, with each spurt of crimson.

As your body struggled against the change, your mind soared. Memories blurred and bled together, the line between past and present, reality and nightmare, dissolving into a hallucinatory haze. All you could think about was gramma. All your memories revolved to this very moment. All the life flashing back before your eyes, just for this.

For the feeling of the life leaving you.

All you could feel was the pain. So immense. So unbearable. So real. The last thing you felt was your heart stutter and pause in your chest, your lungs burning for air that could not fill them.

And then— just sleep.

[scourgeofmyownbrain]

Good fucking day, Robot enjoyers! Gaze upon the updated semi-accurate height comparison of Bumblebee across the multiverse.

This is an updated version of a chart I made a few months ago. I had gotten some feedback and then TFOne came out and I kinda had to update it. I also added a Gen 1 Optimus Prime for scale, for fun... no other reason... (edit: slight adjustment made, just corrected a slight mistake in the order)

I am also working on at least two more character charts and one universe chart, so hopefully I can finish those soon (for some fucking genius reason I decided to do the characters that show up EVERY FUCKING UNIVERSE so I'm s u f f e r i n g)

*PST! Optimus, Megatron, Shockwave, Soundwave, Ratchet, and Ironhide ones are done now*

Master Post

Listed Heights, Explanations, and Justifications below the cut, bc you couldn't shut me up if you tried and I had shit to say.

Gen 1 - ~10 feet (TFwiki says greater than 3 meters so I rounded up to the first whole number because round)

Netflix Cybertron Trilogy - ~10 feet (He looks identical to Gen 1 so... the reason his photo looks weird is because I couldn't find a good full body photo with him standing straight up facing the camera so I put two images together to make the worst looking photoshop job you have ever seen)

Earth Spark - ~10 feet (There is no confirmed height yet, but using this screen shot (see below) of him standing in front of a barn door, I was able to make a reasonable guess, bc I'm so smart.)

One V1 - ~13 feet (I am well aware of what the TFWiki says: 26.429 feet. And I fully reject that number. A: These numbers are sourced from the Walmart Promotional AR Experience that came out before the movie. B: There are three decimal points, and that number does not convert into a whole number in meters (which is originally what I thought was weird about it). C: The director has said that this movie is both canon to the LA movies and its own separate canon, and Bumblebee in both sets of LA movies does not exceed 20 feet tall. Ever. So, for sanity's sake, I have used the KCV numbers as my baseline. Bee grows when he gets his t-cog so shrink this one down a few feet. Look, I'm working on the Optimus chart rn, and one of the numbers from Beast Wars on the wiki was very observably wrong, and if I can dispute numbers older than me, I can dispute numbers 2 decades younger than me from fucking Walmart. Also, yes, his picture is 3 images sandwiched together)

Animated - 13 feet 3 Inches (There is no actual given heights, but in the comments of the previous version, @phoenix-inanis told me that they had done their own analysis of TFA heights and, gonna be real with you, I am blown away by all of their work and how detailed it is. Go marvel at how much work they put in -> https://phoenix-inanis.notion.site/TFA-Height-Chart-f6ad2960ca8c4c5b859ee4958723aaa4?pvs=4 )

One V2 - ~15 Feet (Please see reasoning above. Since this is as tall as we see Bee get, he's the same height as KCV Bee. Sweet fuck, I have put way too much effort into this shit)

Knight/Capel-Verse - 15 feet (No actual numbers, but Mirage is stated to be 15 feet tall (TFWiki), and he and Bee are like the same height, so... Capel directed the ROTB movie if you're wondering why his name is there)

Bayverse V1 - 16 feet (TFWiki. This is like the first 3 movies minimum, I don't remember when he hits his growth spurt. Also mr bay is king, we have numbers for nearly every character in BV)

Cyberverse - 18 feet (I'm gonna be honest, the only info we have is from a really shitty screen shot of a magazine. SO if any one has a copy of this book from the video below, a high quality scan would be greatly appreciated and I will kiss the ground you walk upon. Yes I found the video where the screen shot comes from leave me alone)

Bayverse V2 - 18 feet (TFWiki. Movie 4-5 I can't remember which one, I'm not re-looking this up. I fucking love the bayverse tho, this is the only universe with concrete and consistent this-character-is-this-height info)

Aligned Cont. WF/FOC - 20 feet (TFWiki/Fandom. Video game info screens you godsend, kiss me sweetly)

Aligned Cont. TFP/RID15 - 21 feet (These two designs are canonically identical, like in ALC canon, Bee has not changed visually at all...Ok, yes I got this number from fandom and they give literally no source for where they got these numbers. But, I can fully believe these are accurate. Just by looking at these characters on the show I can verify these numbers in my mind. Here, let's Compare.

This is Sam compared to Bee from one of the BV movies, I'm too lazy to check which one. Sam is average size for a human and we know Bee is 16 feet tall in the first three movies. Checks out. Let's now look at a TFP Character who is also 16 feet tall.

Jack is average size for a human, and the size difference is about the same. Can you see why I can't question the Aligned heights, even if they don't have a source??!?! They specifically made this universe to be full of freakishly tall robots for some fucking reason.)

Not Pictured: Aligned Cont. Rescue Bots and Rescue Bots Academy Bumblebee - 21 Feet tall. Look, did you want to see all 5 versions of ALC Bee? No, you don't. They're all the same height anyway; the back row would have just been a wall of redundant yellow. 5 different fucking art styles in one universe, why is that one my favourite.

Here's the front row and the back row separated into their own jpgs. I know it's kind of hard to tell which Bumblebee is which when they're all together.

[ladykailitha]

King of the Day!

Hello and welcome to my Christmas AUvent Calendar! Every day from now until the 24th I will be posting a ficlet that is 500-1500 from an AU I've done over the years.

All stories will be marked with the tag #12 aus of christmas so you can follow along as I will only be tagging my permanent list for this (it would get too confusing otherwise).

