#GOBBLING UP THIS ART DOWN HOLY SHIT

[icarus-suraki]

1, 7, and 9 for the movie ask!

It occurs to me that I could just answer Goncharov (1972) for all of these…

Movie Questions Ask Bait!

->what is your favorite film of all time? Very possibly Mad Max: Fury Road. That movie rewired my brain. That movie scraped the rust off my soul. That movie sneaked up behind me and stole my spine. And it was great.

I literally went to see it in the theater seven (7) times. Seven. If you dig back in my blog here to June 2015, you'll see that this place was full of Fury Road. Stills, gifs, music, meta, fic, shitposts, all of it. All of it.

Sidebar: I think my absolute love of Fury Road is what's keeping me from wanting to see the new Furiosa prequel: Fury Road didn't explain everything to death so we, the fandom, had a great time imagining explanations or making things up. We dissected that movie and we also left it alone. I don't want to know too much. I like that world being left a partial mystery. We, like Max, get thrown into it and we're both figuring out how it works as the story progresses. I love that.

I can't exactly explain why I love it so much. The colors, the action, the fight scenes, the music (holy shit the music), the characters, the weirdness, the story itself, the callbacks and parallels, the newness and the oldness of it (it really is a train robbery movie at its core), the sense (ultimately) of hope, the presences of women (old women even!) in action roles… Something about it, maybe everything about it, were just perfect for me at that time and in that place.

Yeah. Favorite movie ever.

->name a movie you’re emotionally attached to? There's so many ways I could take this. Positive attachment? Negative attachment? Very Strange Time in My Life attachment?

Like, I know I can never watch L'Illusionniste, Les Triplettes de Belleville, or Grave of the Fireflies again because I cried just too fucking hard at each of them, which I think is an emotional attachment.

Or I could say the Lord of the Rings movies (all of them). They came out when I was in college and a handful of us were counting down the days to the premiere, watching this miniscule clip of video taken by a fan from a train that showed a glimpse of the Minas Tirith set endlessly, gobbling up any news or leak or rumor about production on Livejournal, engaging in the fandom of that era (which was a whole thing in and of itself), even going to midnight local premiers. So while I'm not a huge fan of the movies, they certainly were a constant presence in my undergrad days.

Or it could be the other movies that rewired my brain: Mad Max: Fury Road (see above), Princess Mononoke (baby's first Studio Ghibli film in 1999 at the local art house theater), Star Wars (only episodes 4, 5, and 6 though; I kind of deny that any others exist), Kiki's Delivery Service (which I had on VHS in college and would watch when I was stressed and depressed because I love the city), Voices of a Distant Star (the concept really got me)…

Or it could be the kids' movies from my own childhood, you know? Robin Hood (1973) is very near and dear to my heart. And Panda and the Magic Serpent is what started me down the weaboo road way back when I was 6 years old.

There's so many possible answers here. But that's a few movies I have emotional attachments to. How's that?

->guilty pleasure movie? Do I have to? Okay, okay, okay: I like a good cheesy, gory giallo movie, red tempra paint blood and all. Spaghetti westerns are amazing with their half-understandings or misunderstandings of USAmerican history to the point that it becomes something different, something bigger and more epic (I love The Good, The Bad and the Ugly so much). Martial arts movies full of dramatic scenes and wire-fu are so much fun (and I get to practice my Mandarin or my Japanese). Gothic drama, especially from the 1990s, is great like the original IwtV, Crimson Peak, The Crow…

But I paid actual, real, hard-earned money for a (digital) copy of Bloodsport and it's so bad. It's so bad! But I love it--maybe as much for meta reasons as anything.

Like, the whole thing is based on this Canadian-American guy Frank Dux's memoirs about being trained in ninjutsu by a mysterious Senzo "Tiger" Tanaka (who probably didn't exist at all and has the same name as a character in You Only Live Twice) and then going on to compete in this international full-contact underground martial arts competition in Hong King (the "Kumite"). Oh and he was also in the military at the time, doing covert missions, so he had to go AWOL to fight in this competition of course. Which he does without being caught. And he keeps outsmarting the CID officers (one of whom is played by a young Forest Whitaker) when they chase him to Hong Kong, meanwhile picking up an April O'Neill-style beautiful American journalist ("reporter" because it's the 1980s).

The whole thing is so clearly ridiculous bullshit but it's marketed as being based on a true story because Frank Dux insisted his bullshit was true. And it was produced by Cannon Films, which is another can of worms entirely (I highly recommend the documentary Electric Boogaloo: The Wild, Untold Story of Cannon Films for more backstory on the company; it is bonkers). And did I mention that Frank Dux is played by Jean-Claude van Damme? And yes he does do the most epic of splits.

And the whole thing is simultaneously so deep in meta layers (self-proclaimed martial arts masters, which ties into Count Dante and the dojo wars, Frank Dux's amazing bullshit and stolen valor, Cannon Films) and yet so incredibly shallow at the same time.

There's minimal plot, zero depth to the characters, massively long flashback sequences, even longer training montages, a totally ridiculous amalgamation of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean cultures into just "Asian Culture," the dubbing in some scenes is practically criminal, there's minimal exploration of the location (Hong fucking Kong!!!) outside of a chase and a throwaway scene about bad restaurant food, and even the fight scenes during the tournament aren't really all that great.

But the Kowloon Walled City gets some screentime (except that it's just a set sometimes). And there are tons of locally-hired extras and bit players, along with a slew of international actors and/or actual martial artists, even if a lot of them have been cast as nationalities other than their own???--like Bernard Mariano, who is Filipino by descent but was born in Hong Kong, had no martial arts experience but got scouted while he was working out, was cast as a "Middle Eastern" fighter named Hossein, but used his pay from the movie for university classes to go on to be an English teacher in Hong Kong. Meanwhile, Jean-Claude van Damme is busy taking his shirt off and wearing super tight spandex underwear (he snaps them in one scene; you're welcome). Leah Ayres is a "reporter," which is really "journalist" and one of the few adventurous jobs acceptable for women in 1980s movies to have, who maybe lives in Hong Kong or maybe doesn't but she's super cute and deserves better than she got in the script; she's The Girl (Leah Ayres is now into pseudoscience). And Donald Gibb is playing this American bar brawler who somehow got invited to this elite fighting tournament and he looks like Kurt Russell in The Thing if he were still infected by the Thing and living out on the ice alone.

Like, I could just keep going. I love this shit. There is so little that's "good" in terms of filmmaking, scriptwriting, cinematography, anything in this movie and yet it entertains the fuck out of me.

Hence: guilty pleasure film.

[thelovelybitten]

vera's first watch of south park -- season four (part 4)

LORD THIS IS SO LONG SD GSDBGKSBKJ

EPISODE 11:

AYO WHAT IS THIS BEEEEAAAT BRO?!?!?!?!?!?!?

THIS INTRO IS SO GOOD I AM SHAKING ASS

12/10 INTRO CARD SLAYED THE HOUSE DOWN BOOTS HOUSTON I'M D E C E A S E D

they are now 4th graders !!! they abt to be 9 years old !!!

wendy and BEBE MY KIDS IN FRAME I LOVE IT

stan be for real Y'ALL AIN'T ABT TO SHOW ASS TO THE NEW TEACHER

BUTTERS JKDNSGJNJKDSNGKJNDFK HE'S UNHINGED UR HONOUR

I am looking respectfully. this lady's breasts are ENORMOUS

MS. CHOKES ON DICK ARE U CEREAL SDJFBJISDBGK

stan, baby, we gotta work on ur jokes.

THE WAY IT WAS ONLY CARTMAN DSAHFBJDSBG GET BONED

TWEEK IS ME FR

cartman in his elvis era

NO NOT CLYDE CRYING JSDFBGKJSDBKJHBKSD MY FUCKING BABY DON'T CRY MI AMOR

clyde and wendy giving butters the bombastic side eye

these boys abt to use timmy as time travel bait NOT COOL

Mr garrison?!?!?!? where art thou

wendy sussing out the specifics iktr

damn. timmy went flying.

nah not y'all doing timmy dirty...

WHAT THE FUCK LADY DON'T GRIND YASELF ON TIMMY HE DID NOTHING

20 MINS UNTIL TIMMY IS BLOWN UP. I HOPE WE NEVER GET THERE

Mr garrison backstory damn

of course they gonna put kenny w the exploding chair I mean how else this man gonna die huh

OMG EW U ARE SICK FOR THIS DEATH

TIMMY SAYING PLS HELP???? HIS FIRST WORDS

OH FUCK THERE HE GO INTO SPACE

NO NOT THE PREHISTORIC TIMES

MR GARRISON AS A MONK FOR MISS CHOKSONDIK

garrison pls just come out as gay PLEASE THIS PONDERING IS SO BORINGGGG

THANK YOU LORD

all the FACULTY BEING SUPPORTIVE OF GARRISON AS THEY

F U C K I N G SHOULD

I take it back, y'all freaks

EPISODE 12:

ITS BEEN A COUPLE WEEKS BUT IM BACK AND THIS INTRO STILL BUSTS DOWN HOLY

IKE IN A BUSINESS SUIT ?!?! clean af boi

FIRST DAY OF KINDERGARTEN !!!

NOT KYLE AND CARTMAN HAVING THE SAME THING

cartman always 1 uppin Kyle LMAO

who the fuck is this man.

BILL COSBY ?!,!

KYLE GET HIM

Stan being the voice of reason so real

NOT THE KIDS BULLYING IKE BOOO

Mr.Garrison bro these kids understand jack shit

KYLE BEING SMART he’s that straight A kid wbk

Kyle and Ike geniuses

CARTMAN RELAX LANDISMXKMAKD

STOP IKE IS QUAKING

BILL COSBY STEALING THE TRAPPER KEEPER LMAO

FLORA 💘 A BABY GIRL

KINDERGARTENERS RIOTING

Cartman UNHINGED

OH HE A ROBOT ?!?!,

so basically Eric destroys the future alright

FLORA DECIDED !! IKE SLAY

LMAOOOO THE RECOUNT

the kiddos are FERAL

KYLE AND CARTMAN FIGHTING FOR NO REASON

everyone okay with killing cartman

“KISS YOUR ASS GOODBYE FAT BOY” Stan spitting facts

DAMN THEY GETTING THE BIG GUNS IN

OH FUCK THAT THING IS SCARY

liane my beloved

LIANE OH MY GOD SHE GETTIN ROBOT DICK

OH FUCK CARTMAN OH NO

NOT KENNY

JESUS CHRIST OH MY GOD

liane still getting it tho LMAO

OH god KYLE it’s gross in THERE

NO KYLE MY KING SAVE HIM

MR GARRISON POPPED AWF AS HE SHOULD 💅🏻

this cartman monstrosity makes me physically sick

IKE WINS LIKE THE KING HE IS

cartman this is so gross

Stan forcing cartman to thank Kyle and doesn’t HAHAH

EPISODE 13

AAAAAA STENDYLEEEEE

Wendy looks SO CUTE JEICKSKXKDKXKC SHE IS THE GHURL

Stan and his fake beard WERK

KYLE MY SON

I’ve been famished of stendy/STENDYLE content pls excuse me

STENDY HAS A DAUGHTER OH MY GOOOOODDDDD

Timmy LOL

BEBE MY GIRL LETS GOOOOOO

BUTTER SPRINTING

CLYDE AND TOLKIEN OH MY GOD SO CUTE

the kids are so cute I can’t

Wendy speaking boosts my serotonin

GOBBLES :)))))

Timmy protecting gobbles is so sweet

OH FUCK TIMMY SAID JUMP THRU THE RING OF FIRE

AWWW GOBBLES SLEEPING W TIMMY IM CRYING SO WHOLESOME

Clyde slayed

THE KIDS ARE SO CUTE DANCING

kybe crumbs they beside each other

TURKSLAY

BEBE MAIN SLAYER

OH FUCK KENNY

Gobbles sacrificed Kenny for himself not slay

this man manipulating Timmy NOT COOL

cartmans brain is so whack

EW SOME OF THESE VISUALS ARE SO DISTURBING I can’t

NO TIMMY IM SORRY MY LOVE 😭😭😭

NOT HEIDI’S DOG :((((

ALL THE DADS SETTING UP CAMERAS LIKE DADS DO IS SO CUTE AND VERY WHOLESOME 😭 very slay of them

I SEE WENDY AND TOLIKEN CHITTY CHATTIN IN THE BACK 👀 SPARKS ?!?!

DONT KILL GOBBLES

OKAY PRODUCTION !!!!

OH DAMN THEY KILLED SO MANY TURKEYS

STENDY MOMENT STENDY MOMENT I LOVE THEM I LOVE THEM

singing for their fake baby IM DEAD

I have BIG FEELINGS FOR MY KIDS

STAN AND WENDY YELLING AT THE PLASTIC BABY WHY ARE THEY SO UNHINGED I LOVE THEM

them faking their deaths to end the act is so REAL. no one is doing it like my kids ON GOD

NO HE SHOT TIMMY

IM SO UPSET

WATER HELEN

I know WENDY HITTING THAT HIGH NOTE I JUST KNOW

OH FUCK THEY KILLED THAT TURKEY ON THE SPOT

gobbles !!!!

butters. Oh my god

Okay another part bc I fear the character limit

[vixenpen]

I’m In Love With a Stripper pt. 2

(Art by: @circ-salt triggers: cuckolding, name calling, dirty talk, sloppy ass seconds, implied sex for sale)

“I’m exhausted..”

“Just a few more clients, y/n, then it’s off to our massages.” Kirishima encouraged you as he rubbed your shoulders.

You groaned, both at the thought of more sessions and at Kirishima’s huge hands smoothing out the kinks in your shoulders.

Usually after a weekend of servicing clients you treated yourself to a self-care day. Once your meet ups were complete, you’d be able to go to the spa session you had scheduled.

“I know, I know. You’re right, I can do this.”

“Atta girl!”

At that moment a knock sounded at the door, your last client of the day.

“Show time.” You whispered to Kirishima.

