#I dunno what are the proper tags for this yet but here

[anerol152]

Me during all of S2:

[brisquad-unit-4402]

vanvan bans a man

i had so much fun with that title. you know what else is fun? the jealous vanta kick i’m on atm. i’ve got another possessive vanta fic in the works and really fighting the urge to post jealous krisis (polykrisis even⁉️)

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, protective vanta, reader has a shitty ex-boyfriend, jealousy, vanta calls you "mine" and other subtle possessive dialogue, unspecified what your ex has done in the past, the boys are fightinggggggg

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Unfortunately, a vibrating phone is what wakes you up today. Which is really quite a bummer; you’re used to waking up on your own time in Vanta’s arms, or when he’s the first to rise and you can feel the mattress shift as he gets up.

The phone vibrates again, and you’re inclined to shut your eyes tight and let the text go unanswered, at least until you wake up proper. At the third buzz your mind connects the dots. It’s a call.

Your closed eyes sting as you rub them, then grab the phone with the other hand. The taste of sleepy breath cracks along your tongue as you mumble, “Hello?”

On the other end, you can hear shuffling and slinking, some ambient picture that you don’t have the sense to imagine right now. “Oh, you picked up.”

Your blood runs cold.

Oh, you recognize that voice. You recognize it damn well, no matter how hard you wished you wouldn’t hear it again. You told your ex in no uncertain terms to never contact you again last time you saw his face. He was lucky you couldn’t muster up the courage to curse him out as you broke it off.

Yet here you are, laying in bed at a weak hour. The screen, even in dark mode, singes your sights as you read the current time: 1:19 AM on a weekend night.

“Hey, Reader,” your ex continues, as if he didn’t know his voice was knives under your skin, needling you until something cracked open. “How’s it going?”

“Why are you calling me?” You ask faintly.

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” he says.

You blink, the sleep in your eyes making way for shock. As it subsided, you could feel it growing into a nasty pool of anxiety in your throat. The sheets around you crinkle and shuffle as you repeat, “Why?”

“I dunno, sometimes I just wonder what you’re up to,” your ex drawls. He speaks like a long smoke, cigarette ash dusting his way-too-carefree tongue. “But if you really want to know, I got something to tell you.”

No, no, no. You know where this is going. A thousand rejections rumble up, but your lips are shut, stapled in place by your nerves. The world around you keeps moving while you’re frozen.

“I guess I should continue?” He chuckles for a moment. Smarmy. Incorrigible. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, more than usual. That means there’s something there, right? And I’m not ready to let go of it yet.”

You hear your name but this feels like a trap.

“We should try again,” you ex suggests. You can hear the smile in his voice, the way one corner of his lip curls before the other and the confident eyes. That was charming—until you got used to seeing the damn smirk whenever you apologized for something he should’ve owned up to himself. He’s a master at getting what he wants while casting you off to the side.

You hear your name being called again as you get lost in your haze. “Reader,” Vanta murmurs. He turns to you, looping his sleepy hands around your waist. “Who’re you calling? Tell them I said hello.”

The other line shuffles for a moment. “You’re still with him?”

“Are they talking about me?” Vanta yawns. “Hello.”

Great. Now you’re stuck between two men that care for you: the one that broke your heart time and time again, and a tired tyrant spooning you as he wakes up. At least Vanta’s gentle grasp is grounding you while you can feel your thoughts spiral.

The ex hesitates. “I didn’t think he’d last long,” he says aloud.

“Hey,” Vanta sets his chin on your shoulder. He pouts, ready to whine, but then he glances at the phone screen and the contact name. “Wait, is that…?”

“So you must be the boyfriend.”

“Yeah, this is he. Give me the phone, Reader.”

Passing it off feels like a burden.

Vanta rolls onto his back, but keeps an arm by your waist. You place your hand on his, hoping that the veins and knuckles soothe you as you rub them.

Ex-Boyfriend starts. “Well, I don’t—“

“What the hell is your problem calling at ass o’clock in the morning to harass Reader,” Current Boyfriend snaps. A switch flipped. Usually when he's groggy, his low voice is soothing, but now the rumble of interrupted rest makes his voice growl, dangerous and menacing. "Should I even ask why you thought this was a good idea? The fuck did you think was going to happen? If Reader said you're done, then you're done. You're cooked. Golden brown, deep-fried, burnt to a crisp, cooked. You’re done."

"I don't need your permission to talk to Reader."

"L-O-L? Yes, you do?" Vanta says, so baffled his jaw drops. "If you're going to hit on my partner, I have a right to tell you to eat shit. Not to mention how weird you were in the past, and how weird you are now. Like, if you really cared for Reader you'd delete this number and go on with your life instead of calling like a creep at one in the morning!"

"Fuck off, it was important."

"You fuck off! What's important is that you leave Reader the hell alone.” Vanta practically spits as he hisses at the man on the line, even though his volume is barely below his usual speaking voice. Underneath your grasp, his hand tightens around your waist. The seam of your shirt curls as he pulls you close. “You try that shit again and I’ll tear you apart. Reader’s mine, not yours. Got it?”

He doesn’t even wait for the ex to respond before continuing. “Glad to hear it. Goodnight.” Vanta hangs up without a second thought. You watch the phone’s light illuminate his face as the screen returns to normal, casting a pale glow around his nose and his furrowed brows. “Bitch,” he adds, still frowning at the screen.

Purple eyes glance at you. At the contact, he sighs, placing your phone down so he can wrap both of his arms around you properly. He rests his hand along the back of your neck, thumbing along the soft skin and setting his forehead along yours, eyes now downcast.

“Sorry,” he says, far gentler than when he was on the phone. “I wish you didn’t have to hear any of that.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s just the way that he was talking about you, and your history with him was pissing me off. I just couldn’t hold back. I’m—“

“Thank you,” you choke out.

“—Really sorry,” Vanta says at the same time. “Wait, huh?”

But you don’t even respond. Instead you bury yourself into your partner’s chest, trying to control your breathing. You’re overwhelmed with anxiousness but at least Vanta’s shirt smells like him.

His palm goes from your neck down to your back, rubbing circles as you try to calm yourself. Vanta mumbles. It’s muffled through his shirt and arms around you, but you’d assume it’s consoling. His throat hums and vibrates along your temple in soothing rhythms as he speaks.

Now that the emotional overload is dwindling, your grip tightens around him like you’re holding a stress ball. You murmur. “I really didn’t want to talk to him.”

Vanta’s heart breaks at that admission. You feel him readjust his position and hear the telltale pulse of a kiss at the top of your head. “You don’t have to,” he says. “He’s not worth it.

“Makes me sick thinking that some people are so entitled that they can just hurt you and act like nothing happened,” Vanta continues. “You deserve to be treated like royalty, and you deserve better than him. Screw him.”

Your boyfriend pats your back as you recompose yourself. You bitterly cast a glance at the phone, still resting face-down from the call earlier. “I’m sorry you had to take care of it.”

“Don’t feel bad. That’s the bare minimum.” He kisses you again on your forehead. “You just rest, it’s late for you.”

“It’s late for you, too, Vanta.”

“I’ll manage.” He grins. “Gotta protect my baby somehow.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook: 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 🔞

deception- /dɪˈsɛpʃn/ -noun; the action of deceiving someone.

Tags/Warnings: Prince!Cursed!Jungkook, Dragonkin!Reader, mentions of poor living conditions (reader is chained up in a basement smh), magic and other fantasy elements, Angst, tragic lovers au?, strangers to lovers question mark???, did I mention angst, fluff?, it's somewhere I promise, open ending- I might write more dunno yet

Story length: 5k

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It's quiet underneath the castle tonight.

No one is probably yet awake- moonlight still brightly shining through the tiny window at the very top corner of your cell, signaling it's still nighttime. There's occasional cats passing by, or mice sneaking in to capture any crumbs you may have left behind of the dry bread they give you to eat- but except this, there's nothing but silence.

It's nothing like the woods you've lived in before, close to the seaside.

There, the waves would've sang you a song to help you sleep, the trees swaying alongside the melody as if to rock you like a mother would her child, side to side, slowly, gently. In here, there's no soft foliage underneath you, no warm pelts that make up your nest. There's nothing but a bit of hay- but not even nearly enough to give you the opportunity to nest at all. It's damp, starting to mold, itching your skin to the point of you rather sleeping on the cold hard floor instead.

Suddenly, there's drops hitting the ground outside.

You turn around to look up at the window properly, before you stand up, shackles clattering loudly as the metal chains drag on the floor. Your hands on the brick wall, you turn up your head to at least try and smell the fresh air the storm seems to bring. And as if mother nature takes pity on you, the wind starts to shift, blowing the cool rain into the cell where you let it patter on your skin and face with a smile.

You don't care that the water runs into your cell now, flowing down the very brick wall you've got your hands placed against. There's no worse for your situation anyways- though one might argue that it could be a lot more evil.

At least they feed you.

Kind of.

For now, you lay down on the bits of hay you've collected to sleep on, sound of the rain helping you fall asleep.

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"Jungkook, take it slow, will you." the King sighs, watching as the young prince eagerly swings his wooden sword against the one of a young soldier and dear friend. And while the prince won't listen, Namjoon looses his attention at the sound of the king approaching, becoming an easy target for the younger prince who groans out in a dramatic manner.