The last one on our list is: Steve is Tattoo Artist verse. You can read the story here. All links will be to the first chapter, but the chapter itself will have links to the rest of the story.

The title comes from the European tradition of if the [insert object here] in the cake you were king for the day (I learned about it in my French three decades ago so if I got wrong sorry!).

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11

~

Steve was facing the dilemma of topping Eddie’s Christmas from last year. Where his band Corroded Coffin got their first gold record, which had gone platinum earlier this year. But if everything went right and Gareth didn’t forget his present to Eddie then he might just win.

But as it was right at that moment it was a disaster.

“What do you mean you lost my order?” Steve asked through gritted teeth. “I called confirmed it only yesterday and every week for the last three weeks!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you sure you’re spelling ‘Buckley’ correctly? It’s B-U-C-K-L-E-Y. Yes with an E. Thank you!”

“No ma’am, I’m not saying that you’re dumb or anything of the sort,” he continued dryly. “I just wanted to make sure it was going to be here on time. It’s already out for delivery. Thank you!”

He set the receiver gently in its cradle and then picked it back up again. Once he heard the dial tone he slammed it several times for good measure.

“You do know that I’ve done this for the last five years,” Robin snarked from the entrance to tattoo shop, “as my job. I don’t know why you won’t let me do it for this.” She walked into the shop and leaned against the counter. “You’re just stressing yourself out over nothing.”

Steve laid his head on the desk with a sigh, letting the cool surface calm his rage. “I just wanted to make tonight special.”

She scooped up his hands in hers. “It will be special because he loves you. Now, let’s see it.”

He reached into his pocket and handed her a small red velvet box. She opened it and smiled fondly. It was perfect. It was white gold with ruby in the middle and framed by four black spinel gemstones, two large close to the ruby and two smaller stones on the outside.

Then she slipped it into her pocket. “I’ll just hold on to this for safe keeping. So what is the other thing you’re getting Eddie for Christmas? Because I know this is for after the gift giving.”

“Gareth is bringing it,” Steve said with a sigh. “Eddie is like a little kid looking for presents all the time and knows all my hiding spots.”

Robin laughed, because yeah. Steve’s boyfriend was like a kid when it came with presents, something Wayne had to warn him for when his birthday came up.

“I’ve been texting him nonstop reminding him to bring it,” he continued and then he handed her his phone. “Then he sent me this.”

It was a picture of Gareth in his car, a stack of presents in the passenger seat, and he’s giving the camera the middle finger. The caption read underneath, “I’ve got it! Quit your bitching!”

“Am I supposed to guess which one is yours to Eddie?” she asked rolling her eyes as she handed it back to him.

Steve rolled his eyes and jerk his head forward, holding his hands out like it was obvious. “Like the one wrapped differently then all the others?”

“Oh.”

~

The party was in full swing. Everyone was having fun, the booze was flowing, the food flying off the table and into happy mouths.

“I can’t believe you got me the entire new edition of the D&D manuals,” Eddie huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Like how am I supposed to compete with that?”

Steve kissed his cheek. “It’s not a competition, love. Despite what you and Gareth think.”

“Bah!” Eddie said. Then he got shy. “You did like your present, right?”

Steve tilted his to the side. Eddie had gotten him a custom apron that said, “King of this Castle” for him to wear while he was tattooing. “Of course I did. I loved it, baby. Chrissy is already trying to convince Robin and Vickie to get her and Argyle similar ones.”

Eddie shoved his hair in front of his face. “Yeah?”

Steve gently took the strand from him and tucked it behind his ear. “Yeah, sunshine. I promise.”

Robin gave him a pat on his shoulder as she passed by them.

It was time.

He took a deep breath and then grabbed his hand. “There’s one more present for you.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and then his eyes went wide. “Oh!”

“Last year when I gave you my grandfather’s ring,” Steve said, cupping Eddie’s cheek, “I promised that I would get you a ring that was all your own.” He lifted his left hand. “There is only room for one more.” He tapped the ring finger.

“Stevie...” he breathed.

Suddenly he was aware that everyone was watching them as Steve got down on one knee.

“Would you do the honor of being my husband?” He pulled out the red velvet box Robin had slipped him when she passed.

Eddie held his hands mouth, too overjoyed to speak and nodded. Steve slipped the ring on his finger. It fit perfectly and perfectly fit the rest of Eddie’s rings as Steve intended.

“I love you.”

Eddie pulled him to his feet and kissed him senseless. “Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

A cheer went up as Steve blushed and pressed their foreheads together. “Merry Christmas, Eds.”

“Does this make me the royal consort?” Eddie asked with a grin.

Steve threw his head back and laughed. He loved this man so deeply. “Yeah, babe. You absolute drama queen!”

Everyone laughed.

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[002yb]

I don't know, I just really like the idea of a reverse!robins au, you know??? Just little baby Dickie being an absolute menace to a slightly older Jason, and just being completely obvious with his little (huge, enormous, really) crush on Jason, and just Dick being a possessive and jealous little shit as a kid, before they started dating just cracks me up. And like everyone knows about his crush, but they all think its so cute and innocent, and it'll probably go away, right???? Right???? Something like this probably

https://www.tumblr.com/mlim8/691663407306440705/i-want-to-say-how-much-i-love-your-reverse-robins?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/mlim8/681971460563140608/jaydick-week-day-3-reverse-robins-soulmates?source=share

So I think I may have answered an ask with similar vibes here. (: Here's some thoughts inspired by the first link though! Super cute vibes, kudos to mlim8!

Dick emulating Kon because he genuinely believes Kon is the definition of c o o l g u y. Like, how else could Kon land Tim? The man is playing out of his league; he's a legend. Peak aspiration. Of course Dick is going to be smitten with his older brother's cool boyfriend; Dick needs to learn all the tricks of the trade. He's got his own babygirl to win over. C:

(The term 'babygirl' comes from an overheard conversation and while Kon laughs about it, Tim gets so embarrassed. Despite how he tells Dick to not say that, Dick refuses).