Smoothing out your silk robe, you stood from the bed and headed to the door to greet your latest client.

“Hi, Mr. A?”

“Yes, that’s me.” The man replied. He was a new client and only went by the singular initial, but he seemed like a big spender from the time he booked from you.

“Nice to meet you, come on in.”

As Mr. A entered the room, his eyes fell on the huge man standing by the bed. He froze.

“This is just my personal security.”

As always Kirishima fell into the tough guy act easily. He wore a scowl and had his huge hand on his gun.

“Just so you know, buddy, if anything goes wrong, I’ll be in the other room.”

“Oh...” The customer’s eyes darted to you uneasily.

“You said he’ll be in the other room?”

“That’s right.” You crossed your arms, almost certain he was about to cancel the session.

“Can...can he stay and watch?”

“What?!”

Kirishima spoke your thoughts aloud, as your eyes widened and your arms dangled to your side.

“Well, I mean..” the man shuffled a bit. “ only if he wants to. It’s just that I’m into that kind of stuff and I didn’t realize you were going to have another person here so I thought—“

“Well, it’s really up to Kirishima.” You replied still surprised by his request. You turned to your bodyguard. “Sooo...what do you think?” You asked, hoping the nervousness wasn’t apparent in your voice. After all it was one thing to have him overhearing in the other room it was another thing to have him sitting court side like some spectator.

“I...” the redheaded man’s mind went blank. Holy shit, how was he supposed to hold back watching you get pounded right there in the same room as him? Damn...He didn’t wanna mess up your money. A cuck fetish was extra money for both of you. Finally, the man got up the nerve to reply: “sure. That’s fine.”

“Alright!” You turned back to your excited looking customer. “ just so you know this is an up charge of $200.”

He gave an emphatic nod, fishing his wallet out of his pocket. “Fine!”

Minutes later, you were on your back while Mr. A’s face was buried in your pussy.

He was so immaculate at giving head, you had almost forgotten that your best friend was watching from the arm chair in the corner.

Meanwhile, Kirishima was admiring the man’s skills while simultaneously envying him. He could hear your cunt smacking with every hungry lap of the man’s tongue.

The man’s long red locks fell in his face as he leaned forward in the chair and palmed himself through his jeans.

“Mmm~” you sighed. “More fingers.” You begged.

“More fingers? Sure, princess.” He obeyed, slipping in even more digits to your hungry pussy.

Fuck...

Kirishima’s dick strained as he watched you stretch to gobble up the extra fingers. Cream coated the man’s hand and he groaned.

“I think she needs some dick. Don’t you?” The man shot over his shoulder to Kirishima’s surprise.

“I,” the big man cleared his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Yeah she does..”

Mine.

He thought somewhat spitefully, but that didn’t stop him from watching your pretty body get flipped around. He watched the man tower over you and pull out his dick.

When your hazy eyes met his, A sharp exhale escaped the man.

“What a pretty pussy,” the man remarked, sounding hungry as he eyed your ass and pussy. He lay you down on your stomach, facing Kirishima. “That’s right, look at him. I want you to look right in his eyes while I fuck you.”

A whimper rose out of you, and the sound was like music to him.

Kirishima bit his lip and adjusted. You felt Mr. A poising himself over your body, but your attention was zeroed in on your best friend. You noticed the straining bulge in his pants and how big it was and it made your breath catch. The breath was quickly pressed out of you when your client speared your pussy from the back.

“Ahhh, fuckkk~!” You gasped as his dick pierced you. To your shock, Kirishima’s hard on seemed to grow in response.

The bodyguard let out a groan, before unzipping his pants.

Meanwhile, the client was muttering something that sounded like: “fuck yeah, look at him watching you.”

All you could look at was the way his long, masculine fingers were stroking the pretty, tanned dick poking through his boxers.

His golden skin was flushed and his red eyes were hazy.

God it was so thick. Was he really enjoying this? Sure it was basically like a live porno was playing out before him, but still, you never expected the platonic, sweet, gentlemanly Kirishima to be glaring at you like a dog in heat ready to pounce.

Your bestie was hot. No doubt muscle stacked on top of muscle and a tall, broad frame with scars from previous fights. Sure, you’d imagined his dick was probably as substantial as he was, but damn...it was as beefy and vascular as he was. He stroked in time to Mr. A’s harsh rhythm and you couldn’t help, but imagine his strong frame pressing down on you and his veiny, lengthy dick stretching your walls.

Suddenly Mr. A and his grunting and dirty talk were far away. The creak of the bed and smack of skin against skin hypnotized you into a stupefied state.

Damn, you looked sexy as hell, watching him with hungry expression on your face. Perfect little slut you were, you continued to take your client’s dick like a champ, even throwing it back at him. But Kirishima noticed the way your eyes zeroed in on his cock.

He was this close to snatching you from that pervert’s arms and fucking you against the wall.

Your cunt squelched from every stroke and Kirishima’s dick flexed as he felt his nut building nearer.

“C-come here, you!” The man said. It took Kirishima too long to realize your client was talking to him.

“Me?”

His dyed brows raised and he pointed as his chest.

The client nodded, unable to form words.

Confused, the man stood, still holding his dick, and shuffled over to you both.

“C-cum-fuck-cum on her whore face.” He directed. “Cum on her.”

Kirishima’s greedy eyes fell on your juicy ass which was bouncing and rippling from the impact of the man’s strokes. His cock was coated in your juices.

Lucky bastard.

Son of a bitch.

He didn’t deserve to fuck you like that.

The redhead’s thoughts turned more and more violent towards the client and his stroke on his own dick became harsher. He rocked his hips and let his gaze roam from your ass to the stretch of smooth back to your lovely face, staring up at him. Practically begging for his cum like the little whore you were. His little whore.

“Do you want me to cum on your face, y/n?” He asked, gripping your chin in his large, calloused palm.

Your pretty eyes were far away, but you managed to gasp out: “Yes, Kiri, cum on my face~”

“Shhhit!”

It was all he needed to here. Speeding up, his stroke, he kept one hand clasped on your chin and the other on his dick.

“Open that pretty little mouth of yours, babe.”

You did exactly as you were told. Your client moaned and rocked into your tight grip harder, his dick hitting your sweet spot while Kirishima’s manhood pressed against your lips.

Two loud groans sounded over head, and you felt a warmth spray across your face.

Your client’s body sagged with his release, practically falling on top of you.

“Best...fucking...nut of my life..” he sighed.

When you felt a damp, warm towel press against your eyes, cleaning any mess up around there, you finally opened your eyes.

Kirishima gazed down at you like he was looking at a goddess.

Your client meanwhile, got up and began trying to help only for the bodyguard’s fierce glare to scare him off.

“Um, well, thank you, y/n. That was wonderful. I’ll definitely be doing business again. Th-thank you as well, Mr. Kirishima.”

“Thank you, Mr. A,” you replied, from your post on the bed. “Have a lovely day.”

The minute the man left the room, Kirishima had you in his arms. Your eyes widened as you came face to face with lusty Ruby eyes.

“Ei-Eiji-?”

“I can fuck you better than that asshole, y/n,” he disrupted, large hands massaging your ass while he held you against him. “I can fuck you better than all those assholes.” He practically sneered.

“I-“ but what did you say to that? On the one hand you were turned on. On the other you were shocked to see your sweet bestie in this light.

Before you could formulate an answer, Kirishima crushed your lips in a greedy kiss. Your cunt got a massage against the man’s tight abs and you moaned against his lips.

Slowly you felt the tip of his fat dick slide through your swollen lips and a breathy scream choked out as every inch of his thick dick stretched your walls.

“Eiji~ahh, god..”

“I got you, y/n.” He smirked. “Your man’s got you.”

My man?

But the thought was cut short once he began bouncing you roughly along his cock. Your walls convulsed from the sudden pleasure and your tits bounced against Kirishima’s broad chest.

“Fu-fuck-fuuuck! Kiri!” You screamed as his bounced you up and down, squatting a bit to get better position.

Every thrust of him made pleasure burst through your core. Your body felt warm and weightless. Your nails dug in to his broad, sweaty back.

Sharp teeth dug into your neck and a hot tongue soothed the pain.

“Y/n, you’re so-fah-fucking~ahh~” his lips tickled your ear, warm breath fanning against the skin. “Perfect. Perfect little slut. My slut.”

You were used to those words from your clients, but damn did they hit different coming from him. Your pussy clenched from the words and a deep moan met your ears.

In minutes you were pressed against the bed and your legs pinned at Kirishima’s sides. His hips slowed to a swivel so he could finesse his strokes.

“Ohhh my god~!” You shivered as ecstasy rippled through your body. A shiver raced down your spine. ��Fuck me harder, Kiri!” You gasped.

His mouth covered your begging and whining and his hips pistoned harder, making the entire bed freak and buck.

Your thighs got pressed on either side of your head. His fingers bruised your legs, but you could barely feel it. It was nothing compared to how deep his dick was burrowing in to your plush heat. Your screams turned into breathless gasps as every pound knocked the wind out of you.

You gripped into the man’s long red locks desperate for something to ground you as his dick down sent you further over the edge.

You wanted to tell him you were coming, but you could barely form thoughts let alone words.

“You gonna cum for me, y/n? Huh? Is that why your pussy is clenching so hard. Gonna cum on this dick?” He taunted against your ear. “Answer me.”

“Y-y-ye-yess~”

“Come on then. Do it. Come on this dick. It’s all yours, baby girl.”

A few more measured strokes and encouraging words was all it took before your orgasm exploded from deep in your core.

Your whole body shook as you ascended straight into ecstasy. All the while Kirishima encouraged you.

“I got you, baby. Come on, y/n. That’s it, baby. That’s fucking it.”

By the time you finished swimming in your own pleasure and settled down, you couldn’t tell up from down.

Soft kisses along your lips and cheeks brought you back to reality. Eijirou’s sweet face swam into your unfocused vision.

“Damn...” you sighed.

“Damn is right.” He panted. “ do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?”

“Mmm, from the way you fucked me I would say a very long time...” you grinned, tiredly.

“You would be right. I just didn’t wanna ruin what we had as friends and as your bodyguard.”

You stroked the man’s strong jaw. He was too good to be true.

“This is the furthest thing from ruining it. I’m glad..”

Kirishima pressed his forehead to yours, smiling softly. “Y/n, you may fuck those other guys for fantasy, but you’re mine for real, understand?”

With a chuckle you replied: “Understand.”

[mightbewriting]

So I came to W&H and B&E in an odd way. I'm a long time Dramione fic reader who like many of us doubled down on in 2020 to find comfort in a bananas year. I kept seeing W&H on everyone's rec list, but for whatever reason kept putting it off. Then I heard about the prequel and decided to wait for that to be finished, read it, then do W&H. But once it was finished, I saw you recommended W&H first so I was like okay I'll do that. I struggle with impulse control but am trying to do better so when I saw the audiobook for W&H I was like perfect, I'll listen rather than read that way I won't gobble it up in a day. Ha well that did not work, I listened to the first 3 chapters (at that time those were the only chapters they had recorded) then instantly ran not walked to A03, reread said chapters, then continued on. At Chapter 4 of W&H, I thought hmm maybe I'll read them simultaneously. I continued that way maybe through Chapter 13 of B&E and Chapter 7ish then fully committed to W&H first. I cannot imagine reading these fics in real time because reading them in full, back to back was the most intense glutenous binge and it's taken over my life in the best way. I have been living in your fictional universe for the past two weeks. I started a list of all the parallels and callbacks and eventually had to call it because they are innumerable. I'm awed. In literal awe. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Your writing - the individual words of your vast vocabulary, the way you string said words together into hilarious, heart breaking, heart stopping, beautiful, and visceral feelings is astounding. It's hard to explain but even good writers (and/or an intriguing plot) sometimes do not create an overall immersive feeling. But the feelings your words evoke are all encompassing and truly universe building. Like it's not just the wording or the plot or the charters but all of it together come to make something even greater than the sum of their parts. Your writing, your universe of W&H, S&S, and B&E live in my mind and heart and in an embarrassing amount of screenshots of passages on my phone and in voice memos to myself as I don't have anyone irl to fan girl with. When I think of your words and the world you built, I'm reminded of a Taylor Swift lyric: "it cut deep to know you, right to the bone". That is how I'd describe your writing's effect on me, but in the best way.

Your brain's capacity to plot, plan, and flawlessly deliver W&H THEN B&E? Idk how you kept all the threads and plot points and moments and timelines in check. My head aches just thinking about how you wrote these stand-alone but also inextricable works of art. Like how does one's brain function in such a level? And it's especially telling in B&E because we knew where we were going but I still gasped, screamed, squealed, giggled, had to put my phone down, clutched it to my heart, fist pumped, stopped half way through just for a minute to breath and take it all in, and overall looked and acted as an utter idiot during each and every chapter because while I knew where we were going I also had no idea! I'm just floored you managed to keep us at the edge of our seats with a prequel? Who does that? You do!

The texts in the final chapter of W&H devastated me, literal chills. I think about that daily. It's exactly what H and we needed. Just like a reminder of what they went through. It reminded me of Chapter 41 of B&E. Like a summary of where they had been and where they are now.

The other thing that rattled in my brain is the motifs of choice and time, life kind of boils down to those two things huh? But choice especially. It's funny because choice is so prominent but at the same time how W&H and B&E give off soulmate vibes even though this is not a soulmate fic (also are the rumors true...?!) because despite time turners, breakups, and lost memories, they always come back together. But more on choice: it's just as Draco says - in a million scenarios he'll always choose her and he feels lucky she chose him just once. But of course with W&H, she does it twice. And she does it in both timelines of B&E, and of course that's the problem when Draco realizes he has not done the same hence heartbreak 1.0. And just god - he wants her to have a choice with the potion, a choice with her memories, and stops the timey wimey madness by realizing he's taking her choice (and in a way H started it by taking away his choice and leaving the first time). And then those parts about how he chose her, she chose him, but they could not chose each other. This motif, these callbacks. I'm flabbergasted. It's just hitting me now that you extend the choice to us as readers - we get to choose whether H get her memories back or not.