"Father, please stop this." he sighs, putting the sword away before wiping his sweat. "Me laying down and doing nothing won't do much except kill me faster by boredom." he tells his father, who scoffs.

"I don't like the way you talk about this." the old man argues, making his son only roll his eyes.

"And I don't like you treating me as if I'm incapable of knowing my body and limits." he says. "I will rest if I need to." he finishes, turning his back to the king who can only click his tongue, before leaving his son alone.

"Your father is right." Namjoon says. "You know, at least until we figured out how to get the wish, you should take it easy-"

"That's all I'm doing!" Jungkook says, throwing up his arms in defeat. "I've been doing nothing but take it easy." he mumbles more or less to himself, shaking his head. "I'm tired of it." he tells his friend, before he walks out the training grounds, and back into the castle. On his way, he walls past the guarded stairway leading down into the basement cells- and curiosity grips him by the hand at the sight of it.

There's no guards around right now. Typically, the doorway that leads into the basement dungeons stays heavily guarded, not ever giving him proper opportunity to step down there and see what's kept hidden inside for himself. His father constantly lectures him about it, tells him that he will have to deal with prisoners soon enough once he's crowned, but Jungkook doesn't want to wait. He doesn't want to be slapped harshly by the responsibilities from one day to the other- he wants to know while he's still got the time to familiarize himself with everything slowly.

So he walks down carefully, aware that nowadays, his balance is sometimes thrown off randomly- one of many health effects the curse has on him.

No one knows exactly what had happened in the past of his family to curse him as the only son of his father and therefore heir of the throne to be cursed this badly. It's a dragon's curse, powerful and without any empathy for it's victim. It's slowly killing him, black marks and swirling lines underneath his skin pulsing in anger about something he doesn't know. He won't ever lie- he doesn't trust his father whenever the man says that dragons have just cursed him out of pure spite and boredom for inheriting the land they once owned. Jungkook doesn't know dragons too well, but he's read about them. He knows the tales. He doesn't think that creatures as old as them would just become petty centuries after the war had been ended peacefully.

But at this stage, with the illness progressing like it does, it won't be enough time for him to ever find out the truth it seems.

There's not many prisoners down here- most are in the corners of their cells, keeping to themselves without sparing the prince any interest. What grips his own however, is the heavy metal cage at the end of the hall, iron bars decorated with runes he knows are witchcraft used to hold powerful beings- with a lump of clothes inside, along with hay and nothing else.

He walks closer, placing his burning torch into the holder at the wall, before he stands in front of the cold metal bars. It's when you begin to move, slowly turning to look at him, that he realizes who you are.

What you are.

"..you are the dragon?" he wonders mostly to himself, barely raising his voice anything above a whisper. He'd certainly expected anything but this; a young, almost fragile looking thing, with eyes so tired and longing. His father had told him a few weeks ago that he'd acquired a dragon in hopes to have it cure him- but other than that, Jungkook had never been told what that would entail for you, what it would take to make you help him. He squats down in front of the bars to instinctively appear smaller and less threatening- his mind unable to quite believe that you're supposedly one of the rare beasts roaming the skies and filling the kid's nightmares with horror.

That you're the same kind that had cursed him for simply existing.

You don't answer him- though you do sit up to face him, curiosity caught at the sight of him. He definitely looks nicer than you'd thought, and yet, the clear marks on his neck and hand speak clearly to you about his fate. It's not a dragon's curse at all, but who would ever believe you? You'd told the king time and time again that your death would do nothing- but there was no talking him out of his ambitions, you've come to realize.

There was no use in fighting.

Jungkook however is now just confused. You're clearly suffering, in bad physical state, and all you had to do is grant a wish. His father had told him about this- that a dragon could grant a wish to anyone once in their lifetime, which was one reason they were hunted years back. People didn't know that the wish couldn't be forced out of someone- it had to be granted in pure willingness. So why was his father putting you in a cage down here, like a prisoner of war, when this very much wouldn't help his need for a wish at all?

"Why won't you grant the wish? You'll be free afterwards." The prince urges, but you shake your head.

"I can't." you say, almost inaudible. "If I could, I would've done it already." you croak out, voice a bit raspy from lack of use- and recent fight with a guard that had been sent to 'make you understand the urgency of the matter', as the king had told.

"what do you mean?" Jungkook asks, before you're both interrupted by your stomach. "did they not feed you yet? My father said they provided you with food..-" he talks more or less to himself, before a guard steps in.

"Your- highness! The king is looking for you." the Guard says.

"Has she not been fed today?" he wants to know instead, standing up to his full height while the guard seems surprised at the question.

"only every second day. We've been told to make her more easy to handle on days where she doesn't receive her ration, your highness." the older man admits, and Jungkook looks back at you, with a look you can only describe as guilty.

Though you're unsure why.

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You're not sure why he, as a prince of royal heritage, chooses to eat his dinner with you instead, on dirty concrete of all things.

It's stuffy in here, dark and cold, and yet he seems to be fine with it, constantly urging you to eat what he'd brought you. Was this a new plan created to garner your wish? You're unsure of it, last experiences having made you suspicious of any kind gestures given towards you. There's always an ulterior motive, a goal, no smile without calculation.

At least not inside these walls.

"I can't grant your wish." You say because of that, putting the bread down onto the floor- something Jungkook stares at, for a moment, before he looks back at your face thats turned downwards in a submissive manner. He doesn't know why you're not at all the proud being he's read about in books and teachings.

"Why not? Did you already grant one?" He wonders, but you shake your head.

"What did they tell you about the wish, prince?" You ask him, and he cringes a bit at the title, before he adjusts his pose, leaning back a bit on his hands.

His sleeves are rolled up, showing the extend of the damage his curse has been taking the past few weeks. No one knows if anything he does makes it worse or eases it. It's simply moody it seems, sometimes not spreading for days before it takes over him in waves, making him curl into himself in pain. There's nothing that helps the symptoms, every day a gamble, but Jungkook had been living with this ever since he was born. So to him, it was almost normal.

"That you can only grant a wish once, and that you have to do it willingly." He explains. "You cannot wish for the dead to be revived or to gain eternal life. Thats.. what's been written in the books." The prince says. You sigh.

"The wish isn't a thing." You reveal, making his blood run cold. "It never was. It's a legend, but it doesn't exist." You say, shivering a bit from the cold floor underneath you, small gravel digging into your naked thighs. The dress you wear isn't exactly made for a long stay at an underground prison.

"What- but.." He furrows his brows. "That would mean all of the wars, they've been-"

"For nothing." You say, eyes focused on his. "Without any reason." You tell him. "And your curse? My kind does not possess magic. We cannot curse or heal. Our blood doesn't cure disease, and our horns do not make the blind see again." Your voice wavers, becomes frantic in your emotions bubbling over as your eyes fill with tears. "Our scales don't offer eternal youth. Our liver doesn't make a man stronger than an army. Our eggs only contain our children, never the wealth you all believe it does." You tell him, drops of silver running from your eyes. "You've been killing my kind for centuries, making up stories to justify your murder just to feel better about yourself." You get up, standing in front of the wide eyed prince, his skin pale as he watches you. "Your curse has been given by the blood your father spilled for nothing more than the need for power. And I'm deeply sorry that an innocent man such as you who's never fought a war once in his life has to suffer the consequences." Jungkook gets up as well now, slower, but still with a look of pure shock on his face as he watches you talk. "But if mother earth has decided that you're the price to pay, then there's nothing anyone can do about it." You finish, before walking to the very corner, in the darkest place of your cell, leaving the young prince by himself to stare at nothing in particular.

He doesn't want to believe it.

But why would you lie?

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"And this is all you could find?" Jungkook wonders, looking at his friend and partner in crime, who looks around anxously before he answers.

"I didn't have much more time, but yes. This was all he had laying around that I thought would be of interest for you." Taehyung tells him, before he looks a bit more gentle. "Jungkook.. no matter what's in these pages, I want you to know-" He urges, putting his hands on the shoulders of his friend. "-you'll always stay the Jungkook I know today." The young man promises. "I consider you my brother, even if we're not from the same womb."

"I know." Jungkook nods. "And I look at you the same, friend." He offers, before he looks around. "Now go, before they behead you for your actions. We'll meet again, I promise." He says, well aware that if Taeyhung was to ever be found again, it could end in his execution for the act of stealing property of the king. Even if it was on Jungkook's word, it still was a crime he's committed. So the least the prince could do is to give him a fresh start far away from the kingdom- wherever the horse pulling the carriage might take the young worker's son.

Back in his own chambers, he reads with the help of a candle, entire world-view turned upside down as he reads about all of the things his father had done to try and lift the curse the man is well aware of from his son. He never speaks of murder like you'd said- but it's still evident from his writing that he's been using parts of dragons and even sirens to order witches for spells and rituals that might help his prince to gain back his health.

All for nothing, as he now knows.

But there's something else that stands out to him- letters written in ink and careful writing, but in a language he himself doesn't know. It's clear that his father must've had a connection to someone of non-human descent- every letter feeling warm to the touch, as if given to him with magic instead of conventional doves used by his kingdom.

Jungkook doesn't know what exactly he hopes for- but he can't think of anything else.