Anyway, Kon? Thriving. Some might call his moves cringe, but Dick is so earnest and hopeful and Kon feels like fucking superman no one can touch him. ;U;

Damian nagging both Tim and Jon about Kon's influence on Dick because Dick won't listen to him; he can't be deterred and Damian is losing his mind over how Dick keeps winking and finger gunning and throwing out these truly terrible, punny lines at Jason and ahhhhhhhh

Basically Damian not liking Kon because of the impact he's had in Dick's life. It's created a hassle for Damian, but more than that? Big brother might be a little jealous. ;3;

Extra detail: Damian didn't like Kon even before Dick came into the picture because he became a distraction for Tim. It's an ongoing argument between Damian and Tim, actually. Damian is convinced Tim keeps Kon around for the sole purpose of annoying him (this isn't the case, but Damian is convinced)

Tim scoffing about it and telling Damian that his envy is showing. Just get laid, damn.

Which Damian gets indignant because no )<

To which Tim smirks a bit and purposefully badgers, 'Alright, Brother Complex (affectionate nickname), if you're threatened by our baby brother stealing Jason from you, then—‘

And Damian hisses because shut up, Drake. Fuck forbid father hear such crass speak omfg Damian will bury Tim himself.

Jason does have a crush on Damian though. The brother complex goes both ways. Or rather, it's a transference sort of deal for Jason that lingers big time because in this verse, Damian chose to save Jason from Joker, consequences be damned. The point stands, Jason is very sweet on Damian.

When Dick realizes this, devastation. Betrayed by his own partner!? Because...maybe Damian would have a similar batman stint where Dick was his Robin?? Yes.

Anyway, Dick refusing to talk to anyone, even Jason. Which is how they all know Dick is distraught.

So despite how it pains Damian, they send in the b i g g u n s: Kon. (:

Who hypes Dick up so hard. Just a bro looking out for his little man, y'know? Kon might hype Dick up a bit too much though because when Dick finally leaves whatever high nook he's sequestered himself away in?

Dick walks right up to Damian and challenges him for Jason outright and the family is caught in a perpetual state of ∑(ﾟﾛﾟ〃) because omfg Bruce is right there watching this play out and Jason is his babygirl, first and foremost.

But Damian accepts the challenge if it means having his brother back. And Damian, the sap, kneeling and drawing Dick in for a hug because fuck, having Dick be mad at him? Someone so happy and hopeful and wonderful? It was like a stab to the heart ngl.

And yes. While Damian's brother complex persists, there's zero intent to act but he still plays into this challenge of Dick's because it's highly motivating for the little punkass twerp.

Meanwhile Jason is just...there. Dumbfounded after Dick winks and shoots finger guns his way with a declaration of: 'you're gonna fall for me some day, babygirl.' But don't worry, Dick will catch him.

And Tim groans because Dick, please.

[madrabit]

May I request C, U and M for the fanfic ask game? 😎

C: What member do you identify with most?

Ohhh, this is simultaneously hard to say and the easiest thing in the world, but I do identify the most with Jan. We both have that black cat chaos energy and we both are cat parents 🐈‍⬛🐈, so I'm obviously more inclined to feel similar to him from the get go.

I've also been described as mysterious and confused (less mysterious, more confused), so I feel like that might fit. And we're both kinda sleepy and have a resting 😐🤨 face. I call it lovingly "resting blank face".

Also, I, too, cannot help but want to film Bojan whenever I can or stare at Nace...

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Ngl, this is a hard pick, so I'll just mention a few ppl I like the writing style and fic of! 🩷

This will be more than three ppl cause I couldn't decide and in no particular order!!

@sizzlingsheepcheesecake // ao3

Does someone want to read some Bo(Jan)²? Well, you're at the right address! Her fics are so good and capture you with their emotional roller coaster they're taking you on! Her writing style is also really nice and pleasant to read 😊✨️

I particularly like her fic Come play with your food, bejbi which is an absolute fluffy vampire Bo(Jan)² fic that has me kicking my feet with how adorable it is. There also are some Bonus bites to this one!

And her poly BoJanKris fic Distortion can leave you happy in one moment and make you cry in another!

She also has a vampire BoKris fic The thrill and the dark, of the hunt and your eyes in which both Bojan and Kris are vampires, it is also really good and definitely worth a read if you haven't yet! And she has so many more fics as well!

@seokoilua // 1236 on ao3

I absolutely adore her writing style. The way she's able to take suffering and resolve it in all the good smut? Yes, definitely one of my favs. I especially like her fic been deprived and the sequel quietly, so if you like angst in your smut, her fics are definitely your thing then!

She also has a vampire BoKris fic ravenous in which vampire Kris picks up Bojan in a club and ngl, I need the second chapter like yesterday 😂

@vampmilf // @fruitybashir on ao3

Sophie has a really, really nice writing style, and I enjoy his Ne Bi Smel verse starting with The Holidate so much! It's so sweet and the smut is so hot and good and spicey and hahsjjskdjdkfkf for a long time having something nice to read every Sunday was just perfect to end the week with! He mainly writes BoKris (also, give Dopamin a read, the way he writes overstimulated Bojan is just so sjjdndndndnndnfmfm so good), but there is also a nice focus on Jance, that I really enjoy :3

I also absolutely love following him and seeing him on my dash, cause every time he reblogs something unhinged about Bojan I just have to giggle and laugh (calling Bojan three blueberries tall is literally everything to me and I love it so much, also letting him be his slutty little self in fics? Yessssss). He's also such an incredible nice person and was very sweet when I met him! 💖

@da-proti-toku-grem // ao3

Maca writes these absolutely adorable Kiss prompts here on tumblr and on ao3. From Jance to BoJure and JureJan, she's got so many ships and all of them are so good and fluffy and adorable or spicy! I really enjoy all of them! And she's made me have an incredibly big soft spot for BoJure :3 💛🩷

An honourable mention goes to @185northgower // ao3

Not only will I read literally everything she writes no matter what pairing or what fandom, but we share one exact braincell, which works perfectly cause we do love collabing on fics together and I couldn't imagine a better co author! 🥹🩷✨️

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

I actually have a few ideas I've been cooking, a few of them are gonna be joined collabs with North! Next to continuing our DJwD verse (yes, there will be more, these men won't stop and have infected our heads with Daddy Nace and I just cannot, I cannot anymore), we also planned a Romeo & Juliet 🌹 fic, which we won't go into detail yet, since we can't start it yet 🤭

Then I also have a Bo(Jan)² fic started, its the same one I mentioned last time, the one with the skirt, but I cannot shut up about it. I keep calling it the ✨️girlfriend thing✨️ if that helps anyone...