Theo in all your Wait and Hope universe, but especially S&S broke me. Blaise asking who is taking care of Theo when he's taking care of everyone else? Theo's literal and figurative demons? Yikes. Those were unpleasant looks in the mirror for me. I'm glad Theo has his Blaise. Where's mine haha? Also just shout to your underrated Blaise. The fact that he might be my favorite of the Slytherians in your stories says a lot since he doesn't say a lot haha. But he packs such a punch in all your works.

Okay, after singing your well deserved praises and fan girling and marveling at your works (god this is so long, I'm so sorry!), at long last my ask. I still cannot get this out of my head: what did Theo mean in Chapter 1 of B&E when he suggests to Draco “I know that. Maybe you could—tell her some of—” some of what? I zeroed in on this as soon as I read it and it's been rattling in my brain ever since.

um. hi? holy shit. i dont know how to process this. i am resisting the impulse to cringe away from the level of praise happening here because i really need to learn how to take a compliment but oh my god? i am not...this is just...wowzers. you are very literally too kind to me. i have melted into a puddle of feelings in my reading chair here. 

so, first things first: thank you. these are some of the nicest things i’ve ever heard about my writing and i can guarantee i will come back to this ask when I'm feeling like i suck and need a motivation boost. i can’t deny...it feels really nice to know that at least one person out there caught and appreciated some of the insane attention to detail i forced upon myself lol. so thank you. truly, thank you so much for saying such amazingly kind things that have short circuited my brain!

and im sure my friends at @etl-echo-audiobooks will be over the moon to know that their recording work was such a hit! your trajectory reading these stories is so fun and hilarious and probably the most unique reading experience i’ve heard so far xD

also, please be advised that your analysis on choice in these stories is probably going to live in my head rent free for the rest of my life. i feel seen, you know? you just...picked up what i was putting down and it feels really nice to know that it worked for you! 

and ok. your question. that little dash of ambiguity i was planning on leaving open ended. but let it be known i can be plied with compliments. i can’t just *not* give you something in return for such a lovely and kind and thoughtful dose of joy you had absolutely no obligation to give me today. 

so, in my mind, after draco’s house arrest ended and before he went abroad for his mastery, he and theo had an extensive (most likely drunken. also blaise was probably there too) night of reflection where they kind of just looked back at their childhoods and the war and the history of blood purity and just sort of went: “what the fuck?” i imagine draco probably confided in theo that when he went abroad, he planned to just try and pretend like none of it mattered, to see if that was really true. and draco probably kept him updated via owl (even though draco did not write enough and theo had feelings about that) so that by the time draco returned and we have theo asking that sort of trailing question, the implication at the end is “what if you told granger some of your realizations about it all?” so...not all that exciting? but there you have it!

in conclusion: thank you! you are too kind! i appreciate your thoughtful commentary SO much! i’m so happy you enjoyed these stories. and i hope the explanation of what theo was going to say wasn’t too underwhelming.

[jadekitty777]

On Your Six, Chapter 5

Day 5: Mission Go- Cooking for @taiqrowweek

Wait what do you mean I switched the prompt days around? Dunno what you’re talking about ;)

(Don’t worry it’ll make more sense in the long run)

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Sleeve

~

Tai had started feeding him.

At first, it had begun with little things, shortly following that fateful day he gave him the picture. Prepackaged snacks or fresh fruits or vegetables as a healthy addition to the cheap, instant lunch meals he could easily afford. Then it quickly dissolved into tubberware covered leftovers of various pastas or stews, things that kept well and were well adept at making in large servings.

By late May, with the advent of Qrow’s twenty-sixth birthday, Tai arrived at his place loaded with grocery bags, a proper skillet and a determined purpose to make his favorite dish of chicken curry. It was, hands down, one of the best meals he’d had in years.

Yet, even after the occasion passed, the trend continued until it seemed Sunday became the day his stomach most looked forward too. Normally, Qrow would put up a fight about being doted after – Tai wouldn’t be the first omega to develop the habit. The most prominent of whom had been Maria, whose sessions had to be shorter than most both due to her age and the difficulty working with thinner, more wrinkled skin.

But she had also been a grandmother. A feisty one, who smacked him on the head a lot with her cane, but was also kind and worried and constantly remarking on his too-thin frame until he just gave up and let her do whatever she wanted.

But with Tai, he couldn’t even manage to feign annoyance. In part because Tai’s cooking was damn good and he’d be a fool not to gobble it up at every opportunity. But also, because it gave an excuse for their sessions to run long.

He didn’t even think it was a one-sided endeavor. Beyond the innate omega instinct to care for and Tai’s naturally generous personality, there was a loneliness in those blue eyes that told the truth behind all the fumbled attempts to waste time or make breaks run longer. By July, Tai wasn’t leaving his place until at least ten at night.

Neither of them complained about the arrangement.

Then August rolled around, and Qrow had an absolutely foolish idea.

The first Sunday of the month was on the 5th and it passed with little incident or notice. They were back at the first of the designs, arguably the most complex with the amount of color layers needed, so their dinner was nothing fancy. Just simple sandwiches and side salads, so most of their time could be spent under the needle instead.

He’d banked on that happening so that what would happen next wouldn’t have a chance of paling in comparison.

You busy tonight? He messaged early Wednesday.

Tai responded a few hours later, probably when his first break popped up. No. Why?

Come over after work. I have something to give you. He replied after he’d finished with his client for the day, sometime early afternoon.

The final response was cheeky and towards the end of the school day. You’re about as subtle as a brick.

Almost at 6 P.M. on the dot, there was a knock on his door.

“Coming!” Qrow called, dancing between the kitchen and the table to make sure everything was perfectly in place. He gave it all a satisfactory nod, then hurried over, sliding the door open only enough so he could wedge between it and the threshold, blocking Tai’s view.

The omega looked different, fresh out of work. His blond hair had been lightly gelled, just enough to give it a bit of bounce. The casual wear he was normally in was swapped out for a more professional look; pants and a collared shirt ironed of any wrinkles and shoes shined enough they gleamed.

So of course his eyes fell onto the one thing that completely ruined the look with a teasing snort. “Nice tie, Tai.”

“You like it?” He grinned, pulling at the absolutely hideous yellow abomination that was covered in yapping cartoon corgis. “The kids love ‘em. They call me the Funny Tie Guy.”

Oh Gods. “Bet you get a kick out of it every time.”

“I literally can knot get enough of it.” Tai had the nerve to wink as he said it too.

Qrow groaned. “You are so lucky it’s your day. Speaking of-” He swung the door open, revealing the room with a flourish.

Admittedly, it wasn’t much. Still, it was satisfying to see the way Tai’s face lit up with joy as he spotted the modest little table set for two, dinner already set in their bowls and the most expensive white wine he could reasonably afford already poured. The omega looked from it to him, grin growing, “You did all this?”

“Yeaaah.” Qrow flushed, trying to hide his anxiety. He’d never been great with giving gifts. “Happy birthday ya big lug.”

Tai laughed, throwing an arm over his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. “Thank you. This is just what I wanted.”

He could have stayed there forever – but he didn’t work himself to death to let dinner go cold. He pat his back, mindful of the healing wounds, and said, “Let’s eat.”

Qrow’s relationship with cooking was disjointed and the spread seemed to reflect that. The fried rice was perfect; it was one of the first things his mother taught him how to make on the stove. The garlic broccoli, more of a staple in the Xiao Long family, had a bit of crunch where some of the pieces hadn’t fully cooked through because he hadn’t had Tai beside him to remind him to stir. Just like the many other easy things he helped him learn how to make when he found out he and Raven had been living off nothing but white rice and peanut butter sandwiches for months.

The moo shu pork was the trickiest and most complicated dish by far and nothing he’d ever even attempted before. His amateur hand left it looking a bit of a mess as they poured it onto the tortillas. Unpretty as it was in presentation and lacking a few of the pricier ingredients like oyster sauce and sesame oil, the marinade had the pork still bursting with flavor.  

The wine was there to act as a garnish to make the food seem better than it was. Which was probably why Qrow kept pouring it until he and Tai had split two and a half glasses between each other. Either that, or because Tai was adorably chatty when he was tipsy.

“So, there we are, watching about thirty of these Fayblades spinning around, knocking into each other and some of the cheaper ones are falling apart. Everything is going too fast for any of us to do the math problems on them. And Missy and I just look at each other like we both just realized what a horrible mistake we made. It was only the first week back and I was pretty sure we were about to lose an eye or something.” As he told the story, Tai animatedly gestured around with his glass, liquid sloshing almost past the rim. “We get the kids to back up until they all stop. Then Missy starts gathering a few up, saying how this time we would try less so we can actually keep count – when Velvet speaks up from the back and says ‘Blue wins 124 to 90’.”

Qrow polished off his own glass, setting it on the table. “That’s the quiet one with the rabbit in her bag, right?”

“Mmhmm. She kind of tries to hide when everyone starts looking at her, so I don’t say anything right then. Just take it as fact and move on. But when recess comes around, I pull her aside and ask her how she knew the answer. And she tells me, completely serious mind you, that she’s a camera. So it was easy to do all the math when she basically had the pictures saved in her head. And I’m like, holy shit!” He taps his temple for emphasis. “She has a photographic memory.”

“Ain’t that just a myth?” He asked, starting to gather the empty dishes.

Tai waved him off. “Pfft. Qrow, you gotta stop thinking like the world’s just a big science textbook. It’s more like a-a fairytale! Where magic can happen at any moment.”

“Tai, you’re drunk.”

“I am not!” This time, when he gestured, some of the wine hit the table. He blinked down at it. “Ah, shit!”

He laughed. “Man, you still can’t hold your liquor.”

“You dishonor me.” The omega accused, pointing to his right hand as if it were an exhibit. “I’m holding it just fine.”

That only made him laugh harder, until he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

~

Somehow, they found themselves laying side by side on the bed, shoulders pressed together. Tai’s scroll was balanced between the head of the bed and the wall, the display playing the finale of their favorite show growing up, Silver Eyes.  It was the height of the final battle. Rosette was locked in battle with Bastinda while the rest of her friends lay, unconscious or ensnared in traps, around them.

“Do you not yet see how pointless this all is? How my power eclipses you all?” Bastinda snarled as she swung her wand down. “You’re all just insignificant riffraff!”

Rosette seemed to find some strength, blocking the attack with her broadsword. “You’re wrong! No one is insignificant! Even the smallest of us has something good to contribute.”

“Foolish child!” A powerful gravity spell threw Rosette to the ground, knocking her sword out of her hand.

“Gods,” Qrow griped. “This is cheesier than I remember.”

Tai shushed him. “Hush, the best part’s coming up!”

He rolled his eyes, but his traitorous mouth smiled all the same. Alright, so maybe this part was pretty hype. Watching it play out again on the screen, he felt ten again, practically glued to screen as his excitement built.

A large shadow stretched across the valley, delaying the witch from striking the final blow as she turned to the source. Up on the hill, sun behind him, was Zwei. Rosette’s little corgi that had been with her from the start of the show. He came racing down the hill, stubby little legs barely able to pick up speed.

Bastinda sneered, pointed her wand at the dog. “Pathetic.”

“Zwei, no!!” Rosette cried, tears filling her eyes just as the blast fired.

It seemed like the end for the lovable pup as smoke filled the air.

And then, with a blast of light, something came flying out of the dust and landing before the witch. The world rumbled under powerful paws as the giant white wolf stood before her, letting out a powerful growl that brought her to her knees.

“I don’t believe it!” Blanca cried from her mirror prison. “Zwei’s a Guardian!”

The rest of the finale played out just as he remembered, Zwei turning the tide of the fight and giving Rosette a chance to free her friends, all of them coming together for one final attack that rid the world of the cruel witch once and for all. After that, the wolf turned back into the lovable and more marketable corgi pup, and everyone headed home to enjoy true peace for the first time in a millennium.

Tai sat up as the credits began to roll, stretching his arms above his head. “I still think it holds up pretty well.”

“Sure, if you ignore the fact they completely sidelined Silver Eyes. It’s only the title of the show.” He snarked.

“Come on now. It’s not about the power ups. It’s about the journey and the-”

“Friends they made alone the way.” He mimed gagging. It was only the motto shoved down his throat at the end of almost every episode.

Tai merely laughed at his antics, picking up his scroll and slipping off the bed. “It’s late. I better head home.”

Maybe it was the vestiges of the alcohol or maybe it was the other’s scent, sweeter and more inviting than usual, that loosened his tongue enough to offer, “You could crash here, if you want.”

“In your bed? We hardly fit.”

Acquiescently, he rolled onto his side, practically shoving himself against the wall as he pat the wide, empty space. “It’ll be fine. And your drunk.”

“Hardly. And I’ll have to get up early to get back home and get ready.”

“It’s fine.” The noise left him involuntarily. It wasn’t a growl, really; it was barely more than a rumble. Regardless, the regret hit him instantly as he bit down on his tongue and turned his face up apologetically.

The omega just arched a brow, entirely unaffected and unimpressed by his pitiful display. Then he chuckled, any meteor-sized tension there could have been burning up long before impact could be made. “Gods, you’re such a punk, you know that?”

“I…uh…”

“Alright, you win.” Tai set the alarm on his scroll with his right hand, while he crossed the room and got the lights with his left. He used the glow coming off of the device to find his way back, dropping it onto the nightstand. In the bits of moonlight coming from the window, Tai became an erotic beauty as he undid his tie and buttons, shrugging out of his shirt. His belt hit the ground next – though mercifully he kept his pants on.

Qrow watched him, utterly transfixed, as he lowed himself to the bed, mattress dipping anew with the readded weight as the omega stretched out onto his stomach. Beyond all comprehension, he had to fight every muscle in his body from reaching for him. The need to bring him close and curl around him was overwhelming. So, he shoved his hands underneath the crook of his neck and locked his elbows.