"I need your help." He says, quietly, making you turn around in the dim orange glow of his lantern. You can see that the curse has been spreading again, reaching the very tip of his earlobe on one side, silver jewelry hanging from his ear standing in great contrast to the deep black marks. He doesn't have much time left before the curse will take his senses, leaving him with no option but to hide in the castle and live with assistance.

You pity him. He's just a victim in this play, after all.

"What do you need me for?" You ask, unsure, when he holds three folded letters between the bars towards you.

"I was wondering if you might be able to read this- or at least tell me what language has been used." The prince asks, more calm now- but you can feel a fire burning inside his chest, an anger that feels more like betrayal than pure aggression over his situation, and you can only assume that he's learned of the past actions of his father and king. So you nod, standing up a little weak today, something Jungkook notices quite quickly- but for now, he can't do much to help.

You open the letter, gaze running over the words- one writing better than the other you notice, proving to you that while one was simply reciting what they've learned, using their memory of recently imprinted words and writings, the other person was native, well aware and confident in writing. The only thing interesting to you being however, that you can read it. "It's dragon's tongue." You softly say to the son of the king still standing close, holding his source of light close enough for you to comfortably read. "Prince Ju-"

"Just Jungkook. I'm in no way entitled to formality considering what my family has done to your kind." Jungkook offers weakly, and you nod.

"..Jungkook then." You nod, before looking at the letter again. "These are.. love letters."

"What?" He asks, confused. "Why would my father keep love letters of dragonkin?"

"Because he's the one who's sent one of them." You reveal to the prince, who's eyes widen. "It's.. I don't know why this one was kept- it seems like it has never been sent. But the name she writes to is your father's." You explain.

"Is- what.. what does it say?" He asks, voice quiet and unsure. "I- I don't need every word, just.."

"I.. Am unsure how to properly explain this. But this line right here?" You say, moving your finger over a line of text written delicately. "It reads as 'Please do raise mine as your own, as I cannot keep him in a place war has torn.'." You tell him. "Jungkook.. she's talking about you."

"She can't be." He says, shaking his head, before starting to pace around, dark marks of his curse pulsating angrily. "It doesn't say my name now, does it? It's not me."

"It does." You say. "In the letter.. that's not been sent." You offer, not looking at the prince in distress.

Jungkook shakes his head however, biting his lip bloody, before he runs an angry hand through his hair, taking the letters from you and being unaware of the paper cutting your hand a little as he leaves in pure confusion.

His entire life until now has been nothing but a lie.

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"You didn't just lie to me, but your whole Kingdom." Jungkook accuses, slapping books in front of his father onto his desk, ink from the man's pen splattering over the documents as the tip of the feather is bent and broken- equally as violent as the trust of his son. "You know exactly why this has been happening to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The man he once knew as his father says, eyes hard as he stares at his son. "Do not talk with a tongue like this."

"The tongue of a dragon?" He grits out, laughing without any humor as he breathes heavily. The king's eyes widen, body loosing any tension as he realizes what his son had placed onto the desk.

It's diaries. Notebooks. All of himself. Letters, kept in between the pages, sent between him and the women he used to love.

"It's-" He starts, but Jungkook shakes his head.

"I do not have to listen to a man who does not share the same blood as me." Jungkook barks. "Who's my father? Did you murder him too for his parts, or just for pure sport?" He demands to know, and in the second the prince slams his hands onto the desk of the king, he's back again twenty-five years.

The king remembers Jungkook's father- he'd had the exact same fire in his eyes when he'd confronted him about the fate of his son. As a half blood, with partial identity of the dragons but also the kingdom of men, the king had used this to his own advantage, spite over the relationship his secret lover had held with the man in front of him fueling dark thoughts and desires. Jungkook's father had been protective as a father should always be- not ever letting his son be harmed, not even when just still growing in the safety of the womb. So he had to.

"I had to." The king offers. "He would not understand the situation, and tried to keep you away from me." He tries to explain.

"As he should have." Jungkook barks back. "He was my father- what right did you think you had to take me from him? From my mother as well?!"

"Your mother and I weren't supposed to ever become what we did." The king tries to justify. "She couldn't leave your father, but neither did she want to stay."

"So you decided to kill the only person between you and her- how noble of you." The prince- or former prince- chuckles darkly. "So I was just a biproduct? Simple collateral damage?"

"No. You have the blood of men running in your veins. You're not a dragonkin." The king tells him. "I have raised you-"

"Even though you had. No. Right." Jungkook grits out.

"There is no going back for you now." The man in front of him says calmly. "There is nowhere for you to go but here."

"You do not have the power over me a father might have." The former prince says, calmly backing away from the table, before he rips the gold ornament of his family's crest from around his neck- throwing it onto the table with a cold stare. "In fact, you never did. You just made me believe that. And I will not play by your rules any longer." He says. "Nothing binds me to you, or this kingdom."

"So where will you go?" The king demands to know.

"Somewhere this curse can take me away from this earth in piece and quiet." Jungkook says quietly. "Someplace I can die with the knowledge that I'm not living in a sick dream created by a man blinded by lust."

"I assume you will take the dragonkin as well." His former father figure says. "She sure has twisted your mind. Almost amusing of you to say I was blinded by lust when you're doing just the same."

"I am not." Jungkook says, walking towards the door. "I am not taking her with me."

"So you'll just set her free? She has nowhere to go either." The man behind the desk barks. "Her land is nothing but ashes."

Opening the door, Jungkook doesn't turn around as he speaks. "She still deserves freedom." he says, quietly. "She deserves to live."

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Someone gently shakes your shoulder, carefully waking you from your nap on the cold floor in the cell. One look up, and you see the prince again- his face tired, but holding a comforting smile. "Here." He offers, helping you sit up. "It's cold outside. I think this will fit you." He explains.

You take the coat and tilt your head in confusion. "What for?"

"You'll have to travel with me for a bit, just until we're out the border. But after that, you're free to go wherever." He tells you.

"I'm-… just like that?" You wonder, and he nods. "What about you?"

"I don't know yet." He shrugs. "But I can't stay here anymore. Not after.. I just can't stay near him any longer." He sighs, standing up. "Come. I've packed everything already, the only thing missing is you." He charmingly states, holding the cell door open.

You walk out, shackles being undone by a prison guard, before you're free to walk outside, sun blinding you for a good moment before Jungkook helps you onto the carriage where a large horse already in front of it, ready to pull. "Is it winter?" You wonder, as Jungkook climbs up on the other side of the front, nodding towards a guard close by you assume is his friend- before he pulls the reigns, steering the horse towards the main gate of the castle grounds.

"Not quite. But soon." He tells you, calm quietness falling over the both of you, your eyes taking in all the pretty forest and scenery you've not been able to look at for months now. You can't imagine the emotions running through the former prince now- his entire identity a complete lie. Nothing he ever thought he knew was true, his trust in the kingdom entirely broken down to nothing but dust.

"Are you doing this to redeem yourself?" You wonder out loud, not shy or worried he might change his mind and throw you back into the undergrounds of the castle. He's chosen to let you out- and you know the wilds better than he does. You'll survive on your own. Not easily, but you'll manage.

"No." He shakes his head. "There's nothing I could ever do that would make the crimes on your kind disappear, or able to be forgiven." The former prince sighs, puffs of air escaping his lips since his breath is warmer than the cold air outside. "I can comfort myself in hiding behind not knowing what really happened up until now. That's all I have."

"It's enough." You shrug. "You're not the man that led the war. You're-.. a victim just as much as I am, down the line." You tell him, pulling your legs up to snuggle into the way too big coat he got you. It's warm fabric, pelt keeping your body heat safe from the worsening winds picking up the further you go out the forests surrounding the kingdom.

"I guess." He mumbles. "I'm still just a bastard though, with nowhere to go." He more or less says to himself, while you watch him.

Again, you can't imagine what he must go through. At least you can say that you've experienced proper upbringing, a childhood, parents and the feelings of family and belonging. But for him, everything he'd thought was real turned out to be nothing but lies, and it hurts you to imagine that. He's never done wrong from what you can tell. Just like you said; he's a victim, not a criminal. His hands aren't drenched in blood.

If anything, he's the only one who's shown you empathy, who's tried to right the wrongs done by people around him even though he doesn't have to. And with that, you watch him a little more closely as you reach the kingdom's borders.

♥━━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

"Are you warm enough?" He asks you in the back of the cart, making you move around and peek through the coverings of the cart that shield the insides from the cold nighttime air- and you nod. "Good."

"Will you rest soon as well?" You wonder, and he just shrugs, not offering a verbal reply while keeping his gaze on the road ahead. There's nothing in front of you it seems, faint lights of small towns nearby illuminating the far away places you pass by- but other than that, you're alone. "You can't keep going forever. I will feel useless."

"Don't worry, I won't think of you that way." He laughs, glad your attitude has slowly softened and relaxed around him. You're warming up to him, and he can't say he doesn't like it- after all, a companion is what he'd need most in his situation. But he won't ask you to stay, the question itself feeling almost criminal in his mind already, speaking it out loud would surely not be wise.

You huff in playful annoyance, disappearing inside the carriage before you reappear wrapped in a thick blanket, sitting next to him. "Why are you out now as well?" He chuckles, amused by your antics.