And next to those and continuing with my other fics, I also can't get a vampire Bo(Jan)² fic out of my mind...

[neverwalka1one]

Magnus Archives 29 - Something something skeleton key

Yes I didn't do one for 28, last week was a series of unutterable stupid and mostly my reaction was YELLING, so.

CELIA? Come get your boy. Before he drowns.

Unironically unimpressed by the phone in the puddle not dying because it's in a puddle, good job spyphone.

Nooooooooo not the breakroom I caaaaaan't fine I'm getting the transcripts.

... His excuse for going outside was to see the car? But he's not a car guy that I remember? Like? Am I forgetting something here? MP (who is still Trevor I just CANNOT) drives a fancy car and... yes?

How is Sam so sure this [Error]/Archivist is the same as Gwen's [Error]/Archivist? No one else from the office has seen one - Alice has heard a story about one, and Gwen saw one, but not Celia and Sam. Again, did I miss something, or?

Celia being the calm rational one is a) weird and b) not on my bingo card.

Also she's right, this is a crap idea.

Heeee kinda love Chester popping up out of no-where with a story. Chester's just like HEY! Want a story about betrayal? No? TOO BAD.

T e x t o b s c u r e d b y b l o o d s t a i n

Pack a bag for somewhere cold. Definitely not an ominous statement in this particular fandom.

Odemknout své srdce - unlock your heart. Written the day of the anniversary/day of the drowning. Who wrote this?

Then a whole year and change goes by with nothing. What happened during that year? Because her next comment is about being alone on Christmas, but she was alone the previous Christmas and wrote nothing, so why write something this year?

Is it because the previous Christmas was normal and 2020 was in the middle of a pandemic? Did this 'verse have a pandemic? What happened??

So a year and a third later and she's writing out this whole thing in detail. Sus.

He's gonna get a new lock 'come hell or high water'. I mean, be careful what you wish for.

Skeleton key skeleton key skeleton key

So she wrote what was on the lock? In her travel diary right after ALL THIS happens? Whut.

WHAT is with all these people putting things inside......... you know, no, I'm not going to finish that question, but I just want to say that key is not any more sanitary than the coral and UGH IT'S MORE PLANT PEOPLE.

Teddy and Alice are online buddies.

Teddy a) definitely doesn't have a job and b) is 100% going to die. Maybe be a plant person, idk, seems to be going around.

Saw something in another post that pointed out that from where Alice would have been standing, the [Error]/Archivist would need to be either in the conductor's booth or on top of the train. I don't know which mental image I love more.

Also was the skeleton doctor from last week what happens when you shove a skeleton key inside you just asking for my mental health a friend.

[soulcarved]

🚢 - Sasuke!

🚢 - Naruto!

🚢 - Cloud or Aerith ( if you’re familiar with them otherwise u can ignore these two c:

-> 🐝  *  ―  𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑷𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

i'm gonna put these under a cut because it's gonna be LONG--

sasuke && takeshi:

do i ship our characters together?: yes | no | not yet but maybe soon

i am making kissy faces at them rn are you kidding me???? love love LOVE--

would i like to ship with you?: yes | maybe, i'm willing to try | no

B))))))))))))))))))

type of relationship i could see: childhood or high school sweethearts | exes | engaged | married | long-term relationship | crushes | unrequited love | fling | long distance | online relationship | just dating | new relationship | toxic lovers | friends with benefits

their dynamic is already so vague as it is, which i actually sort of love. they're really reinforcing the idea that not everything needs a label for it to exist. they're just happy being whatever the fuck they are and i love that for them honestly. i would LOVE the idea of seeing them in a long-term relationship or something but i fear that unless sasuke finds out about takeshi's UHHHHHHH situation and is able to do something about it, they may not get the chance for a long-term relationship :((

tropes i'd enjoy writing for them: friends to lovers | enemies to lovers | exes to lovers | fake relationship / dating | forbidden love | grumpy and sunshine | star-crossed lovers | surprise pregnancy | second chance | soulmates | amnesia / mistaken identity | forced proximity | secret relationship | slow burn relationship

but also pls consider: - that yakuza thing you've got brewing bc yes thank you i don't know how takeshi would fit into that bUT WE COULD WORK IT OUT. - takeshi ' i'm not worthy of all the wonderful things you want to give me ' wakahisa and sasuke ' well that's too damn bad because you're fucking getting it ' uchiha. - right person, wrong time vibes. - i also see there's the hint of a jjk verse potentially for sasuke????? i'm making grabby hands at it. let them be chaotic curse users together maybe uwu

would i rather plot first or jump right in and see where it goes?: develop their relationship first | jump right in | something in between ( what specifically? )

I MEAN???? we're already sort of just jumping right into things with some form of vague plotting as we go? i'm heckin' vibing.

what now?: let's plot something | send me shippy memes | i'll send you shippy memes | write me a random starter | i'll write you a random starter

throw everything at me and i will throw everything at u. i will, in fact, go down with this ship.

anything else i want you to know about me / my character / my shipping habits: ( put whatever you want here )

sunshine boy???? WRONG. riddled with anxiety and the lowest self-esteem you've ever seen. terribly sorry sasuke, i fear the happy go lucky attitude is partially a defense mechanism to stop himself from getting hurt :)))

naruto && ??? i'm not gonna lie i'm feeling aika for this--

do i ship our characters together?: yes | no | not yet but maybe soon

i am always one step away from shipping something u must know this by now.