Why had he thought this was a good idea again?

Tai heaved out a long sigh, mumbling, “Goodnight Qrow.”

He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper as he responded, “G’night.”

Without a clock in the room, there was no telling how long he lay there, coiled up tight like a spring waiting for the pressure to come loose, listening to the sounds of Tai’s breathing slowly evening out. It wasn’t until Qrow was absolutely certain the other wouldn’t wake that he risked it.

Though it felt a bit reprehensible, it was with that same uncontrolled desire in which he found himself scooting his upper half forward, inch by agonizing inch, until the bridge of his nose was pressed up against the curve of Tai’s shoulder.

His eyes slipped shut, breathing in deeply. The omega’s scent swirled around him, sunflowers and soil and bright summer days; a smell that was unmistakably, irrevocably Tai.

Here. With him.

Slowly, the rigidity to his muscles relaxed and he finally drifted off, the scent embracing him as securely as its owner could.

[jayjaysocks]

Listing my favorite animes (because I’m jumping on the bandwagon)

❗️⚠️ *spoilers!! (Duh)* ❗️⚠️

5. Deadman Wonderland

I was really really sad when I found out this anime got cancelled. The music was fantastic, the animation was really good, and the voice acting was incredible. Even the fucking dubbed version (I loved the voice they chose for Senji. God he was hilarious). I binged this show so fucking fast it wasn’t even funny. I loved watching the characters go through their own struggles and grow as people in the very small amount of episodes provided. There was a lot of development within the snippet that we actually saw, and I was thoroughly impressed with how well it was done. I wanted to scream or something when I found out there wouldn’t be a second season.

Sigh. Oh well. At least we got some of the manga’s masterpiece translated into a show, even if we were missing some fucking awesome characters.

4. Guilty Crown

Ugh, don’t even get me started. This anime was beautiful and I got so invested so freaking quickly. I literally go back every few years to rewatch it because I get ship starved.

Shu and Inori’s story was so beautifully done; between Shu uncovering his courage and Inori’s journey of self-discovery, I was continuously awe-struck and filled with feelings—I mean, I had never felt such raw emotion while watching something and I was completely blown away by the affect it had on me. Anger, hatred, sadness, it was all there (even for the main character lmao) and it was one of the first times I had ever felt a ship so heavily that I literally cried at the end. It was one of the very first Animes I’d ever seen and was one of the reasons I got such a taste for them. Thanks for throwing me down that rabbit hole, GC.

3. Soul Eater

This was literally the first Anime I’d ever seen, and my god I couldn’t have asked for a better starter. What I like about this one is that it’s style is so unique and different. It’s very punk and grunge, something I admired and appreciated in a genre that is normally the opposite (like Guilty Crown, for example). Also the fight scenes were badass, like holy shit just look at that gif ??? Freaking amazing.

I loved the way the show transitioned from light hearted to intense and adrenaline pumping so effortlessly. That can be said about a lot of shows, but this one went from *haha cute show* to *holy shit, like they’re actually gonna die ohmygod howaretheygoingtosurvivethis* so smoothly I was genuinely surprised. They made one of the main villains actually cool and each character had their own beautifully done arc. I loved and adored how the show solidified and expanded on the different friendships/relationships that were involved—specifically Soul and Maka’s (also, holy shit, Stein’s arc? Fucking prime, dude). There was a lot of growth in each and every friendship (CRONA!!!), and that really pushed the viewer to invest in the individual characters.

I am fucking delighted that this was my first anime, and (though the ending was a little anticlimactic) it remains one of my top favorites to this day. It set the bar pretty fucking high, and for that I am extremely greatful.

No one asked for Soul Eater: Not! It is the unspoken sin of the Soul Eater world (then again, it is called Soul Eater: Not!)

2. Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood

If you have been following me for a while, then you are no stranger to my love of FMAB. Some of my most popular posts are about this anime, and for good reason.

Unfortunately, I was late to the party. I actually didn’t watch this until last year, but got invested really damn quick. I have a tendency to be extremely picky about the animes that I watch/like (which is why NONE of these shows are that recent), to the point that I will literally research them before I start watching (a bad habit, do not copy me). I have an incomparably hard time finishing a show when I start, because I get bored really quickly, but this was an exception. I started watching and I just... didn’t stop. I spent a straight week watching FMAB, gobbling it up during any small amount free time I could manage, and finished it before I even knew what happened. I wasn’t picky about it, I didn’t research it, I just dove right in and gosh, I was not disappointed.

The subtle romance that was alluded throughout the entire show was super cute, the devotion the brothers had for each other was to die for, and the struggles that each person went through was more than moving. I never once found myself bored while watching, and that’s saying a lot for my adhd ass. I was invested in each and every second of that damn anime and I was never, ever left underwhelmed. That probably had to do with the fact that every. Single. Character. Had a purpose. I’m not even kidding. Every single person contributed to the big fight at the end and that alone is fucking fantastic.

Not to mention ALL the women, every female character, was a badass bitch. None of them were reduced to sex appeal or romantic subplot, they all had real feelings, real arcs and real, unadulterated badassery that I thoroughly admired and appreciated. I could watch this anime over and over again every single month and I wouldn’t get bored. Between the emotional struggle, self discovery, and personal development of each character, I promise you will not see a lack of plot or meaning here. The more you watch, the more you discover and that is not a lie. There are so many layers to its story, which only makes me wish I had watched this sooner.

There is nothing I have to offer in the ways of criticism, and for that I couldn’t be happier. Thank you, Hiromu Arakawa, for such an incredible piece of art. You deserve every bit of love that this manga/anime gets. You go girl.

1. Cowboy Bepop

Holy shit holy shit holy shit this anime is so fucking good and it has been my favorite for so damn long. I have been watching anime for years, and while some of the shows in my list have moved around, this one has yet to be bumped down from the top (and I doubt it ever will). There’s a reason it became such a cult classic.

For starters, the animation. I mean, just look at Spike and the way they animate his fighting (yes I am aware that this gif is from the movie, but that still doesn’t change my point). The sequences in the show/film have been reused in many other shows and for good reason. It’s good, incredible, actually and they make him look so badass with just a few hand movements. I was consistently impressed with the way the fight scenes were portrayed and wasn’t ever left underwhelmed or disappointed (or, for that matter, feeling like they completely over exaggerated/overcompensated the scene with huge close-ups and tons of debris and lights). I loved watching this and my heart was always pounding with every intense interaction. I didn’t feel bored during any of the episodes and always found myself laughing when they cracked a joke—pretty much all of their funny lines hit and that’s saying something, dude.

The show, while having a lighthearted surface, has a heavy meaning that you don’t see at first glance. It’s about dealing with grief and loss, and how the characters themselves accomplished that in different ways. The most prominent quote is the biggest indication of its moral “you’re gonna carry that weight”. Basically: ‘You’ve gotta pick up your baggage, because the world moves on, with or without you’. Or ‘You’re going to carry that weight whether you like it or not, because life keeps going’. When I figured out the show’s actual message, while staring at my ceiling in the long hours of the night, I almost cried. This realization brought something entirely different to the table, a new understanding of the show’s characters and overall essence.

The main characters, all of them, had depth. They had real, palpable depth, and even if you didn’t want to care you found yourself seriously interested in their lives. Each of them had relatively shitty pasts. Faye with her lost memories, Spike with Julia and the people who fucked him over, Jet with his old flame and the ISSP, Ed and her/his father... throughout the entire show we got to see how all of them dealt with these things, whether they wanted to continue on with life or not. The way they portrayed it was engaging, because the characters individual, contrasting journeys weren’t repetitive or one note. The beauty that the show holds so achinging close to its core, the layers of grief that the characters are wrapped in so delicately is almost suffocatingly real—because they’re all different. It’s something you discover when you think on the subject in a deeper light, which is another reason why I enjoy it so much. It has both a surface story and a deeper one. You can either take the show at face value or choose to understand the underlying moral.

This show inspired my very first, thoroughly fleshed out OC, and continues to inspire me to this day. It has contributed to my own personal growth, and has helped push me to continue my art and writing. It is beautifully written, beautifully executed and even though some of the episodes seem like filler, it has never disappointed me. I rewatch it all the time because there’s something so infinitely refreshing about the beauty of this anime, whether it be the way we watch the characters develop or the overall moral it portrays. This show has given us a message that is essentially timeless, it can be ‘carried’ through generation after generation, and still have the same impact—something I absolutely fucking adore.

I owe so much to this anime, including my very own artistic development. I discovered it during a really shitty time in my life and I couldn’t have asked for better timing. I will never tire of the bittersweet message or the thoroughly fucking fantastic animation. Everyone who contributed to this masterpiece deserves love, because it’s seriously fucking gold.

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 11 paragraph iv

What I somehow hadn't expected was a city prinked-up for Christmas: fir boughs and tinsel, starburst ornaments in the shop windows and a cold stiff wind coming off the canals and fires and festival stalls and people on bicycles, toys and color and candy, holiday confusion and gleam. Little dogs, little children, gossipers and watchers and package bearers, clowns in top hats and military greatcoats and a little dancing jester in Christmas clothes à la Avercamp. I still wasn’t quite awake and none of it seemed to have any more reality than the fleeting dream of Pippa I’d had on the plane where I’d spotted her in a park with many tall fountains and a Saturn-ringed planet hanging low and majestic in the sky. “Nieuwmarkt,” said Gyuri as we came out on a big circle with a turreted fairytale castle and—around it—an open air market, cut evergreens lightly frosted with snow, mittened vendors stamping, an illustration from a children’s book. “Ho, ho, ho.” “Always a lot of police here,” said Boris gloomily, sliding into the door as Gyuri took the turn hard. For various reasons I was apprehensive about accommodations, and ready to make my excuses in case they involved anything like squatter conditions or sleeping on the floor. Luckily Myriam had booked me a hotel in a canal house in the old part of town. I dropped my bags, locked the cash in the safe, and went back out to the street to meet Boris. Gyuri had gone to park the car. He dropped his cigarette on the cobblestones and dashed it under his heel. “I’ve not been here in a while,” he said, his breath coming out white, as he looked round appraisingly at the soberly clad pedestrians on the street. “My flat in Antwerp—well it is for business reasons I am in Antwerp. Beautiful city too—same sea clouds, same light. Someday we will go there. But I always forget how much I like it here as well. Starving to death, you?” he said, punching me in the arm. “Mind walking a bit?” Down narrow streets we wandered, damp alleys too narrow for cars, foggy little ochreous shops filled with old prints and dusty porcelains. Canal footbridge: brown water, lonely brown duck. Plastic cup half-submerged and bobbing. The wind was raw and wet with blown pinpricks of sleet and the space around us felt close and dank. Didn’t the canals freeze in winter? I asked. “Yes, but—” wiping his nose—“global warming, I suppose.” In his overcoat and suit from the previous night’s party he looked both completely out of place and completely at home. “What a dog’s weather! Shall we duck in here? Do you think?” The dirty canal-side bar, or café, or whatever it was, had dark wood and a maritime theme, oars and life preservers, red candles burning low even in the daytime and a desolate foggy feel. Smoky, muggy light. Water droplets condensed on the inside of the windowpane. No menus. In back was a chalkboard scrawled with foods unintelligible to me: dagsoep, draadjesvlees, kapucijnerschotel, zuurkoolstamppot. “Here, let me order,” said Boris, and proceeded to do so, surprisingly, in Dutch. What arrived was a typically Boris meal of beer, bread, sausages, and potatoes with pork and sauerkraut. Boris—happily gobbling—was reminiscing about his first and only attempt to ride a bicycle in the city (wipeout, disaster) and also how much he enjoyed the new herring in Amsterdam, which fortunately wasn’t in season since apparently you ate it by holding it up by the tail fin and dangling it down into your mouth, but I was too disoriented by my surroundings to listen very closely and with almost painfully heightened senses I stirred at the potato mess with my fork and felt the strangeness of the city pressing in all around me, smells of tobacco and malt and nutmeg, café walls the melancholy brown of an old leather-bound book and then beyond, dark passages and brackish water lapping, low skies and old buildings all leaning against each other with a moody, poetic, edgeof-destruction feel, the cobblestoned loneliness of a city that felt—to me, anyway—like a place where you might come to let the water close over your head.

Before long Gyuri joined us, red-cheeked and breathless. “Parking—bit of a problem here,” he said. “Sorry.” He extended his hand to me. “Glad to see you!” he said, embracing me with a genuine-seeming warmth that startled me, as if we were old friends long separated. “Everything is okay?” Boris, on his second pint by now, was holding forth a bit about Horst. “I do not know why he does not move to Amsterdam,” he said, gnawing happily on a hunk of sausage. “Constantly he complains about New York! Hate hate hate! And all the holy while—” waving a hand at the canal outside the fogged window—“everything he loves is here. Even the language is same as his. If he really wanted to be happy in the world, Horst? To have any kind of joyful or happy life? He should pay twenty grand to go back to his rapid detox place and then come here and smoke Buddha Haze and stand in a museum all day long.” “Horst—?” I said, looking from one to the other. “Sorry?” “Does he know you’re here?” Boris gulped his beer. “Horst? No. He does not. It is going to be much, much easier if Horst learns about all this after. Because—” licking a dab of mustard off his finger—“my suspicions are correct. Fucking Sascha who stole the thing. Ulrika’s brother,” he said urgently. “Which with Ulrika puts Horst in bad position. So—much better if I take care of it on my own, see? I am doing Horst a favor this way—favor he won’t forget.” “What do you mean, ‘take care of it’?” Boris sighed. “It—” he looked around to make sure no one was listening, even though we were the only people in the place—”well, it is complicated, I could talk for three days, but I can also tell you in three lines what has happened.” “Does Ulrika know he took it?” Rolled eyes. “Search me.” A phrase I had taught Boris years ago, horsing around at my house after school. Search me. Cut it out. Smoky desert twilight, shades drawn. Make up your mind. Let’s face it. No way. Same shadows on his face. Gold light glinting off the doors by the pool. “I think Sascha would have to be very stupid to tell Ulrika,” said Gyuri, with a worried expression on his face. “I don’t know what Ulrika knows or does not know. Has no relevance. She has loyalty to her brother over Horst, as she has shown many and many times over. You would think—” grandly signalling the waitress to bring Gyuri a pint —“you would think Sascha had sense to sit on it for a while, at least! But no. He can’t get a loan on it in Hamburg or Frankfurt because of Horst—because Horst would hear of it in one second. So he has brought it here.” “Well look, if you know who has it we should just call the police.” The silence, and blank looks that followed this, were as if I’d produced a can of gasoline and suggested lighting ourselves on fire. “Well, I mean,” I said defensively, after the waitress had arrived with Gyuri’s beer, set it down, left again, and neither Gyuri nor Boris had spoken a word. “Isn’t that the safest? And easiest? If the cops recover it and you have nothing to do with it?” Ding of a bicycle bell, woman clattering by on the sidewalk, rattle of spokes, witchy black cape flying behind. “Because—” glancing between them—“when you think of what this picture has gone through—what it must have gone through—I don’t know if you understand, Boris, how much care has to be taken even to ship a painting? Just to pack it properly? Why take any chances?” “This is my feeling exactly.” “An anonymous call. To the art-crimes people. They’re not like the normal cops—no connections with the normal cops—the picture is all they care about. They’ll know what to do.”