"To offer company. Do you not want it?" You ask, looking up at him with your slightly reflective eyes. You spot the same slight shine in his own eyes, reminding you that you're both not the same, but similar at the same time. He might not be a full-blooded dragon, but there's still a heart of one beating in his chest. You blame that exact fact for making you feel so attached to him already- feeling as if you don't want to leave him any longer. He's comfortable, he's nice, and caring, and gentle, and everything one might look for in a mate.

"Oh, I enjoy your company very much, don't you worry." He laughs again, though he yawns. "It might help keep me awake."

"Please rest." You ask of him, and he stutters a bit in his motion, before sighing in defeat.

"Just because I do not want to cause an accident and hurt you." He shakes his head, steering the horse into a space he deems hidden enough to set up camp for the night.

He probably isn't aware of the impact of his words.

You watch as he binds the horse to a nearby tree, his hand almost completely consumed by the black curse at this point as he pets the gentle creature for a goodnight. He climbs back into the carriage where you wait for him, already hiding underneath the blankets he'd brought along for both you and him alike, his gaze only resting on you for a second, not longer. "I can sleep outside as well. I understand if you don't trust me."

"I would've pushed you off the cart already if I wanted to." You answer him, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

"Considering my condition, you very much could've." He says, burying himself under the blankets as well next to you.

You look at the back of his head in front of you. "You'll be cured." You whisper out, and he shrugs again.

"Even if I won't, it's alright." He says. "I understand that it's not a curse, but simply.. I don't know."

"You don't deserve it, and I won't accept you saying that you do." You stubbornly reply. "We'll find a solution."

"It's alright." He just says, before he feels your finger drawing shapes on his back. "What are you doing?" He wonders, but you don't answer for a moment, before finishing what you're apparently writing.

"I've written my promise onto you." You quietly tell him.

"Promise?" He asks, unsure what you mean.

"My promise to stay with you till the end." You say, turning around so your back faces his. "No matter how soon that might be."

♥━━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

[agi-ppangx]

pairing: lee know x reader

word count: 813

tags: non-idol au, genderfluid!reader, afab!reader, estabilished relationship

warnings: gender dysphoria, tiny bit of angst i guess?? but it gets fluffy and comforting pretty quickly

summary: it's not easy to stay true to yourself when everyone doesn't see the real you, but your boyfriend is there to remind you of something important

author's note: omg its my first drabble!!!!! its oddly specific and i basically wrote it for myself since i struggle with my gender dysphoria and i needed something comforting, so here it is!! and for all my genderqueer folks out there - youre valid no matter how you look and how you act, please remember that there are people wholl love you for who you are<3

your hair was too long. you'd thought about getting a haircut for a while now and finally decided to make an appointment with your hairdresser. you decided to cut it really short, since you'd always wanted your appearance to be more masculine. but now, on your way home your happiness mixed with anxiety. you are beyond excited because you finally feel comfortable with the length and it just feels right. but at the same time you have this guilt deep down your heart - what if you shouldn't try to look that masculine?

you haven't come out to your relatives yet. it is complicated and you want to avoid fighting with them at any cost - in your parents' eyes you are their beautiful daughter and they are not thrilled about your appearance. therefore, it isn't easy to stay true to yourself when everyone around you expects you to look feminine and act like a woman when you don't feel like one.

you enter your small apartment with a morose face. you drop your bag on the floor next to your shoes and go straight to the living room. minho's sitting there, reading a book he borrowed from you a while ago. you drop yourself next to him with a loud exhale.

"hi~ you look really pretty," minho states with a smile, his hand already running through your soft, short strands. you only hum in a response, not looking at him. you wonder if he really means it or if he's just being polite. he notices your sad expression and asks "hey, everything okay? do you not like the hairstyle? if this is not what you wanted then i'll go and have a proper conversation with the hairdresser" he chuckles in an attempt to lighten the mood, yet you still don't smile. after a while you eventually speak "does my appearance bother you? you know, 'cause i don't really look feminine" you mumble, voice shaky. minho looks at you with wide eyes. "why would it bother me?" he frowns, startled with your words. "i dunno, i just… nevermind, it's silly," you mutter, shaking your head, and try to get up from the couch, but minho is faster. he grabs your wrist, forcing you to stay with him and gently caresses your cheek with his other hand. "what's going on?" he says softly. you feel the sting in the corners of your eyes and start blinking fast so the tears won't fall. "i just… sometimes i wonder if i do the right thing. i feel like everyone expects me to act and look feminine and it sucks. it makes me think that people don't take me seriously nor find me attractive because of my masculine look. it really hurts to not feel valid," you say it in one breath. minho's been looking at you in silence for a while and you begin to think that what you said might really have been stupid. you feel the tears slowly falling down your cheeks. but just then, you hear minho say "one of the things i love about you is that you always stay true to yourself. even when people throw weird looks at you, you still do your thing" he stated, lacing your fingers together. "it makes me so happy to see you being excited about your outfits and how it makes you look exactly the way you want yourself to. i absolutely adore everything about you and, answering your question, no, it doesn't bother me that you don't look feminine. and you know why?" you shake your head no, face wet from the tears that have fallen when minho was speaking. "because i fell in love with you, with your appearance and your one-of-the-kind personality. i still love it and i'll love it for the rest of my life, because i love you. you don't have to pretend to be someone else just because you don't fall into some people's vision of the world," minho presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. you wrap your arms around his waist and sob into his chest. "however, we might consider going shopping. you've already stolen half of my t-shirts," he adds, pretending to be annoyed, but he can finally hear you giggle a little. you move away from his chest and you look into his eyes. "thank you baby" you say quietly with a faint smile and press a long kiss to his lips.

later, when you lay in bed, minho cuddles you close and runs his hand through your hair, kissing it softly from time to time. his words may not have erased all of your insecurities and worries, but his reassurance was enough for now for you to feel more confident about your identity. because just like he said, you don't have to try and be someone else just to please other people.

[raelhbishop]

Cabaret of the Macabre

Filed under [M] for "macabre."

A collaboration between me and the magnificent @roadkill-frankenstein. The prose is mine, the art is theirs, the characters are ours. Consider it a "back-door pilot" for a setting of mine, of which he's a collaborator.

Capt. Grim Blackburn and Brennos Lobhadh belong to @roadkill-frankenstein.

Theoxenia Trismegistus and Mr. Manson belong to @raelhbishop.

Content warning: Depictions of PTSD and body dysmorphia; graphic depictions of death and stake-burning; body horror; mild emetophobia and hemophobia

❊

Two beaming yellow-on-red specks float about in the darkness. Aside from distant flickers of candles, they alone bring light to an all-encroaching darkness, like embers from a dying universe.

If one squints hard enough, one can see suggestions of a surroundings; the grain of stone, the glint of leather, the smudge of ashes, the subtle crevices of some much larger carving. In the dark, it's hard to tell truly where one thing ends and another begins.

An acrid, metallic smell singes the air.

The specks turn slightly, like two wispy marbles. A thin, bronzy outline of two circles and a line follow some inches ahead. Shuffling can be heard; glyphs, pages, come into view, given a subtle red tinge by the spheres.

Adjust the eye of your mind, and one can see something more to these specks…

❊

"Manson, are you positive this is your… friend's… address?"

"WE'RE NOT EVEN THERE YET, HOW CAN YOU ASSUME I'M WRONG?"

A sleek car moseys its way down increasingly decrepit roads. The tag on the back reads "D3MB0NZ”.

The streets reek of piss and, occasionally, some really poor quality ganja wafting from a balcony — a typical day in Miami. The hot sun glistens off the faces of our protagonists. Well, two of them.

Theo and Grim haven't been here for very long, only a few months at the most. In-between their work schedules, the two of them like to wander around Miami and make mental maps of what it holds. They've got it figured out: where all the vegetarian restaurants, liquor stores, and bars that host live music are.

These streets, however, seem foreign to them both. Mr. Manson has been driving for some time now, practically past the city's heart and into something overgrown.

Their ride comes to an end. He leaves the car confidently, leading the two past increasingly questionable buildings.

Grim adjusts his wide-brimmed straw hat. "…why are we going here again?"

"TO VISIT A GOOD FRIEND OF MINE." His voice is reminiscent of the roar of a car's engine.

"Brennos, right?"

Manson nods, audibly rustling. "YOU WILL LIKE HIM, TRUST ME. HE'S A PROPER GENTLEMAN. PLAYS A GOOD GAME OF POKER.”

The trio walk past a condemned building, boarded up, stucco walls crumbling. Mr. Manson stops at the next house, standing before a rotted door that looks minutes away from falling off its hinges entirely. He starts shuffling through his overly large ring of keys — the one thing, he laments, can't be upgraded.

Theo whispers to Grim. "I still don't know why he's our landlord."

"You know damn well why. He's the only one who would take us in."

"I dunno, dude. He still gives me the creeps."

"Come on, he's just undead, that's all. Like me."

"Well, yeah, but you've got flesh and bones and stuff. He's just… bones."

"AH, HERE IT IS."

Mr. Manson pulls out a literal skeleton key, the teeth resembling tiny ribs jutting out of an elongated phalange. At the key's base is a small crow-like skull.

He jabs it into the doorknob. Fighting a little, it eventually unlocks and glows the faintest bit. The eyes of the key light up a ruby red.

Adjusting his jacket and top hat, Manson opens the door and enters.