would i like to ship with you?: yes | maybe, i'm willing to try | no

type of relationship i could see: childhood or high school sweethearts | exes | engaged | married | long-term relationship | crushes | unrequited love | fling | long distance | online relationship | just dating | new relationship | toxic lovers | friends with benefits

i fear naruto may have his work cut out for him though. aika's relationships never last long and she is..... a little toxic purely because of how she gets around that three month mark of a relationship. it's like she can't even fathom that things might be going well and she would make it her personal mission to ruin the relationship just to prove to herself that it wouldn't have lasted anyway.

tropes i'd enjoy writing for them: friends to lovers | enemies to lovers | exes to lovers | fake relationship / dating | forbidden love | grumpy and sunshine | star-crossed lovers | surprise pregnancy | second chance | soulmates | amnesia / mistaken identity | forced proximity | secret relationship | slow burn relationship

any relationship with aika would be filled with drama and just chaos?? she would purposefully fuck things up and i fear she would give naruto a run for his money. they would be REALLY cute tho--

would i rather plot first or jump right in and see where it goes?: develop their relationship first | jump right in | something in between ( what specifically? )

what now?: let's plot something | send me shippy memes | i'll send you shippy memes | write me a random starter | i'll write you a random starter

if naruto and aika are a ship you're interested in then we should DEFINITELY plot something out!!

anything else i want you to know about me / my character / my shipping habits: ( put whatever you want here )

crazy lady vibes but when i tell you she's so loyal she would quite literally kill a man for him i'm??? being mostly serious tbh

doing cloud and aerith together bc !!! <3

do i ship our characters together?: yes | no | not yet but maybe soon

it would definitely be a conversation about who you would want from my end for them but honestly at this point you could be like ' aerith and ____ are dating now ' and i'd just go with tbh.

would i like to ship with you?: yes | maybe, i'm willing to try | no

type of relationship i could see: childhood or high school sweethearts | exes | engaged | married | long-term relationship | crushes | unrequited love | fling | long distance | online relationship | just dating | new relationship | toxic lovers | friends with benefits

give me all of it. i'm making grabby hands. i request all of it thank u.

tropes i'd enjoy writing for them: friends to lovers | enemies to lovers | exes to lovers | fake relationship / dating | forbidden love | grumpy and sunshine | star-crossed lovers | surprise pregnancy | second chance | soulmates | amnesia / mistaken identity | forced proximity | secret relationship | slow burn relationship

but also: lovers to enemies to lovers.

would i rather plot first or jump right in and see where it goes?: develop their relationship first | jump right in | something in between ( what specifically? )

what now?: let's plot something | send me shippy memes | i'll send you shippy memes | write me a random starter | i'll write you a random starter

!!!!!!!! PLS

anything else i want you to know about me / my character / my shipping habits: ( put whatever you want here )

i'm claiming cloud and aerith idk who is getting them but YE S

[j2zara]

YAAAAAAY EHEH I GET TO SEND YOU A BUNCH OF ASKS 💖💖💖💖💖(<- these ones are just me being excited)

💖📥👀📊🍰🌝💻🧠

HIIIII SORRY THIS TOOK ALL DAY im so exhausted which is why i feel like my answers are not the best but here u go

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

Argh…. Ngl i sent this one to more than one person in the circle of perverts bc I want to force ppl to say nice things abt themselves and now i gotta do the same thing. I feel like my answer before this year would’ve been my dialogue!!!!!!! Like. I do think i’m good at that. It’s hard to even say that because I feel like when I do enjoy a good quip and i feel like whenever i reread my original stuff im like “oh. I’m so marvel brained”. I don’t think dialogue is my strength in cloneverse tho.  At least. I don’t think it stands out. But otherwise that’s what i would land on.

Maybe it’s bc i’ve been in a very sorry for myself slump lately bc my current wip is giving me such a struggle but i don’t even know. Before now and my latest wip driving me crazy I would’ve said. Maybe coherence or theming? Like i don’t even know if thats a thing i CAN say like is it possible to be good at themes? Sorry im being so hard on myself rn I think if i were to look at my writing i would say i think it’s halfway decent but i don’t know the answer to the question…

📥 What is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on?

Oh this is an interesting one. For such a long time the answer would’ve been my old Talentswap fic for DR, tbh it always was like. Surprising and honestly kinda nice to get like a random comment of someone being like ‘hey i just discovered this! Sad its not updating but i really enjoyed it!” something like that. And I think b/c it was multichap it was very interesting and different when ppl were reading Almost for sure.

My secret weird answer is IYWD. Like. I’m at peace with the fact that its practically dead and nobody is gonna find it again i guess but a small part of me still considers it my favorite thing i’ve done in a long time so nobody does comment anymore but. That would be the thing i secretly kinda want. I’ll take literally anything tho obviously i love anybody that ever comments on anything.

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

I have a Love is Blind au for a fandom I’m not gonna mention. Idk i might’ve mentioned it somewhere but eh. Its like ten chapters but only the first 5-ish are done i’m kinda 

And i’ve talked abt this this isn’t really a. Like. Oh I’m hiding this forever thing but. I have a DR Togakure hookup fic that’s written like. To take place during a naegiri wedding like in the post first game canon. And it is one of my favorite things i’ve ever written even tho it is smut, ngl my friends have been trying to convince me to post it and i might but im genuinely terrified nobody is gonna read it and im gonna be. Sad about it

📊 Current number of WIPs

Lol um… lj3porter fic. I’m two sentences into twelfth night coded j2 wooing Jace for Porter fic. Unfinished creeper Jace + j2porter fic…  a Jace topping Zara zarajaceporter fic. A fic that is in the IYWD verse that’s like a prequel that’s normal SB related. And if we could old fandoms I have semi abandoned talent swap (the ch 3.3 doc is like 10k lmao). Love is blind au.