Boris leaned back in his chair. He looked around. Then he looked at me. “No,” he said. “That is not a good idea.” His tone was that of someone addressing a five year old. “And, do you want to know why?” “Think about it. It’s the easiest way. You wouldn’t have to do a thing.” Boris set his beer glass down carefully. “They’d have the best chance of getting it back unharmed. Also, if I do it —if I call them—shit, I could have Hobie call them—” hands to head—“any way you look at it, you wouldn’t be putting yourselves at risk. That is to say”—I was too tired, disoriented; two pairs of Dremel-drill eyes, I couldn’t think—“if I did it, or someone else not a part of your, um, organization—” Boris let out a shout of laughter. “Organization? Well—” shaking his head so vigorously the hair fell in his eyes—“I suppose we count as organization, of sorts, since we are three or more—! But we are not very large or very organized as you can see.” “You should eat something,” said Gyuri to me, in the tense pause that followed, looking at my untouched plate of pork and potato. “He should eat,” he said to Boris. “Tell him to eat.” “Let him starve if he wants. Anyway,” said Boris, grabbing a chunk of pork off my plate and popping it in his mouth— “One call. I’ll do it.” “No,” said Boris, glowering suddenly and pushing back in his chair. “You will not. No, no, fuck you, shut up, you won’t,” he said, lifting his chin aggressively when I tried to talk over him—Gyuri’s hand on my wrist very suddenly, a touch I knew very well, the old forgotten Vegas language of when my dad was in the kitchen ranting about whose house it was? and who paid for what?— “And, and,” said Boris imperiously, taking advantage of a lull in my response he was not expecting, “I want you to stop talking this stupid ‘call’ business right away. ‘Call, call,’ ” he said, when he got no answer from me, waving his hand back and forth ridiculously in the air as if “call” were some absurd kiddie word that meant ‘unicorn’ or ‘fairyland.’ “I know you are trying to help but this is not helpful suggestion on your part. So forget it. No more ‘call.’ Anyway,” he said amiably, pouring part of his own beer into my halfempty glass. “As I was explaining to you. Since Sascha is in so big hurry? Is he thinking clearly? Is he playing more than one, or maybe two moves ahead? No. Sascha is out of towner. His connections here are poisonous to him. He needs money. And he is working so hard to stay clear of Horst that he has wandered smack into me.” I said nothing. It would be easy enough to phone the police myself. There was no reason to involve Boris or Gyuri at all. “Amazing stroke of luck, no? And our friend the Georgian—very rich man, but so far from Horst’s world and so far from art collector, he did not even know of picture by name. Just a bird—little yellow bird. But Cherry believes he is telling the truth that he saw it. Very powerful guy in terms of real estate? Here and in Antwerp? Plenty of paper and father to Cherry almost, but not person of great education if you understand me.” “Where is it now?” Boris rubbed his nose vigorously. “I do not know. They are not going to tell us that, are they? But Vitya has got in touch to say he knows of a buyer. And a meeting has been set up.” “Where?” “Not settled yet. They have already changed the location half a dozen times. Paranoid,” he said, making a screw-loose gesture at the side of his head with his hand. “They may make us wait a day or two. We may know only an hour before.” “Cherry,” I said, and stopped. Vitya was short for Cherry’s Russian name, Viktor—Victor, the Anglicized version—but Cherry was only a nickname and I didn’t know a thing about Sascha: not his age, not his surname, not what he looked like, nothing at all except that he was Ulrika’s brother—and even this was uncertain in the literal sense, given how loosely Boris threw around the word.

Boris sucked a bit of grease off his thumb. “My idea was—set up something at your hotel. You know, you, American, big shot, interested in the picture. They”—he lowered his voice as the waitress switched his empty pint for a full one, Gyuri nodding politely, leaning in—“they would come to your room. That’s how is done usually. All very businesslike. But”—minimal shrug—“they are new at this, and paranoid. They want to call their own location. “Which is?” “Don’t know yet! Didn’t I just say? They keep changing their mind. If they want us to wait—we wait. We have to let them think they are boss. Now, sorry,” he said, stretching and yawning, rubbing a dark-circled eye with a fingertip, “I am tired! Want a nap!” He turned and said something to Gyuri in Ukrainian, and then turned back to me. “Sorry,” he said, leaning in and slinging his arm around my shoulder. “You can find your way back to your hotel?” I tried to disengage myself without seeming to. “Right. Where are you staying?” “Girlfriend’s flat—Zeedijk.” “Near Zeedijk,” said Gyuri, rising purposefully, with a polite and vaguely military air. “Chinese quarter of the old times.” “What’s the address?” “Cannot remember. You know me. I cannot remember addresses in my head and like that. But—” Boris tapped his pocket—“your hotel.” “Right.” Back in Vegas, if we ever got separated—running from the mall cops, pockets full of stolen gift cards—my house was always the rendezvous point. “So—I’ll meet you back there. And you have my phone number, and I have yours. Will call you when I know something more. Now—” slapping me on the back of the head—“stop worrying, Potter! Don’t stand there and look so unhappy! If we lose, we win, and if we win, we win! Everything is good! You know which way to go to get back, don’t you? Just up this way, and left when you get to the Singel. Yes, there. We will speak soon.”

[wintersweetbou]

Glaiveweek 2020 Day 3. The Drum Calls

Back again for day 3 of Glaiveweek 2020! @glaiveweek​

Prompt: AU

Summary: After the survivors of Galahd settle into Insomnia, and elder couple wishes to bless their new home like they used to, and asks around for help. Nyx rallies the glaive, and they train for one more dance. 

Note: Lion Dancing is a traditional practice to ward off evil spirits and bring good luck to celebrations- mostly Lunar New Year, weddings, and birthdays. Any celebration will do. Seeing a dance means good luck for the rest of the year, and getting hit with the lettuce (greens) thrown by lions means good financial luck for the rest of the year. Also used by martial arts schools to showcase the power of their students. The style of dancing (futsan) in the story originated in China, but many other nations/ regions have their own unique styles. 

Elders Rythe and Syna put out the call. They wanted to lead a team to bless their new home at the coming new year celebration, before they no longer had the energy to do so. Most every galahdian danced with lions when they were younger, or saw enough dances to know the roles and be led through a dance. Nyx thought it would be a great bonding experience and training- it took teamwork, athleticism, and focus to be a lion dancer. If they could pull off one dance, they would never forget it. Something simple, something classic. Drautos didn’t understand the symbolism, but he could get behind a good workout that would boost group cohesion. With some practice- everybody knew different beats and footwork, so that was a treat to get the glaives on one page. The old couple played traditional music, a more freestyle approach- parade style. It was not that hard, compared to learning some of the newer styles of dancing out there. Less choreography, more freedom to do what you wanted, as long as you remembered to follow down the street. Remembering what tricks you were assigned to do was the most difficult part, after getting the steps down.

The date was scheduled, and more apartment buildings on the street expressed interest. Roles were distributed and practiced. The elder couple would drum and gong- leading the dance, as the eldest on a team should. Nyx would be the monk, his mask giving him tiny slits to peep from, but still the best vision on the team. The monk was the tamer of the lions, the keeper. Nyx had to make sure everyone was on track, and keeping up. Pelna would spot trouble while playing cymbals, and gesture at Nyx until he fixed it. 

Lion assignment was easy. The three brothers- the most traditional arrangement. It would make every ancestor proud. The youngest brother- the trouble maker. Tredd would head, with Luche in the tail making sure they didn't destroy too much, and making sure that Tredd didn’t get them both killed. The middle brother, the warrior- Crowe and Libertus. His strength made lifting her effortless- they could walk around with her atop his shoulders all day. The eldest brother- the wise and patient. Axis and Sonitus, being calm and good friends, would be a nice balance to the temper and mischief of the other two. They just had to eat the offerings, share it with the crowd, and devour any cash tips given by the crowd.  Simple, right? 

The street was theirs. Nyx checked with his team, quickly going over the routine with the heads. Once the team was ready, he snapped his fan open, the resounding crack reaching the elder’s ears. Rythe tapped the rim of his drum, calling attention. Then they surged forth.

Pounding drumbeat, clashing cymbals, resounding gong. Screaming children, roaring audience. Vibrant color flashing to black. Light flickering. The taste of gunpowder. The smell of food simmering nearby. The burn of sulfur. Silks and fur rubbing skin, bamboo rods chafing hands and necks. The deep ache and surge of muscles. Sensory overload, and yet, there was a calm below the chaos once the initial adrenaline burned off. A thrumming- steady, commanding. Nothing else mattered but that beat. The drum called, and the lions followed. 

Tredd snapped at the children lining the street, shaking his black mane. They shrieked and pranced back, only to surge back and demand to be chased. The dark beast stomped, viciously shaking his massive head, blinking his glowing eyes. A young boy, thinking himself brave, sat at the lion’s feet, taunting the predator to eat him. Tredd grinned under the mask, and snatched the boy’s foot in his jaws, backing up quickly, dragging the now squealing child into the street. 

Tredd released the boy, blinking softly at the retreating form. The shrieking mass of youth pressed forward once more. Tredd sank into a low crouch, pulling the rope to close the eyes, and lightly rubbed the lions head on the kids reaching bravely forth. With a softer side presented, more kids stepped forth, petting the black beast. Luche grinned as he felt small hands run along his back, folded low in the cape of the tail. He twitched his hips, making the small spring bob tail on the cape wag. Excited chatter from the kids, and Luche wagged again- only to have a painful smack light up his butt. Luche squawked, gripping Tredd’s hips in offence. 

The youngest lion sprang up, chasing the silly monk who dared to lay his fan across his flanks. The chase around the street had the adults roaring with laughter. The predator snapped, kicked, and glared at the monk, but couldn't catch him. Without help. 

Crowe scampered up Libertus’s back, easily standing on his shoulders, shaking the crimson lion’s head, flashing the rich color of the cape. Libertus walked steadily, spinning every now and then in a gentle circle, camera flashes in their wake. Until they came across a group of teenagers not paying attention- looking at their phones from their seat on the curb. 

“Down.” Crowe growled. 

The red lion crashed down, stomping on landing, snapping at their faces. Several screamed, and the others laughed or froze in shock. Crowe lashed out at the air just barely out of striking range, forcing shouts out of the surly bunch. Libertus squeezed her hips, and with a bounce the red lion was towering above them, Crowe perched neatly on Libertus’s head. The beast bared its fangs, glaring, before turning to see a black flash chase a panicking monk. Crowe pawed and bounded down, following, also wanting to sink her fangs into the monk. 

Axis gently blinked the yellow lion’s eyes, bowing to elders as they paraded up the street. The younger lions fought and ran, while the eldest watched and followed with poise. Parents with toddlers shyly approached, letting the guardian inspect and nuzzle at their young ones. It was good luck to see a lion dance, and those in attendance hoped that the luck would rub off on their loved ones. 

The eldest beast shook his white mane, and approached a group of elders drinking wine, bundled into folding chairs. Axis drew himself up to his full height, making the mask peer down at the old folks. Sonitus lowered his stance with a stomp close to their feet. They laughed, and offered a slip of money, asking for a bit of extra luck. The lion slowly blinked, tail wagging, swaying as the elders waved it and gobbled the cash. The yellow beast drew back slightly, only to fall forward into rolling bows, quickly in sets of three. The elders laughed brightly, stroking the soft fur when the beast nuzzled forward, chatting about how their kids used to dance, and how their beats varied across different regions. 

  The beat rumbled faster. Axis rose with a snap, and quickly rejoined the others, circling around the drum, now approaching the building they were blessing. Nyx scampered up, dangling a head of lettuce on the end of a pole. This was the final trick- take the greens, spread them, and share them with the community. Black, red, and yellow blurred as the lions fought for the prize. Tredd and Luche tried to snatch the lettuce, but was shoved roughly out of the way by Crowe and Libertus. Axis and Sonitus retreated with dignity, and noticed something different about the people standing out front here. 

Crownsguard. Lots of them. Dignitaries- The Amiticia family, including tiny baby Gladiolus, and Drautos.  At the center- the king, and his very pregnant queen. Holy shit. The eldest reared back, shaking his head in disbelief, blinking huge eyes. Nyx waved the pole, forcing the middling to back off. Red flashed as Libertus hefted Crowe, where she pawed at the air, watching as the prize was lowered into the queen’s hands. Nyx knelt at her side, gesturing to her to give it to the beasts. The eldest bowed, and nosed at her hands gently. He would not take like his brothers, he only accepted what was given. Auela smiled, offering the lettuce, slipping in a small red envelope. The eldest softly took the greens, munching the treat, spilling most of it on the ground, but keeping a good handful. 