Theo grabs Grim's hand. They lock eyes, take a deep breath, and follow behind.

❊

A beam of light bursts through the darkness. Three figures emerge from it: the first, a top hat and Prussian blue coat clad figure, walking confident and cool. The second is straw-hatted, with hints of turquoise visible from underneath his yellow raincoat. He has only one arm. Close behind is a cowboy booted figure, sheepishly wearing a colorful hoodie with a smiling black cat on it.

As the door begins closing, the group find themselves in a corridor filled with other doors. They're all exquisitely carved — Mr. Manson notes they're made from solid ironwood — and are all identical except for a small symbol at the center of each. The door they just left bears a manatee engraved into it; a rose sits on the door to the left, and a fountain to the right.

Manson leads them to one end of the corridor, where a much larger door with a wolf-headed knocker greets them. He puts his skeletal finger to it; without even making contact, it knocks itself with a bark.

Startled, Theo leaps backwards, hitting a door with an eight-spoked wheel engraved into it. His hoodie gets knocked back, revealing two goat-like horns that curl behind and down below his equally hircine ears.

Grim sighs. He grabs Theo by the hand.

The door slowly opens, revealing more darkness inside. Manson continues, unperturbed. His shoes clack across the dark marble floor.

Following his lead, the two enter an even larger corridor. The simple wooden walls of the previous room have now been replaced with a dark stone. Pillars and alcoves have been periodically carved into them, covered in intricate detail that comes off as all-too sinister in the dim light.

The visitors peer into the alcoves as they walk past. Artefacts sit on pedestals in each one, lit by lanterns hoisted mere feet above. One holds a beige bejeweled cup, bearing the suture marks characteristic of a human skullcap. Another holds a preserved jar with a snake inside, a strange blend of the cobra and the moray eel. They pass by tusks from long-extinct wild cats, obsidian daggers, gold urns holding crystal spheres instead of ashes…

They walk by an intricate pocket watch with a mirror exposed; as the three walk past, only Theo's reflection appears.

Manson turns a corner. Theo bumps into a pedestal, showcasing a sizable ram's skull. He shudders.

They come to a still life; Theo and Grim stop to look.

"This painting gives me the creeps."

Grim nods. "It's very well done. I wonder if it has any deeper meaning."

Theo cocks his head. "Maybe you're right, dude… see the way the skull is in the forefront? Maybe it's supposed to represent how, like, death is everywhere. And all the stuff behind it is what you want to see." He points. "The books, the flute — a most excellent flute — the sword, the… weird little thingy you, like, put incense in or something…"

"What of the conch shell?"

Theo shrugs. "They're nice to look at? All the objects represent what we see in life, but the skull rules over them all."

They look at it quietly a little longer. An ever-so faint metallic smell begins to waft over.

"What do you think, dude?"

Grim shrugs. "Looks all the same to me… uh, Theo?"

He turns from the painting and is frozen in his tracks.

The two of them see the orbs in the distance. Floating. Ominously. The metallic odor grows stronger. They pinch each other to make sure this is all real, and slowly inch to the side.

Underneath the spheres, a line of frozen flames of red begin to emerge from the void. Both seem to be hovering in the distance. Eyeballing a nearby chandelier, Grim figures the orbs — the eyes, must be a good ten feet off the ground.

The eyes draw closer. The line becomes more defined, taller even, revealing the flames to be rows of sanguine teeth.

Grim feels for something on his left hip, but hears whimpers from his right. He grips Theo's arm to lessen his trembling.

"AH, BRENNOS! THERE YOU ARE!"

Manson walks past the duo, arms open.

A voice emerges from the lurking face. "Charles! Good to see you."

Stepping into the light, something emerges from the shadows.

A pink, slimy visage surrounds the eyes. It has the skull of a coyote, cleansed of all its flesh except for a thin film coating it. It sits atop a long, shaggy neck that freely hunches over. It’s composed of varying furs — suture marks can be seen patching them together.

The mysterious face seems to smile now, commanding a spindly and domineering body. Whatever other unspeakable things the body has inside it are concealed under rather refined clothes: a red dress shirt and pants, and a black collared vest with brass buttons down its left.

A book is clasped by the figure's massive wolf-like talons. They glisten wetly in the light.

Manson stands beside the ten-foot patchwork creature. The latter closes his book, bends his knees, and gives the skeleton a firm handshake.

"I'VE BROUGHT SOME CLIENTS ALONG WITH ME, I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND."

"Not at all."

"THAT ONE," he points to the figure in the straw hat, "IS ONE GRIM BLACKBURN, AND THE SHAKING SATYR HE'S CLUTCHING IS THEOXENIA TRISMEGISTUS."

"Ah, yes, you've told me about them. The ex-pirate and the aspiring musician." He approaches said musician. "I hear you prefer to go by 'Theo,' is that correct?"

Sputtering ensues.

"Ah, don't be so nervous, lad. Your horns don't bother me one bit."

Theo freezes.

"Would you all like a tour of my humble abode?"

"I THINK THAT WOULD BE IN ORDER."

Grim slowly nods his head.

"Splendiferous."

Brennos begins leading Mr. Manson down a left corridor, the others trailing behind. He begins a thorough discussion of the first item he sees — a shrunken head, hoisted to his right, said to hold the soul of the man it once belonged to.

Theo leans over towards Grim. "I think he's gonna kill me, dude."

"Not as long as I'm here."

He smiles at Grim, his lips quivering.

❊

Cacophony rebounds across the halls. Its source is a simple tea room, with Brennos and Manson chortling and patella-slapping. The two of them regale anecdotes of their "lives," happenings from centuries ago that lose some of their humor on the guests.

A fireplace roars in the background — the most light you'll find anywhere in the place. To the left lies a gallery, to the right a kitchen, and directly in front sits Brennos in his leathery armchair.

"You know, Charles, I could install one of these in your place."

Mr. Manson rattles.

"Really, it's no bother."

"THANKS, BUT NO. MY FLATSCREEN TV WORKS JUST FINE."

"Well, what about a cauldron?"

"SLOW COOKER."

"Magic orb?"

"DESKTOP COMPUTER."

"Oh, you make me feel like such a luddite sometimes!"

Grim fidgets with his coat. Theo stares into his empty teacup.

Brennos turns to the two. “So, tell me, how long have you two known each other?"

"About a year." Grim cautiously eyes his host.

"Good."

There's an awkward silence across the tea room. Brennos flashes a sanguine smile; Grim seems a little unnerved by it, so Brennos retracts. It's at this point Grim realizes Brennos hasn't moved his mouth at all — the words get beamed into his brain.

"Say, Charles, did you ever tell them about how we met?"

Before he can start, howling can be heard in the distance. Theo looks up from his teacup, eyes widened in concern.

"Ah, sounds like the tea's done." Brennos slowly rises to his full height. Theo starts bleating in panic — after trying to relax for the past ten minutes, he'd forgotten how tall his host was. Sitting to Theo's left, Grim taps him on the shoulder to get him to calm down. It doesn't work.

He moves his hand to his nape and quasi-massages his neck. The panicked bleating slows down; he breathes easier.

"YOU TWO HAVE AN INTERESTING RELATIONSHIP."

"Yes, but it's ours, and I'm glad to have it." Grim moves closer to Theo; the latter puts his head on the former's shoulder and bleats, this time happily.

Manson grins — not that he has much choice.

Brennos returns with the tea. He pours Theo and Grim cups. The former's hesitant at first, but messily takes a sip — less out of courtesy and more out of his love for herbal teas. It's quite a nice blend; the rest of the cup soon follows.

Grim notices the host pours himself a cup from a smaller kettle; he inquires.

"Oh, my friend, this is a drink for… very specific tastes. I'm certain if you tried it you'd regret it."

Grim highly doubts that — the man makes his cocktails with antifreeze, after all.

Manson and Brennos resume their recollections, some puns at the expense of a 'Governor Phips' here, wise-cracks about Puritan dogma there, and a passing mention about a Sikh vetala and a book club. Then Manson does an impression of some obscure minister that sends Brennos reeling.

As he laughs, a little spills from Brennos' cup. A crimson stain pools on the table.

Grim hovers over the spill.

Theo cocks his head. "…is that…?"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry." Brennos pulls out a kerchief and wipes it up.

"Oh god." Theo puts a hand over his mouth.

"Down the hall, second door on your right."

He runs from the table.

Meanwhile, Grim hovers over Brennos' "tea"cup.

"I told you it was for specific tastes." He sips a little. "You look quite perturbed by it for a retired swashbuckler."

Grim stares at a painting opposite Brennos. "Have you ever seen the mountains outside Marrakesh?"

"In books, yes."

"You know how they transition from being a dried red on the bottom to pallid and snowcapped on the top?"

Brennos acknowledges.

"Every time I see… just any red, really… I'm reminded of those mountains.

"I'm reminded of seeing a pool of crimson, covering the hardened snow. Staining the jagged rocks. Draining the color from…” he winces “…skin. Taking with it, every last inch of warmth… flowing down to join the red rocks below.

"Even just seeing a crimson shirt hanging in a store makes me nauseous."

The void creature takes another sip. "Are you always so honest with gentlemen you've just met?"

"Not until lately." Grim sighs. "How do I put it…"

"YOUR BOY TOY HAS MADE YOU FEEL THINGS?"