If we’re counting original projects. My fantasy pseudo taming retelling. Horror comedy / locked room mystery called Date / Die. I have a. Sports romance (don’t look at me). And my weird lofty rom com thing that is this decade spanning story and used to be abt a “platonic” romance but idk I was like. They’re best friends they’re the most important ppl in the world to each other and they like having sex does that make this a normal romance. Maybe. Maybe not.

So ten. Yikes.

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

This is such a weird pull b/c i haven’t read it in years but Wing Man is a Bokuaka fic thats one of my fav of all time that makes me so happy idk its so like. Sweet and tbh i feel bad i never commented on it i really should bc they deserve to know i still think about it. but i just don’t reread fic all that often even my favs.

Actually that’s a lie i just remembered! I’ll cite something recent and i’m a little shy to cite something from the circle of perverts but also this is completely sincere i know i jokingly call @innskeep bambi’s LJ3 fic the perfect piece of fiction all the time but i do reread it… I just like them. I think it’s really cute and i like my little guys…  I love getting J3’s pov so much like i genuinely think its so comforting and special…

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

I won’t lie I have a total DurDawn soft spot so like. I do think it wouldn’t fun to write something small for them. Also fucking hilarious as zukkacore that I’ve never written zukka and like. In my heart I would like too but they’re almost too precious for that? It’s hard to explain. Actually another answer might be for Mailee I actually think Mailee is soooooo underrated as a ship bc they have so much potential to be good for each other that wasn’t able to foster under azula’s thumb so I like that slightly toxic edge 

💻 Do you do research for your fics? What’s the deepest dive you’ve done?

I do a little bit of research but honestly not at much as i should. Last super deep dive i did was on the different filipino mythologies and history throughout the different regions bc ithink that subject is so interesting. but that has nothing to do with the sb circle that was for my own stuff. Lately I had to look up a little bit of elvish for something sb related lol. im such a fake fan of LOTR i love it but i’ve never actually read the books

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

A few! I’ve talked abt Jace hireling au I think that would be fun. And I joke abt Clone gamechanger au all the time and I SAID I wanted to try and make it work so like. Maybe. I’d love to try clone gamechanger au i think its funny and cute and i wanna do something indulgent.I feel like i’m forgetting something. Jess has real estate in j2porter vegas roleplay so i kinda wanna try maybe doing J2porter 50s housewife roleplay as a sort of sequel? I still like the idea of doing a You’ve Got Mail Shop Around the Corning fic. And. I feel so so so so indulgent wanting to write LJ3 stuff but like i just like them. I don’t know what i would wann write for them but i just like them

[jils-things]

🃏, 🎬 ND 🕯 4 CONSTABELL !!!

YESSSSYES MORE CONSTABELL DUMP YESSS THANK YOU <3

🃏 - if you and your f/o were to be snowed in for several days with no power, what would you two do to keep away boredom?

actually,,, i think,,, they would sleep... a lot.... all the way.,,, heuheeueuheue.... this response is based off a thought i had a month back where they just sleep comfortably together under a cold rainy night (or in this case, snow!) im sure they'd want to huddle together for warmth. it would probably start off as them talking together about anything, then maybe reading a back, then one falls asleep, the other follows, and boom. cozy night <3 irene wouldnt want to miss an hour of snuggling next to the handsomest man on the planet... u.u

🎬 - is there a go to movie that you and your f/o watch on a movie night? do they have a favorite? who picks the movies?

OMGGGG THIS... MY HEART OUGHHG..... see i dont think nort.on had much of a very,, warm childhood - seeing movies probably wasn't a childhood memory :c ... however, irene is the opposite and has definitely watched a lot of films in the past (she also loves reading stories, and would tell him about it, so yes she would pick out the movies for him. even if its prrroooobably not his genre but its ok HEHE). now i dont know what are the films of their time (they're in the 1900s) BUT if i had to put a modern equivalent, i think irene would love la la land... hehehehe i feel that norto.ns the type to enjoy movies with very meaningful stories :) like close to realism kind of movies... emotional movies that make u cry

🕯️ - do you keep candles in your home? what kinds of candles do you like? what kinds do your f/o like?

well we have norto.n's huge miner's hat... does that count /silly HEHE but no, :0 i dont think so! i'm not too well-versed on candles either so i can't think of any nice scents that they could like. but again, i think irene just likes having a variety of things so maaybe she does own a few, but thats about it :))

[applejongho]

crazy form thoughts. the mv. wow. jongho shooting up a casino full of allegorical n*zis. slay. san's one-finger glove implying he gave the middle finger when getting arrested by the strictland police. slay. also love the general vandalism. very ateez 11/10 love the production. the song itself? the studio version is sooooo much better than the live mixing at mama it's insane.

(i don't think it's as interesting as guerrilla halazia or bouncy, those three felt like they were amping you up at a constant pace, crazy form is somehow? calmer? which is an insane thing to say about a song named crazy form that does, admittedly, go crazy. ateez's power, i guess?)

YES AGREE W ALL OF THE ABOVE. jongho needs to wear a suit all the time thank u

and yeah, i agree that it's not as interesting as other title tracks. but im glad the studio ver is much better so now i can analyze it better. it's flat because because the bass and general beat never really change between verses or the chorus. though they did take it out for the pre chorus which makes sense (to build up to the chorus). so it's kinda like point A (verse 1) to point B (pre chorus) back to point A (chorus) instead of point C (the would-have chorus). thats why it's "flatter." the end has a different beat right before the "iconic last 30 seconds" but then the last 30 seconds once again has the same bass/beat. that would be my one "criticism" for the song BUT I STILL LOVE IT i am just a music nerd.

take guerrilla for example, the bass at the beginning leads you in. it's loud and obnoxious and wonderful. more instruments are added after hongjoong's rap which differentiates it and gives the neurons more to chew on. pre chorus with a different beat (duh) builds up to a chorus with the same bass but it's MUCH dialed back. you have to listen closely to hear it. jongho's part comes in with a COMPLETELY different beat. the original beat is gone. it's just more varied and COOL and different.