The youngest pouted, sniffing from a distance, jealous of the treat. Tredd dropped to his knees, Luche mirroring, and the black lion crept forward slowly, inching towards the spilled greens. Almost there. 

The royal retinue glanced about as the beat changed- a drumroll. The yellow beast rolled his head to the beat, preparing. With a final, hard tap to the rim of the drum- Axis launched his mouthful of lettuce into the air- where it gently fluttered down on the royal entourage. Regis held a giggling Auela, a leaf stuck to his head. She grabbed it and playfully smacked him with it, as Clarus similarly snatched a leaf and gave it to the tiny Gladio, who squalled at the new sensation, gripping the leaf absently. 

Meanwhile, the middlling and youngest lions split the remainder of the greens while everyone else was distracted with the monarchy. The red beast slunk off to snap at Drautos, surrounded by crownsguard,who raised an eyebrow in response, while the black tugged at Regis’s pant leg, urging him to take a step forward, away from the baby and pregnant woman. Regis laughed, following for several steps. Perfect. 

The drumroll started again, Crowe and Tredd rolled their heads, the lions preparing. The rim of the drum clacked, and they released. But this was no gentle overhead throw. Crowe shotgunned half a head of lettuce at the captain with all the force she could generate, making him stagger back with a shout. Tredd did the same, spraying Regis from the waist up in greenery. The king squawked, retreating to his howling wife. 

The drums called a bow, and the lions did so, lowering their heads in blessing and reverence to the community and the buildings.Two beats later, and the glaives popped out of the lion costumes, bowing themselves to their audience. Cheers shook the street, and people rushed forwards for pictures, and to offer their congratulations on a good performance. The team gathered, squabbling over who did the best, bowing to the elders who gathered them in the first place. 

“We are so proud of you, and I bet the ancestors are too. Honor to you, Kingsglaive.” Rythe and Syna bowed back, accepting help gathering the instruments and costumes back into the community hall. The glaives wished each other well, leaving to meet with their own loved ones for the new year.

The celebration lasted well into the night, with good food, friends, and family. Firecrackers exploded intermittently, scaring off evil spirits. Good luck and blessings for the new year spread. For one night, all was well.

[ladypyb]

For Bread or For Worse

Rating: G

Relationship/s: USUK

Tags: Omegaverse, Cooking, and a lot of misunderstandings.

Day 3 of HetaliaXmasEvent: Christmas’s Costume / Christmas’s miracle / Christmas’s festival

|ao3|

(Gaaaaah, this is the first time that I’ve completed a fic on these two dorks! I hope you enjoy this little fic tho.)

As an alpha, it was Alfred's job is to protect his mate from all dangers. Even if that certain danger is Arthur's cooking.

Alfred loved Arthur, truly. He'd travel to the moon and back in a boat if he could. But in all things good and holy does the alpha want to prove his love by eating one of Arthur's kitchen spawn. Although he did just that in the first year of their relationship back in college. Alfred has an endearing-but-not-so-fond memory of having to be bedridden for a week and missing a regional robotics competition because he ate an English scone that he was sure to be the embodiment of the word 'death'. He swore it was hard and looked like a rock but then it was too underbaked in the inside. But he can't refuse the omega's expectant face as he hid his injured hands so Alfred gobbled it all up and then proceeded to get sick. And Arthur, the more stubborn of the two, refused to cook for his 'ungrateful arse' when the alpha admitted the truth about the cause.

 That has become their arrangement. Alfred has been the one who cooks for both of them since then. He landed a job as a chef in a French restaurant owned by his older brother's mate, after all.

 So there he was, taking out the third batch of his infamous heaven-sent gingerbread cookies while the omega sulked behind the counter. It was the first week of December and Arthur had a look of longing to whip something up in his eyes. 

 Three years into their relationship and six months of them being mates, Alfred was successful from distracting the other from the kitchen with an overall of two and a half years. DIstracted enough that the omega ordered him to bake him some 'biscuits'. A pleasant change from his sickly display and sudden picky eating (Arthur wasn't picky before).

 The alpha placed the final batch inside and closed the oven with his foot. That earned him an eye-twitch from Arthur. "D'you wanna help me decorate these trees, sweetheart?"

 "No." Arthur frowned and looked away from him and his cookies. Was he still sore about that? Alfred took off a mitten to turn the fan on. If it cools down the cookies, maybe it'll cool down the omega's temper. Arthur only grunted in response.

 "You told me you wanted some gingerbread cookies. You were pouting, even. Want to take a bite?"

 "Humph."

 "C'mon, I worked real hard to suit them for your tastes, My Queen," Alfred took a cookie but immediately dropped it with a hiss, "Oh- Shit!" It was scalding hot! He forgot about that. Alfred began licking his wounded fingers.

 Arthur stood up. Alfred thought he was coming over to fret over him like he always would but to his befuddlement, the other headed in the opposite direction. 

 "Wehw ya goin'?" Arthur only responded to his mate with a curt "Outside".

 Yup. The alpha fetched a few icing pipes from the cupboard. Arthur was still sore about his comment years ago. He just hopes this wouldn't ruin their first Christmas together as mates.

 ________

 Arthur's attitude toward him on the following week was like Maine's climate in Winter. Cold enough to freeze his balls. The fear of his mate cutting them off with scissors was then established when he saw him cutting pieces off of one of Alfred's dessert magazines in the middle of the night while muttering 'bollocks', 'chop off', 'shitty arse', and 'Alfred'. Which the alpha put together later on as 'Alfred that shitty arse, I'll chop off his bollocks...!'

 He wasn't sure if that was what Arthur had said but it still was a well-founded fear. 

 ________

 Three weeks in December and three days before Christmas, Arthur's behavior didn't simmer down. It took a turn for worse. A worse worse that worried Alfred so much for his mate's condition.

 If last week's description of Arthur was cold and neglectful, this week's was skittish and overly paranoid as if the snow on their porch would swallow him whole.

 Arthur was always a weird type of person that bordered on the unnatural of the otherworld type. But hoarding a lot of bread in a cupboard for his tea, this was getting out of hand.

 However, the alpha was hungry and was too tired to cook or order pizza so he might as well take a slice for a late-night snack. Putting a bit of butter from a gallon under their fridge- Why was Arthur hoarding these?!- on his sandwich, he leans back and observes the bread-infested cupboard above.

 He nibbles on his sandwich. "Blech!"

 What in the- The bread's gone stale! Alfred jumps up to his feet and began taking the loaves of bread from the kitchen cupboard. 

 Scouring. Scouring. And scouring. And then finally, he reaches the thing he has been trying to prevent for two years and a half. Arthur's kitchen spawn

 ________

 Here they were, Alfred and Arthur in the living room with a baking dish between them. "Sweetheart," Alfred began, "So I found this in one of the cupboards. Care to share about it?"

 Perhaps it was the sharpness of his tone that his mate's scent had gone sour and a bit bitter, and in turn Alfred switched from stern alpha into a ball of wrecked nerves. His voice went soft as he crossed over to the omega. "No, no, no. Art, I thought you were okay about the arrangement. Uh, I mean I didn't mean to suggest that you weren't allowed to which I didn't 'cause you're definitely allowed to! It's just that... "

 Arthur's face remained stony but the moisture in his eyes and his scent gave him away. "I know, Alfred. You don't like my cooking." He said in gritted teeth, "My food will most likely make you sick. Besides the point, you're the chef between the two of us and you'd like to keep it that way."

 "What? No!" The alpha balked at the accusation, "Well, yeah, I did get sick multiple times back then but that didn't stop you from making your scones for me."

 "Scones? You called them rocks! Barely edible in context!" Arthur wiped his nose on his sleeve, drops of tears falling down his cheeks. "You dumped all those comments on our anniversary, too... "

 Ah, shit. He hated seeing Arthur cry. He loathed himself when he knew it was his fault, too. Alfred embraced the omega and rubbed his back in soothing circles. 

 "Shh, Shh. Arthur... I'm really, really sorry if it made you feel that way." Alfred held his mate until he calmed down into little sniffles. "I love you, I'm really sorry. I'll eat it if it makes you happy."

 He heard an intake of breath followed by the happiest pair of green eyes. His Arthur was too cute. How could he say no to that? Alfred nodded and Arthur took off to fetch utensils.

 A piece of the dessert was on a fork and was already a few centimeters near his face. He looked back up to Arthur's expectant face that he never knew he missed. Well, maybe a little.

 He took the fork from the other and studied it. Golden bread and a few raspberries and strawberries. "What did you say it was called?"

 "Bread and Butter Pudding, my father used to make it for me on Christmastime."

 Alfred made a noncommittal sound and braced himself. It went into his mouth.

 Huh... Woah!!!

 "MMM!!!"

 Alfred began pointing at the dish with so much vigor. What was this? What was this? Chewy and soft. Was that a taste of brandy?! Sweet, too! Creamy, so creamy and smooth. It was serenading his tongue.

 The alpha then moaned about the pudding until he realized had consumed about half of it. Delicious was an understatement.

 "Wow."

 "Wow, indeed. I spent the entirety of December perfecting the recipe, you know." Arthur never smiled any brighter than his charming smile right now this month and it made Alfred happy.

 "Hey, sweetheart?" Alfred's grin was like the sun, it hurt to look at.

 Arthur wasn't fazed at his mate's obvious elation and instead responded with pride. "Yes, love?"

 "I just realized your baking became our Christmas miracle."

 "..."

 "Y'know, 'cause it was sudden and good and a surprise?"

 Arthur didn't know how to respond to that comment.

 He banned the alpha to sleep on the couch for the night.

  "What possessed you to bake that pudding in the middle of the night, anyway?"

 "Hm? Oh, I wanted to serve that while breaking the news to my father and your family. It's a tradition in my family to serve it."

 "Wait... What news?"

 "Wha... You didn't realize?"

 "... Realize what?"

 "Mood swings, morning sickness, strange cravings... I told you last month. You are aware that I have a bun in the oven for already seven weeks now, right...?"

 "Wait, what?!"

[slifers-executive-writer]

A Tale of Two Shonens: My Hero Academia & Yu-Gi-Oh Comparison

So I’m back at it again. Probably over analyzing something in my moments of boredom, but this is a topic I’ve discussed privately with friends and now I have decided to share it with others. In watching the animated adaption of My Hero Academia, I couldn’t help but shake off the feeling I was seeing something very familiar. Surely all Shonens at some point start to mirror off each other and we find very common tropes and characachers. But for my own little discussion/analysis, the first other shonen that popped in my head was the original Yu-Gi-Oh. And since this is primarily a YGO blog, let me explain.

Just LOOK at these two. Wide-eyed, messy and spiky haired high school students. Both aspiring to goals that initially seem impossible. I’m not sure why, but I just thought the overall art style appeared very similar. At least with these characters. They even both have big hands (well, before Kazuki changed his style in the Duel Monsters arc). These two were also very passionate about whatever their world’s deemed important. For Deku it is Heroes, and Yugi playing games (then card games). Now wait a minute...isn’t that the generic shonen protagonist? Yes, but the thing with Yugi and Izuku is they aren’t loud, obnoxious, or over-confident assholes given a silver spoon. If anything it takes a bit for someone else to give them said silver spoon. Basically I’m not just comparing them on their passions, but their humble and timid personalities.

Now we get to their over-powered mentors. Once again we have the spiky hair and top power level characters guiding our protagonists along their journey. Respectively Yami (Atem) and All Might (Toshinori Yagi) are very different characters but they have the same overall position in their shows. Surely they are the embodiment of power and strength, especially when these two are constantly saving the day. All Might’s and Atem’s time in their roles vary quite a lot but they happen after very similar moments (after a great battle with evil adversaries). To add sugar on top of this comparison, in both English dubs, their characters have deep baritone actors voicing our heroes. In parallel Yugi and Deku have softer voices.  

Even the rivals seemed to mirror one another in a shonen constant of who is a bigger asshole for trying to reach the top. In my opinion Endeavor is winning that race, but only by a small margin. Yet, I can safely say Kaiba and Endeavor are both equally and ridiculously obsessed with being Numero Uno. Although I don’t think Flame Man is ever going to be as hilarious as our CEO.

The canonical ‘love interests’(whatever that means in shonen) that our protagonists blush around and probably will never hook up with in our lifetime, also share similar traits and roles. Hell, the character design is almost uncanny to say the least. Although I must say Uraraka is way better written in terms of character development, but they still suffer from the mishaps of being women in a shonen anime. One day they will get it right...one day.

I could probably go on for a while on what I found to be similar between the two animes but these were points I felt stood out the most. The transformations above are something else to look at, however, I’ll conclude on what makes them very different from one another. I am by no means as much of a fan of My Hero Academia as I am with Yu-Gi-Oh but that does not mean I cannot appreciate what the show has to offer. Maybe I am a little worn out from all these superheroes (I wonder what could have caused this...) but MHA was just never my thing. Although hands down it is a much better written shonen than Yu-Gi-Oh ever will be. This is me talking objectively in terms of story structure, characters, and breaking the mold. Yugi just wins at like everything with little to no progression. His only growth is his personality and not so much his skills. While he does become a better duelist, it does not change the fact that he has only lost like twice in the entirety of the series. Also Atem is basically a god with no limit other than his own resolve. At least with Deku, he doesn’t just win at everything. Actually unless it is life or death...the guy doesn’t win at all. Okay so maybe Yugi and Deku need to trade their issues as far as being typical shonen characters. However, two things I give My Hero Academia over Yu-Gi-Oh and a lot of other shonen anime, is 1: Holy Shit there is a power ceiling (thank god) and 2: the background characters are actually interesting. Despite this praise I still think both these series are extremely predictable in the outcomes and friendship speeches, but hey we as an audience continue to gobble it up. 

Well, I hope you guys enjoyed my rambling and I’m sure My Hero Academia can be compared to many other Shonen classics. I mean Bakugou is basically just an angry Naruto am I right? Jokes aside feel free to share your thoughts with me via comments, reblogs, and/or in my ASK inbox!  