Grim shoots Manson a glare that would make one's skin peel. It does what you would expect to someone with no skin.

"JUST A BIT OF HUMOR."

"You're not wrong, though." He resumes staring at the painting. He sighs. "I used to despise the undead, see them as affronts to the unyielding hand of God. And then, by a cruel twist of fate, I was forced to join them."

Putting his cup down, the sewn-together figure steeples his talons. "Do you know how Charles and I became what we are?"

"You just said it was some event in Massachusetts."

"Aye, but that's only part of the story. We used to be flesh and bone too. It was a rather… excuse me for a moment…"

Brennos turns to a cabinet behind him, rummaging through it. He pulls out a stone, clasps it in his hands, and concentrates. He seems to wince while doing so. When he opens his claw, the stone has been reduced to a glowing dust.

"An old trick from the Babylonians." He tosses the dust into the fire. "Observe."

Grim looks into the fireplace and watches its flames turn a vibrant green. It seems rather ordinary, all things considered… but he can't seem to look away from it-

In an instant, Grim sees a foreign vision in his head, a memory that is not his own, playing back as clear as crystal…

❊

Many people misconstrue what 'alchemy' is. It's not the search to turn lesser metals into gold; that's merely a side effect. The true goal of alchemy was mystical: to purify the self, to transmogrify oneself from an impure being of flesh and vice into a transcendent spirit.

To study the vibrations of the world, and pluck them with understanding, turning the universe into a perfect orchestra.

To alter one's own vibrations.

Witchcraft, traditionally, was seen as the innate ability to cause misfortune simply by willing it. Magic for malice, as it were.

But some, many who found themselves magically-inclined or curious — mystically inclined or curious — were targeted as "witches". The actions, the goals, the dreams — they didn't matter to the outsider; their strangeness was enough to warrant scapegoating.

The memory unfolds in a cramped house, wooden logs as its walls and a simple dirt floor. All manner of drawings and writings in scripts — Arabic, Latin shorthand, some bastard version of Greek — line the walls.

He sees a figure in the mirror — one covered with scars across its chest, scars it - he, knows to be from disgust, from a desire to become something different.

A body, a mind, a soul, torn from years of constant, minor degradation. Like a thousand arrows shot at the psyche. Insults from others; assaults from others; assaults from his own mind… and a growing desire to escape.

Today, there is no disgust. There's only excitement… a little fear, but eager anticipation overwhelms it.

A cloth covers a vaguely humanoid outline in another corner of the room.

The anticipation wells further. Various items line the desks here; crucibles and alembics, a bubbling cauldron, ashes, herbs familiar and exotic, not-so precious gems, animal skulls, talismans from within and without the New World…

He turns to see sigils inscribed into various loose-leaf pages and small discs. A wooden one sits forefront, destined to be an amulet.

Removing a rod from the fire of the cauldron, he burns a strange symbol into the disc, then submerges it in the cauldron.

He takes the amulet and… the memory gets blurry here, painful. When it returns, the amulet has been snapped in half; one half, he wears himself, the other, now placed onto the cloaked figure. Both seem to glow gently.

His excitement boils over — as does the cauldron. He takes a cupful from the cauldron, pipping hot, and drinks it, burning his throat in the process. He doesn't care. He takes another, and pours it into the cloaked figure.

Colors now seem more vibrant. He can feel his blood, his breath, his nerves — like winds, swirling about his body. He drinks more of the brew; the inner vision, the excitement grows stronger — blinding his awareness of what's unfolding outside.

The rituals that follow are a bit esoteric for most; still, the feeling of the winds becomes ever-present. They begin to coalesce in channels across the body.

It's exhilarating… it's chaotic… it's purifying…

He can feel a synergy, a connection, with a foreign channel mere feet away, as if a door is opening with a ruby red key.

Suddenly, his own door bursts down. A mob breaks in, armed with simple weapons, dressed in simpler clothes. The few that enter are baffled by the array of oddities. They utter prayers and complaints.

The strongest one of them grabs him by the shoulders, jostling his trance.

It's as if one's hand had been jarred in that very door. The connection splinters, shivers… the winds turn into typhoons around their channels… voices from before, from beyond, from within, are amplified a thousandfold. Dread rises from every pore.

He tries to fight back, thrashing his limbs, knocking his set to the floor. It's no use.

He gets dragged out by the mob. His vision is blurry, hazy, like a mirage. As he gets dragged further, he can see his house burning in the distance. He can make out a few faces in the crowd; most prominent, that of a buckle-hatted, mustached figure — a certain Charles Baldrick Manson III, Esquire, farmer and moral arbiter.

The connection still lingers. He tries desperately to re-enter the trance, to hold on to it for as long as possible. He feels sensations across his bodies ebb in-and-out. A soul cast between two homes, tethered to neither and longing for both…

Within moments, he now finds himself tied to a stake. A woman, a familiar voice, tries desperately to stop them, but it is of no use. She pleads before Manson; he is unperturbed.

He fades in-and-out of awareness, across bodies. He feels the other one grow warmer — a sign of progress?

He can barely hear the confident speech of the mob leaders as he tries to re-enter the trance. Suddenly, light begins to shine from below.

He thinks it's a good sign at first — the soul, finishing its migration!

He looks down — both bodies — to see that he's gravely wrong.

Flames pierce the skin like cuts from a red-hot sword. The smell of burning flesh is choked out only by the stench of the wood underneath.

Blood begins to boil underneath the skin. Joints bubble and explode. Bones can be heard crackling from the flames.

His body begins to feel numb all over, the pain unbearably dulling all his senses. He goes blind — either from the trauma, or from his eyes popping in their sockets.

The last thing he can see is the smiling face of Charles, taking a mirage-like transition into darkness. Swirling darkness, like the smoke of the flames.

There's a piercing ringing in the ears.

It slowly dampens as if it were going down a distant corridor, echoing as it departs.

The vision becomes filled with sparks.

The all-consuming pain slowly seeps, drains out. He can feel the winds withdraw from his body, heat coalescing, then dissolving from the heart…

Grim grips his chest, reflexively…

… pooling into something.

The vision gradually transforms, from the light of a moon-lit sky, to an ember-like reddish glow, to black voidness… finally, to a clear, blinding, calming light…

… it sits there for some time…

… he awakes to find himself in the ashes. Not on them, in them. He feels strangely free, fluid, like he could fly through mountains…

… and yet, he finds himself trapped in a black, bile-like form, pooled in and around what was once the stake.

It takes some time for his spirit to adapt to this liminal body — liminal being the loosest and yet closest fit term for what this is.

Two bead-like eyes form from the mental image of himself. The world no longer looks the same; ghosts and auras are now as clear as day, and the mundanities of life give way to the extraordinarities of the beyond.

Brennos' cool, cold, shadow-like body creeps its way out of the pile of smolders. It rolls itself into the direction of the town, to the direction of a certain manor, inhabited by a certain Mr. Manson…

❊

The memory ends. It felt like hours. It all flashes by in a minute's time.

"I had worked so long and hard to sculpt the perfect form, something I could feel confident in…" Brennos creaks, akin to a sigh. "I spent years learning to re-assemble myself, using what little magic I had left to survive."

Grim quietly, slowly nods.

"It took me some time to get to the form you see today. Most of the bodies and cadavers I tried to inhabit were failures from the start — too decayed, too weak, too small. I soon gave up on trying to become human again. Instead I built myself a body, the one you see before you now. One of flesh, fur, and bone. At first, I was disgusted by myself."

Grim says nothing.

He sips from his cup, teeth clacking ominously against it. "It took me some time to accept what I had become. And now, I've grown quite fond of this body of mine."

Grim still stares in the direction of the fireplace. Brennos creeps over; his cheeks seem wet with tears.

He extends a talon.

Grim turns.

"We all need help sometimes."

Grim grasps the claw. They do a quasi-handshake.

"Say, Charles and I have a little… coven, you might say, of undead friends that meet here. We're called the Cabaret. Would you like to join us?"

Grim looks down, thinking.

"There is no pressure to join, my good sir."

He thinks for a moment. "Well, only if I-" He turns in his chair. "Wait a second… my landlord is the man that killed you?"

"Indeed. I was quite miffed at the time. In a fit of rage, I went over to Manson while he slept, and put a hex on him. I spared his wife-"

"AND I MUST SAY, THANK YOU FOR SPARING HER."

"Why wouldn't I? She was the only one who stood up for me."

"VENGEANCE DOES STRANGE THINGS TO THE MIND."

"Very true. Regardless, that hex is what brought him to his current form as a walking skeleton."

Grim looks Brennos in the eyes. "The cycle of violence."

Brennos nods. "Ah, but how trivial it all looks in death." He points at Manson. "You accused me of witchcraft because I mentioned the possibility of rain, and it rained that day. You were correct, of course, but your reasons… quite absurd."

"TRUTH IS, I WAS JUST MAD BECAUSE I WAS PLANNING A PICNIC THAT DAY. OUR PASTRIES WERE RUINED."

"Ah, to put your fellow man to death over soggy pastries! How interesting those times were."

Manson hunches towards Brennos. "I'M AFRAID NOT MUCH HAS CHANGED IN THAT REGARD, TO THE MORTALS AT LEAST. QUITE SAD, REALLY."