theres nothing wrong w a neverending bass, it's just it does make the song a little more flat no matter how noisy or crazy it is

[s-099]

[ s h i p ] .. :)c

DO  I  SHIP  OUR  CHARACTERS  TOGETHER:  yes  |  no  |  not  yet  but  maybe  soon

WOULD  I  LIKE  TO  SHIP  WITH  YOU:  yes  |  maybe,  i'm  willing  to  try  |  no

TYPE  OF  RELATIONSHIP  I  COULD  SEE:  childhood  or  high  school  sweethearts  |  exes  |  engaged  |  married  |  long-term  relationship  |  crushes  |  unrequited  love  |  fling  |  long  distance  |  online  relationship  |  just  dating  |  new  relationship  |  toxic  lovers  |  friends  with  benefits

TROPES  I'D  ENJOY  WRITING  FOR  THEM:  friends  to  lovers  |  enemies  to  lovers  |  exes  to  lovers  |  fake  relationship  /  dating  |  forbidden  love  |  grumpy  and  sunshine  |  star-crossed  lovers  |  surprise  pregnancy  |  second  chance  |  soulmates  |  amnesia  /  mistaken  identity  |  forced  proximity  |  secret  relationship  |  slow  burn  relationship

WOULD  I  RATHER  PLOT  FIRST  OR  JUMP  STRAIGHT  IN:  develop  their  relationship  first  |  jump  right  in  |  something  in  between 

WHAT  NOW:  let's  plot  something  |  send  me  shippy  memes  |  i'll  send  you  shippy  memes  |  write  me  a  random  starter  |  i'll  write  you  a  random  starter

ANYTHING  ELSE:  miru!!!!!!!!  <3  thank  u  for  sending  this  mwah.  i  do  indeeeeeeeeeeed  have  thoughts  about  them!  i  wanna  start  this  off  by  saying  i  absolutely  adore  your  oc  and  your  writing  chefs  kiss.  we  do  still  need  to  establish  a  verse  to  write  in  but  since  they  can  work  in  a  lot  of  different  settings  i  am  going  to  ramble  abt  what  i  think  . 

i  love  the  vibe  that  tsubaki  has  .  she  is  kind  but  there  is  a  side  to  her  that  thoroughly  understands  the  pure  instinct  that  99  runs  on  .  she  knows  what  it's  like  to  be  a  predator  ,  to  give  in  fully  to  the  animal  inside  and  i  absolutely  love  that  .  i  would  love  to  see  tsubaki  enabling  99  in  her  more  feral  side  .  99  makes  a  conscious  effort  every  day  to  be  more  ‘  normal  ’  but  if  tsubaki  can  give  her  a  way  to  allow  99  to  unleash  all  of  her  bottled  feral-ness  then  i  think  that  can  make  them  both  a  very  formidable  (and  hot)  pair  . 

if  this  is  how  it  goes  ,  i  can  see  it  being  relatively  toxic  but  not  suuuuper  badly  .  like  yes  she  enables  99  to  give  into  her  inner  beast  but  99  has  the  ability  to  control  herself  to  a  point  so  i  don't  ever  see  it  going  too  far  (unless???  :eyes:  i  am  always  here  for  dark  plots  too  but  ik  they're  not  for  everyone).  i  can  see  99  being  quite  the  loyal  guard  dog  for  her  and  99  is  more  than  happy  to  be  leashed  and  used  as  such  .  it  gives  her  purpose  and  makes  her  happy  to  know  she  has  something  to  protect  and  care  for  .  idk  if  this  makes  any  sense  ndsjfjdkfnkdjnfksf

[bobbyjean]

Lyrics taken from genius

crazy in love:

Young Hov, y'all know when the flow is loco

Young B and the R-O-C, uh-oh

O.G. Big Homie, the one and only

Stick bony, but the pockets is fat like Tony Soprano

The ROC handle like Van Exel

I shake phonies, man, you can't get next to

The genuine article, I do not sing, though

I sling, though, if anything, I bling, yo

A star like Ringo, war like a Green Beret

You crazy? Bring your whole set

JAY-Z in the Range, crazy and deranged

They can't figure him out, they like, "Hey, is he insane?"

Yes, sir, I'm cut from a different cloth

My texture is the best fur, chinchilla

I've been iller than chain smokers

How you think I got the name Hova?

I been realer, the game's over

Fall back, Young

Ever since I made the change over to platinum

The game's been a wrap, one

deja vu:

I used to run base like Juan Pierre

Now I run the bass hi-hat and the snare

I used to bag girls like Birkin Bags

Now I bag B (Boy, you hurtin' that)

Brooklyn Bay where they birthed me at

Now I be everywhere, the nerve of rap

The audacity to have me with them curtains back

Me and B, she about to sting, stand back

….(two verses in this one)….

Yes, Hova's flow so unusual

Baby girl, you should already know

It's H-O, light up the dro

'Cause you gon' need help tryna study my bounce

Flow, blow, what's the difference?

One you take in vein while the other you sniffin'

It's still dope, po-po try to convict him

Thats a no-go, my dough keep the scales tippin'

Like 4-4s

Like I'm from the H-O-U-S-T-O-N

Blow wind, so Chicago of him

Is he the best ever? That's the argu-a-ment

I don't make the list, don't be mad at me

I just make the hits like a factory

I'm just one to one, nuttin' after me

No déjà vu, just me and my (Oh)

upgrade u:

I be's the d-boy who infiltrated all the corporate dudes

They call shots, I call audibles

Jacob the jeweler, baubles

Lorraine Schwartz oughta do

It's big ballin', baby, when I'm courtin' you (Woo)

I'm talkin' spy bags and fly pads

And rooms at the Bloomberg and rumors

You on the verge of a new merge

'Cause that rock on your finger's like a tumor

You can't fit your hand in your new purse

It's humorous to me, they watchin' and we just yachtin'

Island-hoppin' off the Amalfi coast, mafioso

"Hov, baby, you ever seen Saturn?"