[verrottweil]

prêt-à-porter

pairing: sanji/lucci

since oda said sanji would be a stylist in a modern!au, it made sense to write something like this. And with this, i mean shameless smut :)

on ao3

.

This has been a long time coming. Ever since they exchanged words backstage at the Donquixote’s ready-to-wear fashion show, seizing each other up in the dressing room mirror’s reflection.

Sanji swallows down a lump in his throat, fidgeting with his tie as he watches with heavy-lidded eyes how Lucci invitingly settles down on the bed. Lucci puffs out his chest, holds his chin up high, and slightly spreads his legs so Sanji could dip his knee between them, if he wanted to.

The smile on his face is sharp enough to tear Sanji’s heart to ribbons.

When he finally manages to undo his tie, he takes a step closer to the bed, barefoot and with his heart hammering away between his own two ears. What he’s feeling right now is eerily similar to what he was feeling the time they faced off in a fighting ring. They did so on Lucci’s invitation, since Sanji didn’t take him seriously when he said that he was interested in martial arts. Supermodels weren’t supposed to be, especially not the everything-goes ones like Krav Maga or Muay Thai.

He had made a point of telling him so. They went out for drinks afterwards, to some trendy cocktail bar uptown. People were ogling them the moment they entered. Probably because Sanji had two band-aids slapped over his swollen, bloody nose and a black eye.

Nobody could see that Lucci had a bruise the size of Sanji’s foot on his chest, after all.

Lucci reaches out for him, brings his hands to his waist and hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of Sanji’s pants. Pulls him closer. The gleam in his eyes is accentuated by the dimmed bedroom lights; shadows splay over one side of his face. Whoever invented the turn of phrase devastatingly handsome must’ve had Rob Lucci in mind.

His mouth’s drier than the desert, parched for another kiss, another taste, and Sanji reflexively rakes his teeth over his lower lip.

Lucci tips his head back, exposing the column of his throat and a hint of collarbone. Sanji settles his knee between Lucci’s legs, flush against his crotch, and puts a steadying hand on his shoulder, before leaning in and touching their mouths together, eyes screwed shut. When Lucci tugs the button-up free from his pants and slides his hands over his bare flanks, Sanji can’t suppress a curt, guttural groan.

His hands start to shake a bit and, fuck, he’s frighteningly nervous about this.

Fingertips press into his skin and when he opens his mouth in response, Lucci slips his tongue inside, never one to let an opportunity go to waste. They break the kiss and Sanji watches how Lucci slowly skims the tip of his tongue over his upper lip and smirks afterwards, satisfied, with just a hint of teeth, like how a cat would clean its maw after a meal.

“Pants off,” Lucci demands then. Authority colors his tone of voice and Sanji understands why so many stylists are anxious – afraid, even – to work with him.

His hands come down to rest on Sanji’s hips and he positively leers, when he suggests, “Unless you want me to pull them off for you?”

Sucking in breath between clenched teeth, Sanji straightens and unbuckles his belt. Meanwhile Lucci leans back and tilts his head to watch him undress. Sanji lets out a shuddery exhale when those warm hands leave his body. Lucci watches attentively how he opens the brass button of his dress pants and unzips, standing there with his belt and pants open, the blue fabric of his boxer-shorts in full sight. He slowly shimmies out of his pants, feeling clumsy and graceless one step at a time.

Lucci smiles that wickedly-sharp smile of his and before Sanji can react, he’s up on him again, nosing along the outline of Sanji’s cock. “I’m going to suck you off,” Lucci promises, looking up at him, cheek against his thigh, breath hot against Sanji’s crotch.

“Fuck,” Sanji answers back unintelligibly, hauling a hand through his long, blond fringe. “Fuck… Shit, you can’t just say things like that…” His sentence comes to a stammering halt when Lucci kisses his dick open-mouthed, tongue insistent and warm and wet through the thin fabric of his underwear.

Fingers tug at the elastic waistband of his boxer-shorts, and every inch of bare skin that appears along the nook of his thigh gets licked and nipped at. His cock bobs free from his underwear and sags slanted across his pubic bone, half-hard already. Sanji brings a hand to his mouth when Lucci tongues along the length of his shaft; the soft, well-groomed hairs of his goatee brushing against hypersensitive skin.

“Holy shit,” he whispers hotly against the palm of his hand, bucking up against Lucci’s face despite himself.  

Sanji’s looking down on Rob Lucci giving him head, but he can scarcely believe any of this is happening. Has been happening. They’ve skirted around each other after the fashion show, and after the sparring session, they started dating. Lucci is the Italian supermodel Sanji’s looked up to during his late teens, whose photoshoots and interviews he regularly cut out of whatever magazine they were featured in and plastered against his bedroom wall.

When they happened to meet on the job, Sanji was so worked up from doing Donquixote Doflamingo’s makeup, he took jabs at Lucci the moment he sat down in that dressing room chair. Fast forward and now Sanji can call him his boyfriend.

Lucci opens his mouth and slides it down over Sanji’s cock, savoring him slowly. Inch by inch. Until his nose is buried in Sanji’s pubes. He puts one hand on Sanji’s right hip, thumbing over the bone there, far more tender than when he gave him those glaring red-purple hickeys on his neck earlier this night, or when he grinded against him hard in the kitchen. His soft, black hair tickles against Sanji’s thigh.

For a moment Sanji thinks he forgot how to breathe and feels his face heat up. His gaze flits from Lucci to anywhere else in the bedroom; from the very modern, black wardrobe to the small chest of drawers that’s serving as a nightstand, to the large rectangular window that almost takes up an entire wall, looking over the city’s skyline.

Inevitably, his eyes fall back on Lucci.

In the dead quiet of the room, the soft sounds of his boyfriend sucking him off reverberate obscenely loud between his own two ears.

“Lucci,” Sanji hisses hotly against the palm of his hand when he hollows his cheeks and sucks him deep; his cockhead nudging against the back of Lucci’s throat. “Fuck, please, fuck, fuck, fuck—” and his litany of fucks is broken off abruptly when Lucci lets up and wraps a loose fist around Sanji’s cock.

With half-hooded eyes, he looks up at Sanji while deftly unbuckling his own belt with one hand. The buckle clanks dully against his thigh.

He nudges Sanji’s glistening cockhead with his lips and slips his hand down his own designer boxer-briefs. His mouth gleams wetly in the dimmed bedroom lights. Sanji groans at the sight, screws his eyes shut for a moment and bucks falteringly into Lucci’s hand, against Lucci’s mouth. His body’s tense, his cock hard and leaking precum, and the muscles in his legs drawn taut as he rocks weakly on the balls of his feet.

Pinned down by his gaze, Sanji watches flustered how Lucci takes the head of his cock back into his mouth. Breath rushes out of his nostrils, caught between the palm of his hand and his face.

He feels like they’re shooting a porno. The thought that Lucci’s jacking himself off with Sanji’s cock in his mouth is almost enough to get him tumbling over the edge. But just when his balls clench and his thighs start to tremble, Lucci promptly stops and rises to stand, slowly dragging Sanji’s button-up over his abdomen, his stomach and ribs, and nipping at the newly-exposed skin.

His cock bobs haplessly against his lower belly.

Sanji makes a low, keening sound at the loss of Lucci’s hot mouth. “I almost…” He says as he puts both hands on Lucci’s shoulders, not knowing whether he should shove him back down to finish the job or grab him tight and draw him into a searing kiss.

“Shit, I’m so close, so close you… you bastard,” he patters breathlessly.

Lucci stands straight now, just that bit taller than him, and smirks. “I know,” he responds in a throaty, smoked-through voice. Presses their bodies flush together and kisses him demandingly, with that air of confidence Sanji so desperately wanted to have ever since he was a kid. Sanji feels the jerking movements of Lucci’s hand through the fabric of his underwear against his own aching cock.

Every nerve-ending in his body is on fire. He tastes the salty tang of his own precum when Lucci licks into his mouth.

After the kiss, Lucci hauls his hand out of his underwear, and together with his pants, pushes them down to his ankles in one-go and steps out of them. Even the dimmed bedroom lights can’t conceal the dusting of dark, downy hair on his legs, standing out against his sun-kissed skin. Sanji’s eyes are drawn to Lucci’s cock almost immediately; long, and thin with an upwards curve, already drooling precum at the tip.

He swallows haplessly, a curt dry click that echoes around his skull. His fingers clench into Lucci’s dress shirt.

“Shirt off,” he orders, bringing a hand to the hinge of Sanji’s jaw, looking him straight in the eye. His pupils are dilated, gobbling up the bright color of his irises, indistinguishable. “Then get on the bed. I’m not done with you yet,” Lucci punctuates the last part of his sentence by stroking Sanji’s cock once, twice, grinding the heel of his palm over the swollen head.

Watching Lucci unbutton his own shirt with deft fingers, makes Sanji somewhat self-conscious about his own fumbling. He shrugs off his button-up and clambers onto the bed.

Every movement makes him uncomfortably aware of how his hard-on bobs against his abdomen.

Lucci slowly tugs the sleeve off his right shoulder and discards his dress shirt onto the floor with a nonchalant gesture, looking every inch the supermodel. “Against the headboard. Spread your legs.” And when Sanji doesn’t comply fast enough, he adds with a switchblade smile, “Spread them wider, honey.”

He dips his left knee into the mattress, cock jutted out, and gets on all fours. The bedroom lights add a warm, golden glow to his black hair and the outline of his strong shoulders There’s something effortlessly graceful about the way Lucci moves. He crawls over with the ease of a big, lazy cat and kneels between Sanji’s legs.

They make eye-contact again and Sanji knows there’s a deep red blush high on his cheeks. The palm of Lucci’s hand feels impossibly warm on his kneecap, even warmer sliding down the expanse of his leg to the crook of his thigh. His stomach clenches in anticipation of the orgasm he’s on the cusp of having, if only Lucci would fucking touch him again.

His cock aches when Lucci finally nudges it with blunt fingertips. “Yes, fuck yes, yes,” Sanji patters incoherently, the ‘yes’ more a hiss than a word, the sibilant dragged out between grit teeth. He jerks back violently and hits his head against the wall hard when Lucci slides two fingers down his shaft, down to his balls.

Lucky for him, Lucci leaves him no time to get embarrassed about it.

Steadying him by the back of his neck with one hand, he brings his fingertips to Sanji’s lips and whispers hotly, “Suck.”

Is he going to spread me without any lube? The question bounces around the back of his mind. Aside from that one colleague he’s had a short-lived relationship with at the beginning of his career, Sanji doesn’t have, well, a lot of experience with guys. He’s not the type for one-nightstands either. Not at all, really. But, he’s pretty-fucking-sure he doesn’t want to get rawed like that during their first time.

Hesitantly, Sanji opens his mouth, closes it again, turns his face to the side and then hisses heatedly under his breath, “We’re not fucking doing this without the proper prep, okay?” He tries to duck his head entirely, so Lucci can’t see how badly he’s blushing, and tacks on, “So get the lube already, you asshat.”

Lucci scoffs in return, a sound that doesn’t betray whether he’s amused or annoyed, and shifts his weight around on the bed, leaning in closer. His voice has this deep, throaty quality to it when he speaks. “I wasn’t planning on fucking you without it,” here he takes a deliberate pause to grab Sanji by the chin, as if to emphasize his point. “I just wanted to blow you good tonight. Understood?”

“But if you’re so eager to get fucked…” He trails off, not even bothering to feign innocence as he places his hand on Sanji’s hip and then goes back down on him. His other hand comes to rest on Sanji’s chest, a comfortable, warm weight.

When Lucci takes Sanji’s hypersensitive cock in his mouth again and sucks him off mercilessly, he manages to wrench loose a long-winded whine, punctuated by Sanji writhing helplessly against the headboard, eyes screwed shut. His thighs start to spasm, like little needle-pricks under his skin. Subconsciously, Sanji spreads his legs as wide as he can, toes curling and hands clutching onto the sheets. Lucci doesn’t even let up for a second.

The telltale red-white-heat of his orgasm blindsides him for a moment and his mind scrambles to keep up, short-circuited. Lost in the high that he’s coming hard down Lucci’s throat without warning. His breathing’s haggard, and he feels like his lungs should be burning up, like he just ran a marathon.

Sanji watches dazedly how Lucci settles upright again and wipes the cum at the corner of his mouth away with the back of his hand, smirking in satisfaction. Fuck, that’s insanely hot—it’s the closest thing to coherent thought his brain manages to get. He feels boneless, warm and sticky at all once, and he can’t bring himself to move as much as an inch when Lucci looms over him, holding his cock in one hand and Sanji’s right thigh in the other.

“Hold still,” he says, his tone of voice’s thick, all hot and bothered, and close, so close.

Lucci moves his hand away from Sanji’s thigh so he can steady himself, giving his cock a couple of quick jerks. The tendons in his throat stand out sharply as he tilts his head back, sweat glimmering in the dip between his well-defined collarbones. He groans as he spends himself all over Sanji’s abdomen. Some strands of hair sticking to his jawline and cheeks, his chest’s heaving violently, and it’s the first time Sanji’s seen him looking so disheveled, so done away with his customary composure and that air of confidence he always dons.

He could get used to this side of him.

The sight of Lucci’s cum glistening in between his wiry pubes feels strangely erotic, territorial even, as if Lucci marked him. Sanji isn’t as turned off by the thought as he imagined himself to be. He stretches languidly and rolls over onto one side, pressing his legs tightly together and propping an arm under the pillow.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Lucci asks then, snapping Sanji from his daze. He hauls a hand through his hair to get it out of his face. His silhouette’s cut out by the cityscape in the window behind him; the column of his throat gleams with sweat and the color of his tattoos looks a richer purple in the scarce lighting.

Sanji scrunches his brows together in response and mutters snappishly, tiredly, “What? Are you afraid I’m going to get cum on your sheets?”

“Why do you think I came all over you?” He rebukes promptly, the hint of a smile playing along the corners of his mouth.