"Yes, but at least the stake-burnings are metaphorical now instead of literal.”

"YOU SHOULD SEE WHAT THEY DO IN SUBSAHARAN AFRICA THESE DAYS. IT WOULD MAKE YOUR BILE-"

A metallic thud can be heard in the distance, followed by a yelp.

"Griiiim!"

Seconds later, Theo emerges from a corridor, a helmet from a Qing dynasty coat of armor rolling in behind him. He runs over to Grim, and buries his head into his shoulder. "I want to go home!"

He sobs profusely on the pirate's left side, tears trickling down his armless shoulder.

Grim looks over at his hosts. He turns back and puts a consolatory hand on Theo's shoulder.

The whimpers echo across the halls of the manor.

As the tears begin to lessen, Grim pats Theo on the shoulder, grabs him by the chin, and turns his head.

He sees Brennos there, taking on the posture of a plant that's begun wilting.

This ten-foot fleshwork creature, witch, daemon, whatever it is, seems… sad.

Theo gets the feeling that there's emotion there. Its mouth may be bony and menacing, and its eyes more like burnt embers than eyes, but it… he, seems just like him in a way.

He burrows his head back onto Grim to process.

Theo gets the sense that, somehow, Brennos is just as sad as him. He doesn't know it like Grim knows it, but he senses that somewhere, deep in those eyes, a mortal just like him once resided — still resides. A hopeful, excited — corrupted, mirror of himself.

"Alright, I understand. You two are free to leave." Brennos approaches a little. "But first — and, I must say, this is entirely your choice — I think I have something you might enjoy, Theo. Would you like to come see it?"

He sniffles. Picking his head off of Grim's shoulder, he grips his hand and looks him square in the eyes.

Grim nods slowly.

Theo turns and cautiously accepts, following behind Brennos and gripping Grim's hand.

They wind past corridors Brennos showed them prior — weapons, skulls, preserved viscera and the like — and enter one the group missed. It's filled with instruments; Theo is amazed by their diversity and age. He brightens up a little, pointing at the erhu and the mandolin and the qanun.

Brennos then pulls out a dust-covered box from beside a pipe organ. His claws wrap neatly around it, brushing the dust off in one stroke.

"I remember hearing you liked music. Is that so?"

"I live for music."

"Good, very good. I've always admired a musician's heart. It's similar to a witch's heart, in a way."

Brennos lowers himself to Theo's height. "Charles has been telling me of all the strange new ways everyone listens to music. When I was born, you could only hear music by playing it yourself or hearing someone else. Before the phonograph or the cassette-disc player or what-have-you, we had this."

He puts the box in Theo's hands. It's wooden, fairly dense, is about the size of a paperback novel, and has a painting of a forest scene on it.

"Go ahead, open it. It won't bite."

Theo cautiously lifts open the top. As he does, it begins playing a gentle tune. He can see the machinery inside — a spinning copper disc with holes punched into it, and a braided metal rod that sticks halfway across its length, dipping up-and-down with the grooves of the disc.

It's so old, so simple, and yet so intricate.

"That's… Clair de Lune.”

"Good ear."

Something about the music box's tune strikes a chord with Theo. The high-pitched, metallic strumming seems to take him back to a time before he was born; nostalgia for a faceless face, a placeless place. He sees the tree he was born under, his name not yet carved in its side.

He feels a pressure build from the side of his eyes, growing stronger with each high-note.

Tears once more stream down his face.

He lets it loop two or three times, before gently closing the box.

"It's yours if you want it, friend. A gift."

He sniffles. "Thank you." He puts the box beside him, wipes his eyes, and looks at Brennos down his comically small glasses.

Theo slowly smiles. He chuckles. "Sorry, dude. I think I forgot to introduce myself." He puts his left fingers on his chest and extends his right hand outwards. "Theo."

Brennos nods. "Brennos Lobhadh, at your service." He extends a hand, as if to shake.

Theo extends his hand upwards.

They stand silent for a few seconds, before Charles approaches Brennos and hushedly explains what a high-five is.

Brennos shrugs and complies, slapping his massive claws against Theo's frail hand. The satyr winces, grips his wrist and grits his teeth, trying to conceal the pain twelve pounds of talons hurdling at his palm conveyed.

Brennos looks concerned.

The satyr smiles back. He sticks his tongue out, playfully. "Don't worry, the last dude that did that became my boyfriend."

❊

The wolf-knockered door opens once more; this time, Theo and Grim walk mirthfully out of it, saying goodbye to their hosts.

Manson and Brennos stand in the doorway, waving back.

"Oh, Grim!"

Grim turns. Brennos gestures conversationally.

"My offer still stands. To join us, I mean. Here at the Cabaret. I think you would make a welcome addition. We share our collections"

"Only if he can come along." Grim nods toward the satyr beside him.

Brennos puts an inquisitive talon on his face. "Well, he's not quite undead… rather the opposite, really…"

"That's my offer. Take it or leave it."

Brennos shrugs. "I suppose a little life wouldn't hurt."

Theo opens the door with a rose carved into it. He waves as the couple say their final goodbyes.

"WAIT, HOLD O-"

The two of them exit the room, entering a shaded pathway nestled beside a dilapidated corridor. Grim holds in his hand double, Theo nothing.

"Remind me never to take you to Vegas."

Theo chuckles. "Remind me to never take you to Macau."

"Think I'd drain their casinos dry?"

"I don't want to have to break you out of a Chinese prison."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Grim ducks walking past a… gargoyle?

"You're a cheat."

"I don't cheat!"

They turn a corner, Theo's hands motioning past a poster written in some strange language. "Come on, dude, you even cheat in Monopoly."

"I do not!"

"I dunno, I don't think 'accepting aid from the East India Company' is in the game rules."

"They're called house rules!"

"…Grim?"

A giant statue of a woman on horseback, flanked by two paladins, stands before Theo, with "TRANDAFIR SI APOSTOLII EI" carved into the stone it sits on.

"I don't think we went through the right door…" ❊

[totally-not-deacon]

WIP Wednesday Thursday!

Tagged by @throughtrialbyfire! I dunno who's been tagged already, but I'll go ahead and harass @dalishthunder @molliehaswords @singleteapot, just in case.

So this week, I've actually spent more time fucking around the Creation Kit and writing dialogue than working on AR, but I got a little done that I can show off! Under the cut, I'll give ya some of the yet-unnamed epilogue I've been tinkering with as well.

“I was hoping to avoid involving them, but I guess there’s nothing for it.” Delphine sighed in frustration, as if she had the right to be. “You’ll have to ask the Greybeards to see if they know anything.” Marasa could hear the disdain in her voice, mirroring it in kind. “They’ve yet to lead me to ruin, so I trust they can point me in the right direction.” “Since they’ve already let you into their little cult, I would hope so.” This woman had respect for none but herself, not even Marasa. She was a tool in her eyes, a means to an end. The question was, what was the end? The way she talked about her, how she could use Marasa, didn’t seem to stop at defeating Alduin. She was having none of it. If Delphine thought she would kowtow to her expectations, to be her weapon, she was sorely mistaken. “We’ll explore the temple some more. It’s a better hideout than I could have hoped for. Go, talk with the Greybeards. See what they know about this shout.” Delphine said, indicating it was time for her to go. Marasa would do so gladly, anything to get out of here. Away from Delphine, from prophesies, from the end of the world. Just, anywhere but here. “Talos guard you.” If looks could kill, Delphine would be dropping to the stone floor writhing and gasping for air. “If Talos was going to guard shit, he would have when you sent me to my death.” “I –” Marasa wasn’t about to let her finish, snarling. “Make peace with your precious Talos, you’ll be meeting him sooner than you think.” Marasa stormed out, taking the steps two at a time, not even acknowledging the rest of her group. She needed out of here. Now. That or someone was going to end up dead, and it wasn’t going to be her. “Marasa, wait!” She whipped around, more venom on her tongue, holding it when she caught Lucien’s worried face. He’d run ahead of the group to catch up to her. She forced her posture to relax – he wasn’t deserving of her ire. Marasa sighed. “Sorry, Luc.” she said, letting her shoulders drop. “Didn’t – didn’t mean to cause a scene.” He shook his head, “I just wanted to see if you’re alright.” She looked at him, casting a glance at the others as they came down the stairs before averting her eyes, mouth turned into a deep frown. “No… not really, honestly.” “It’s a lot…” he nodded. Approaching cautiously, he held his arms out, relieved when she moved in to accept the hug, sagging against him. “I don’t know if it helps, but I believe in you.” “Yeah. Yeah, it does, actually.”

(Set in 4E205, Arenthia, Valenwood)

“It looks… exactly how I remember it.”

“I thought there’d be more trees.”

“Hah, no. You’d need to go further south for that. We’re on the border of northern Elsweyr, after all.” And it showed, not just in the populous. The air was dry and warm, but the mid-morning breeze off the river kept it surprisingly comfortable. He couldn’t lie, he was afraid the heat would be far more unpleasant, afraid it might dredge up things he’d rather forget. Thankfully, there was none of that, though he would need a change of wardrobe.Sun baked grass crunched under foot, weary workers took their breaks under the shade trees dotted around them, others hurried themselves with whatever tasks they had that day. It was busy, and it made even Solitude look nearly desolate. This was a proper trade city.