"No, not the car, but everywhere we are"

You sure to see stars, this is high-level

Not eye-level, my bezel courtesy of Audemars

I order yours tomorrow, now look at the time I saved you

Mama, let me upgrade you

drunk in love:

That D'USSÉ is the shit, if I do say so myself

If I do say so myself, if I do say so myself

Hold up, stumble all in the house, time to back up all of that mouth

That you had all in the car, talkin' 'bout you the baddest bitch thus far

Talkin' 'bout you be reppin' that Third, I wanna see all the shit that I heard

Know I sling Clint Eastwood, hope you can handle this curve, uh

Foreplay in a foyer, fucked up my Warhol

Slid the panties right to the side, ain't got the time to take drawers off

On sight

Catch a charge, I might

Beat the box up like Mike in '97, I bite

I'm Ike Turner, turn up, baby, no, I don't play

"Now eat the cake, Anna Mae," said, "Eat the cake, Anna Mae"

I'm nice

For y'all to reach these heights

You gon' need G3, 4, 5, 6 flights

Sleep tight

We sex again in the mornin'

Your breasteses is my breakfast, we goin' in

that’s how you like it:

I know you heard I'm a gangsta

They say, "Stay away from them gangstas"

They never change up or pull they pants up

Well, baby girl, put ya foot down

Don't let 'em push you around

You know what you like

Baby thug, you know wrong from right

And you done felt wrong before

This can't be what it feel like

And they don't really know what you feel like, for instance

They don't know the difference between real life

And the music videos and the raggedy magazines

They have it **** badder than he seems

All they see is my baggy jeans, my attitude

I ain't mad at you, it's just my glide

Way I wear my hat to the side

The way I lean real low when I ride

That's why in my mind

They like my walk

My accent from New York

My way of thinking is slightly off

They like the way he floss

Leave the block on a bike, he come back in a Porsche

But of course

But most of all, they like my honesty

Integrity, my loyalty

Young Hova and the letter B

How you like that, huh?

[just-bible-musings]

Can someone explain to me why the F word still gets censored, yet people take God's name in vain and condemn people left and right in media and on social media?

The 3rd commandment:

Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain. Exodus 20:7

This includes omg, jc (or just j or just c), gd, and probably a few I've never heard.

And as for "damn" and "hell':

Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven: Luke 6:37

Biblically speaking, "condemn" means "send someone to hell," such as all the verses in the Pauline Epistles where he talks about how sins condemn a person.

I remember when I used to watch Supernatural, before I came to Jesus. I always thought it was funny when they would censor the F word. ("What the f-" "Find something, Ash?") But in a show about monsters and demons and angels, where several of the characters literally went to hell, they still said "damn" and "hell" at the drop of a hat.

And I just have to wonder, why?

Now, I don't know about other people, and maybe this isn't anyone's intention, but I've often thought that when people say "f u" or "go f yourself" or whatever, that they're saying "go get raped." Maybe that's not the intention, but that's the mental image I get in my head.

Please understand, I don't say this lightly. I've never been sexually abused, and I don't mean to offend anyone who has been. Rape is one of the WORST things that can happen to a person, probably 2nd only to dying (and I've known rape victims who wish they'd been killed instead- and a woman who's never even had sex, yeah, I can understand that).

But my question is, why do we consider it worse to curse someone's body than to curse their soul? The body will die, eventually, but the soul never will. And why is it worse to say a bad thing about a person than about God? God is higher than any human and has an unfathomable amount of power, because he is omnipotent.

Is it just because rape (or even just sex) is seen as a real threat that can happen to anyone? Whereas both God and hell are thought to be abstract ideas, or even mythology, by so many people? Is it because rape is something that could happen to you, but God and hell are "just stories" and they can't hurt you?

Just something I've thought about from time to time and decided it was time to share.

[neillien]

I crave the adulterated decadence we left behind us, and miss the wishful thinkers who skipped back from our ever expanding dating parameters. I crave their presence, their just returned home ‘practise makes perfect’ earnestness. Boasting their subtle scars. Telling their Haughty, done high risk, more than others my age antics. The sight of their shoulders back, cock of the walk, pride. Those boys’ they’re reckless into the unknown with this body is my boudoir, come sleep with me attire to protect them only. I miss the creeps, the letches, the ‘does your mother know where you are? Worriers. The wolf whistlers, the butt grabbers, the do ya want some drugs? Yes, but I’ve no money - nights out. The that’s not a problem ‘you can suck me off for a couple of pills’ parasites, the dangerous, the undesirable. The ‘alright gorgeous’ in yer face Rohypnol circles we frolicked between. Outnumbered, three guys to one, four, sometimes five, even six. Breaking even when when we ourselves top the bottom/verse/verse types. Where did the ‘don’t know where I am, Hounslow! Brixton! No idea what time of day! Makes no difference. Salacious kid with welts and bruises, tired nylon carpet fibres stuck to his back and knees, DNA under his fingernails. A satin of filth lining his stomach, end up?

Oh look, we haven’t showered off the slander. Our names are generic

C U M S L U T we decipher the tags given us - a formal hazing, seen in reverse, the letter’s written on our buttocks. Indelible. My tag took weeks to fade. Now the mirror is pale.

I miss the angst. The buggary. The, where as before - revolving door. Night’s spent till way passed dawn rises at Xavier’s palace where everyone would exalt from frustrations. You have your own particular tastes. Always moralised in fascist groups, fast forwards your rhetoric - you hate us all as much now as you did then. Our ribbons were tied tightly together. Our unison stood against you. What happened to the revolution.

I miss the events of the days the freedom before they became a no, no - I miss the standard male flirtation of the day. It makes me lonely. It makes me older than just 19 - suckers dream. It kills my predators. It turns my iPod into an ancient relic.

A solitary ‘has been’ devours my Apple Music library. Without music He is without memory. You and I were once the same. You became someone else.

Unclothed lying in a bed of ice listening to yourself breathing.