.

They’re in the bathroom and Sanji’s counting the bitemarks on his neck in the mirror. The bright glare of the thin fluorescent tube overhead accentuates the bruises on his throat. Lucci’s toweling his hair dry and Sanji can clearly see the pale outline of his scar, spanning shoulder to shoulder, and the muscle definition in his back. The bathroom door’s ajar, leaving the white lighting to stream inside the bedroom in one thin line.

He turns his gaze back to his own reflection and thumbs the hickey in the juncture of his shoulder. There are two toothbrushes in a glass on the sink, next to a half-empty bottle of Dolce and Gabbana’s the One and a set of tweezers.

“Is there something the matter?” Lucci asks, looking at him from over his shoulder. His hair sticks to his skin, gleaming like wet silk and done away with its natural waviness.

Sanji turns around and brings both his hands behind him, holding onto the sink. “Just admiring your handiwork.”

He heaves a sigh and wonders aloud, “How the fuck am I supposed to go to work with all these fucking hickeys on my neck?” It’s not like he really needs an answer, but he bets his paycheck that bastard’s going to give him one anyway.

“Show them off,” here Lucci smirks, drapes the towel around his shoulders and takes a step towards him. “Speaking of work, I have that shoot for Fendi tomorrow at seven…” He nears even closer, so akin to a predator it makes Sanji’s skin itch. “You can stay around the apartment a bit longer if you like,” he offers casually, hemming Sanji in against the sink. “I don’t mind,” these last words deceptively soft, a hush of breath against Sanji’s cheek.

His eyebrows furrow together. “When and where do we meet up then? After work? Unless you want to come all the way over to the salon to pick up your key,” Sanji says, trying to keep his gaze trained on Lucci’s eyes. His mouth is way too tempting.

Besides, they both need to go the fuck to sleep already.

“I have a spare,” Lucci responds, bringing their bodies flush together. He pulls the towel from his shoulders and flings it over the rack next to the sink. Wedges his leg between Sanji’s to knock his knees apart. It’s unfair how warm his bare skin is in comparison. “I’ll leave it on the kitchen counter before I go,” he says before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of Sanji’s jaw.

Automatically Sanji leans into the touch and brushes the button of his nose against Lucci’s temple in turn. He wraps his arms loosely around Lucci’s lower back and mutters, “Thanks, I’ll give it back next time we meet up.”

It was the wrong thing to say apparently, since the look Lucci gives him speaks volumes. Sanji doesn’t take too long to catch up however, and grinning ear to ear, he exclaims, “Oh.” He feels a sudden giddiness washing over him at the prospect of owning a spare key to his boyfriend’s apartment. It makes their relationship so much more official. Warmth spreads from his chest throughout his entire body, and if it isn’t love, it’s something dangerously close.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Lucci suggests then, pulling away from his embrace and walking over to the bedroom. He pushes the door wide open and his blurry shadow stretches unsteadily over the floorboards, before he steps further inside and flicks the lights on.

Sanji tries – and fails – to shake that stupid grin off his face, and trails behind him.

[kootenaygoon]

So, 

It was just like the crypts of Winterfell.

As I tentatively crept down the stone steps of Nelson’s catacombs I swept the beam of my flashlight left and right, looking out for the ghouls and evil spirits that I knew made their home there. One of these spirits had consumed the Red Fish Grill with a mighty fireball, while another had devoured Ryan Tapp in a mysterious conflagration. If I wasn’t careful, I could be next. With each step my Blundstones echoed in the darkness, and a cool draft howled up at us from deep underneath the earth. 

“You don’t want to spend too long down here. The longer you spend in the darkness, the more you start to forget sunlight,” Gordo said, from behind me.

“This place eats souls like you eat French fries. It’s just waiting for an excuse to gobble you up.”

Ever since I’d heard about the catacombs that existed beneath Tony’s, I knew I needed to explore them. We’d used the cellar entrance under Urban Legends on Baker Street, and Gordo had promised to show me some of the skeletons that resided there. To my left was one passageway reserved for spiritual and political leaders of the Kootenays, while to my right was where they kept the thieves, rabble-rousers and criminals. These derelict souls had been buried alive, just like the poor drunk from A Cask of Amantillado, and there was a special section for rapists and pedophiles. Gordo called them “goofs”.

“When I was about eight years old, back in Ontario, my uncles came to find me one day while I was playing baseball with some neighbourhood kids. They said they wanted to show me something,” Gordo said, gazing at the white-streaked stone walls all around us.

“My uncles were both full-patch members of the Hell’s Angels, right? They drove me out to this garage on the outskirts of town, which was surrounded by dozens of motorcycles. They told me there was something important inside that they needed me to see.”

“I didn’t know you had family in the Hell’s Angels,” I said. “Like the real deal?”

He nodded quietly. “They’re dead now but yeah, I used to.”

“So what was in the garage?”

I held my flashlight low as I turned, so the beam didn’t blind him. The shadows on his face reminded me of childhood days at Camp Qwanoes, when the kids would stay up late telling horror stories. We conjured up demons and ghosts and apparitions, trying to scare the shit out of each other.

“Well, they brought me to the main loading bay and there was an unconscious man hanging from the rafters. He was naked, and wrapped in chains.”

“Holy shit.”

“The first thing I noticed was the blood dripping off him like a faucet. He was missing both his eyes. And all the men were standing around drinking beer and joking like this was just another normal day.”

“I would’ve pissed myself.”

He shrugged. “I nearly did. I couldn’t tell if the guy was alive or dead, slowly spinning in one direction and then back. As he swung around I noticed that someone had chopped off his cock.”

I scoffed. “Is this a true story? It sounds too crazy to be true.”

“They both crouched down and they explained that this guy had been caught molesting children. A bunch of boys in the neighbourhood. But it wasn’t the cops who caught him. It was the gangsters.”

“So what happened next?”

“They looked me in the face and said ‘take a good look at this, Gord boy. We want you to remember this, okay? Because this is what happens to goofs.”

I couldn’t believe it. “You were eight?”

“That was the first dead body I ever saw. I still see that guy in my nightmares sometimes, even though it was four decades ago.”

At this point I knew I was dreaming, because the catacombs around us had a supernatural sheen to them, but I’d been thinking a lot about pedophiles ever since Natalya had told me about the child prostitution ring in Nelson. I yearned for some sort of justice, but not the sort of justice cops could dispense. I wanted to kill someone.

As we continued down the steps I thought about that upside down man, and the suffering he’d endured in his final hours. Was I capable of that sort of cruelty? My foot splashed into inch-deep water and I knew we’d reached the bottom. My breathing slowed.

“There used to be a creek that ran right through the middle of town and past the Hume Hotel,” Gordo explained. “Depending on the time of year, this water can be anywhere from ankle-deep to neck-deep. And during the winter it freezes.”

I shone my flashlight down the hallway, letting my beam linger over the archways that led to bricked-in tombs. By this point I’d compiled a list of candidates that I would love to trap in that hellish graveyard. The Kootenays were full of monsters that looked like men, and I wanted to put them in their place.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” I asked, creeping down the hallway. The water began to splash around my shins.

“I’ve come close,” he said. “But no. Murder isn’t my style. I’ve never been to prison and I want to keep it that way.”

“But would you murder someone, if you really felt like they deserved it? Say they fucked with some kids you love.”

He sighed. “I don’t have kids of my own, but if there was some pedophile preying on Nelson’s kids then yeah, maybe. Maybe I’d do it.”

“And would you bring them down here?”

He shook his head. “I’d take them out to Kootenay Lake on my boat. Get them weighed down properly, shoot them a few times, then throw them overboard. Like what Tony did with Big Pussy.”

“That would be a good approach. There’s no way they could properly search a body of water that big, that deep. I’ve heard there’s hundreds of bodies down there, irretrievable.”

Gordo looked concerned. He put a giant hand on my shoulder and turned me towards him. The water we were standing in had a steady, insistent current now and it was flowing around our knees. My flashlight swept across one of the empty tombs, and I recognized the name on it: PAT SEVERYN. That was weird.

“Listen, Will. I wanted to show you these catacombs for kicks, because it’s part of Nelson’s history, but I’m worried you’re taking this too seriously. You’re not a monster, not really.”

I considered this. “They say the cops are so tied up with the mental health crisis that they don’t have time to do real police work. And there are villains in this town, walking among us. Somebody has to do something about it.”

“And that someone is you?”

“Give me the right story at the Star, give me the right angle and the right leads and I could bury these fuckers. These goofs. All I need is a chance.”

Gordo grimaced. “I’ve always thought of you as a happy wanderer, this arts reporter that loves taking pictures. I think maybe you’ve been smoking too much weed and it’s starting to warp your worldview.”

“Ryan Tapp’s been dead almost two years and what’s happened in the meantime? Who’s actually investigating, actually doing something?”

“Yeah, but this isn’t your job. You can’t let your situation dictate who you are. You’re better than this. You keep going like this and it’s going to be your tomb I’m visiting. Do you want that?”

I nodded sadly for a moment, perspiration dripping off the end of my nose. There was a dull roar building in the distance, like that creek was coming to wash us away. Gordo was getting nervous, his head whipping from one side to the next. The walls were starting to shake.

“The thing you forget, Gordo, is that I’m not alone. I’m never alone, not really. I’ve always got back-up.”

“What are you talking about?”

Right then Andrew Stevenson emerged from the shadows, his empty eye sockets gaping black. He cradled his shotgun like an infant, and when he grinned his teeth were broken and bloody. He’d been down here all along, waiting for us to find him. 

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to decide if you’re on our side or not,” I explained. Gordo took nervous steps backwards.

“We’re going to catch these rapists with your help or without it. So I’m giving you a choice: do you want to die down here, or are you going to join our hunt?”

Gordo blinked away his terror, and his panicked breathing began to settle. A look of grim determination, of defiance, appeared. He nodded silently, grinding his teeth and licking his lips. He stared at Andrew Stevenson’s cold black shotgun, which was levelled at his crotch, then sighed.

“Okay, you win,” he said. “Count me in.”

The Kootenay Goon

[whichstiel]

Reflecting on Fanfic

A New Year’s Post (a little late)

Seven months ago I began reading and writing fanfiction. You could say it’s been...transformative. (Thank you, I’ll be here all week.) This, after many years of deriding fanfiction as a waste of time - both for reader and writer. Real writers don’t write fanfic, right? That’s what I told myself. Of course, I often settled into sleep at night making up stories in my head. What happened with that plot line? What would the sequel be like? How would those two characters get together? How would I FIX that story? These stories rocked me to sleep, filled my daydreams, but I never saw the similarities. It didn’t matter because it wasn’t canon.

I had a few stories commercially published a few years back. It was exciting! But it didn’t go very far. I waited for words to come to me and only wrote when they knocked. And then I had a baby and all the cracks in my life that weren’t already devoted to a full time job were filled with family and chores and my creative life just...

...

...

plummeted. 

I stopped writing. I stopped painting. I stopped reading. My life was smothered with exhaustion and the easiest thing in the world was to just turn on the TV in those rare free spaces and shut off my brain.

My child grew. I slipped into a fandom and tiptoed into their online communities. All around, people created. I saw art and joy and oh, so many stories. And I was jealous.

My child grew and there were fewer sleepless nights. I learned some balance (and how to get by on less sleep) and one day - suddenly - I wanted to create again. More than that, I wanted to be part of a creative family - to join the conversation. I wanted to write Supernatural fanfiction. 

My first story was spurred by a plot speculation post I’d written on reddit which caused somebody to (probably jokingly) say that I should write it as a story - they’d read it. So I did. I believe I googled “where to post fanfiction” as I was writing it. And so, And God Said, “Hey” was born. It was fun! It was cathartic. It was good writing practice. And then somebody commented that they liked it. I just about died of joy. 

I started to read fanfiction. I knew nothing about the terminology, the slang, the best websites. For this, I relied on r/fandomnatural. Someone recommended a @museaway story on one of their weekly recommendation threads. I read it and it jolted me. Holy SHIT, I thought. There are some amazing stories online! I gobbled my way through one author after another, marveling at the stories - clearly written with so much joy. And so inventive! 

From that moment I was hooked. In 2016 I published over 83,000 words online and wrote and discarded far more. That’s the most fiction I’ve written in a single year EVER. I began co-writing a fan blog with a friend. As the year progressed I started to lose my fear of words - or more specifically - the terrible absence of words on a blank page. 

“Writing IS hard,” I reminded myself as I wrote around the bony outline of a story, slowing and painstakingly filling in detail and dialogue. “Thanks, Chuck.” 

I wrote a story about Charlie coming back to life and it’s still the longest thing I’ve ever written. And I wrote it - I did it all - out of love. 

I love these characters and I want more of them. And I finally understand that for me - and probably thousands of others - fanfiction is a way to share that love with the world. Furthermore, it’s helped me to understand my attempts at original fiction. I wasn’t taking the time to love my characters and without that fire burning away under my skin, all the plot I tried to throw at my characters was useless. 

“Love. Can know all the math in the 'verse but take a boat in the air that you don't love? She'll shake you off just as sure as a turn in the worlds. Love keeps her in the air when she oughta fall down...tell you she's hurtin' 'fore she keens...makes her a home.” 

- Firefly

I’ve spent so many years trying to be clever, hoping for seat of the pants inspiration, that I forgot about love entirely. It’s the stupidest, most obvious thing, but there you go. I’ll never claim to be the smartest person in the room.

This year I’ll be working on a long story - posting a few times a month. I’ll keep up with my episode codas. I might sign up for a few more bangs (because each one feels like a bouquet of art). I’ll be interspersing that work with an original story I’ve tumbled in my head for years and started on a time or two only to abandon it. So much writing awaits, 2017! I’m so excited.

So here’s to Dean, Cas, Charlie, Garth, Sam, Bobby, Crowley, Rowena, and all you beautiful bit players or original characters. You’re keeping me in the air this year.

And to you, the people who read my stories? You save me, every time. Thank Chuck for you.