“Explains all the cats.”

“Shh,” she elbowed him in the side with a playful laugh. “Play nice.”

“Never.” he grinned.

“Look there,” she pointed off towards the edge of the harbor. Several workers – mostly Khajiit and Bosmer – toiled together, loading and unloading crates and containers full of who knew what between a ship and a large warehouse. “That’s my family’s – I said they were merchants, right?”

He raised his brow in surprise at the sheer size of the building. “I think I expected a smaller operation.”

“It was when I was younger, but I guess we’ve been pretty fortunate.” Marasa led them away from the docks, following the well-worn path into the city proper. “They’ll bring the rest of our things to my parents’, it’s not far from here.”

“You sure they have enough room to store all your junk for a while?” She gave him a small punch to the shoulder in response, a fond smile on her lips.

It really was different from his expectations. The architecture alone showcased its Khajiiti influence, both in ancient stonework and the sweeping, curved beams holding roofs over the colorfully adorned walls of stilted houses. He could smell the moonsugar in the air, but not in the unpleasant way you’d find wafting from a run-down skooma den in the middle of Cyrodiil. No, it seemed like it originated from the baked goods one of the traders was setting out for the day. It was enticing, he had to admit.

“I wish I could have bread sometimes… but don’t tell anyone I said that.” she sighed, gazing longingly at the trader’s goods. Sure, there was bone flour, cricket flour, and several other options, but from she’d heard, none of them stood a chance against the real thing.A sudden thought popped into her head. There was something even better. “Actually, give me a moment.”

Marasa wandered over to the baker, Nebarra trailing behind, still taking in the sights and eyeing the other merchants setting up for the day. Everything from dazzling, handwoven fabrics to baskets loaded with fresh, exotic looking produce – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen this kind of vibrancy. It made Skyrim look washed out and drab, as if every color had faded into the snow. His head snapped back to her, realizing he couldn’t understand a word either were saying. That was Ta’agra, wasn’t it? Huh. Now that he’d seen where she was raised, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised she’d know both of the common languages here. Probably came in handy even moreso, given the family business. He snorted. You didn’t have to understand a word to tell she was haggling over something, and by the look of it, she was coming out ahead. A few moments later, she returned with a grin and two small, wrapped packages in hand. She offered one to him, which he took hesitantly.

“Should I even ask what this is?” Though he’d only done a bit of reading about it during the trip, he wasn’t too sure about this Bosmer cuisine. Maybe he’d be completely out of his mind on a moonsugar high, but the Khajiiti food sounded a lot less… suspicious in origin.

“Jagga tarts!” He gave her a blank stare. “It’s like… I guess the closest I can think of is, like a meat pie of sorts? Obviously made with jagga, as well. And before you ask, there’s no people in it.”

He inspected it carefully, not knowing what exactly he was looking for, but doing so nonetheless before taking a tiny bite. It… wasn’t bad. Strange, sure, but actually not bad at all. Taking another, maybe he wouldn’t starve here after all.

“Better than anything a Nord can cook.” he shrugged, Marasa looked more than pleased with herself. Now he was concerned with what else she might convince him to try. “Just… don’t tell me what’s in it.”

[leopardmask-ao3]

NHH 2022 Day 25: In the Between

Link to the challenge Today’s Word is: Dragon Characters: Gem, Pearl Season: HC8/just before, tangentially also Empires 1 Other tags/warnings: ender dragon Pearl, satyr/fae creature Gem, Gem knows a little magic, the Void is basically outer space Word Count: 738

Summary: Entering a new world is sometimes a challenging prospect - especially if one has a schedule to keep elsewhere. Fortunately, Gem won't be traveling alone.

Read it on ao3 or

Gem lay on her back, watching the stars above her. One arm was behind her head; the other kept a secure hold so she wouldn't fall.

There were stars below her, too, both the real ones that were all around, and an imitation of the sky in glittering scales. The surface under her shifted up and down as great black wings flapped slowly.

Gem moved the hand that was under her head to touch a charm at her neck, renewing the small volume of air she was carrying with her as she traveled through the Void between worlds.

Her ride rumbled at her. "You doing alright back there?"

"All good, thanks, Pearl." Not for the first time, Gem was glad that she had known Pearl long enough to learn to understand Pearl's draconic grumbles and growls. This journey would have been much less fun without somebody to talk to.

Teleportation in would have been the easy solution. But this was a private world they had never visited before, so someone else would have had to do it first to get them there, and Gem and Pearl were just coming from a prior engagement that they didn't want to get cut short by a sudden disappearance. So, since the Void was practically Pearl's native habitat and she had no trouble flying in it, they decided to take the long way.

"What were we thinking, accepting two invitations to private worlds with opening days so close?" Gem sighed lightheartedly. It wasn't like she minded all that much. Once they were settled in both, they'd be able to travel between both at will.

"Well, I had my own reasons to keep busy," Pearl growled. "I dunno what you were thinking though."

Gem laughed. "Okay, okay. Do you know how close we are yet?"

"Close enough to get there on time."

"Good enough for me."

-

Gem had been napping when she was awoken by blowing wind across her face. "Are we there yet?" she mumbled.

"Almost!" Pearl's enthusiastic roar carried even better in the proper atmosphere of a world.

Gem uncurled herself from the spine scale she had tucked herself against. She climbed forward and wrapped her arms around Pearl's neck for better purchase against the moving air.

"Is that where we're landing?" Gem asked about the landmass below.

"That looks about right, yeah."

Pearl descended in figure-eights, Gem clinging on right, until finally-

"Pearl, the ground is getting awfully close- aaah!"

Before Gem could finish her sentence, the sturdy shape she had been clinging to vanished, leaving Gem flailing. She grabbed at Pearl again, who was now in her humanoid form, and the two of them toppled to the ground.

"Ow," Pearl commented.

Gem took her time in rolling off of Pearl and sitting up. "Pearl!" she scolded. "What was that??"

Pearl tried to get up, but settled for propping herself up on her elbows. "Um... I missed the ground?"

"You missed. The ground."

"I couldn't exactly feel when I reached it!" Pearl protested. "It'd be like you walking from air into... I don't know, smoke or something. Feet-first. So maybe, when I realized my head was at beach level, I panicked a bit..."

"And so now we're in a hole that you made."

"And now we're in a hole," Pearl agreed. "That I may have dug." She tried to push herself up again. "Gem, you're sitting on my wing."

"Oh, sorry." Gem carefully placed her hooves on stone and stood up, releasing Pearl to stand as well.

Pearl looked up and out. With Pearl in human form, the scoop out of the ground was at least as tall as either one of them. "At least there wasn't anything built here yet," Pearl said. "I think we arrived a little early!"

Just then, the murmur of conversation reached them. Gem and Pearl looked at each other excitedly. More and more voices joined in.

And then, they were looking over the rim of the pit. Face after face, popping into view, until no fewer than twenty-four people ringed the newcomers.

Gem's ears flicked a little at the attention, but her nervousness didn't last long. These were the friends they had come here to see.

Xisuma knelt and reached down to help Gem climb out, while Grian did the same for Pearl. "Hello hello, you two. Looks like you made it right on time! Everyone, please welcome GeminiTay and Pearlescentmoon to Hermitcraft!"

[applestorms]

alright,

i am well in need of a proper homestuck reread by this point, it's certainly been long enough since i went through the comic as a whole instead of just skipping around to different acts and conversations. to anyone following me rn who would like to avoid possible post spam about this, i'll be tagging everything with "#astronaut reread" so feel free to filter that. dunno if it'll be that spam-y though tbh, i'm trying to be more careful and take my time going through each page and image to really Pay Attention this time round to make sense of all of the theories/analysis i've been reading lately, but that may also make my liveblogging posts longer so. idk we'll see how this goes

initial thoughts: i've always been drawn to the emptiness of early homestuck, the whole aspect of the kids shitting around in their rooms doing basically nothing of real importance (ignoring hs's love of callbacks) feels very true to the experience of being a teenager in the last few decades. it's quite slow story-wise, of course, but it genuinely does set up a lot of the story later on (john's posters all foreshadowing/inspiring later plot points, etc.) and the vibe is just. man idk, i've seen people criticize act 6 for being slow in that nothing really happens since all the characters are just Waiting, but reading through the very beginning again that almost feels more true to the core of homestuck, or at least where it started. and i like it, sometimes it's nice to just slow down, even though i get the frustration w/ that later in the story after the plot has so much more baggage. but more reflection on that later.

john is an interesting character on a meta level in how he represents the most basic entity in homestuck: the first kid, upon which all other kids evolve off of, but what's more interesting about that fact to me is how his original Home plays into that character. maybe i'm biased by nostalgia, but (A1:82) is such an interesting page, it's like the first point where the comic hints at taking itself more seriously by marking just how empty the space surrounding john is, houses all copies of one another and far apart along the streets. not to mention the wind running through the windchime, perhaps another instance of foreshadowing/inspiration? hussie mentions the idea of vriska being tied to the image of the sun that page ends on in the commentary notes, troll gods not yet conceived of but looking down and watching all the same. honestly all i can think of is a section from the start of ch2 of the zhuangzi:

Master Dapple said, “My, isn’t that a good question you’ve asked, Ziyou! Just now I lost myself. Do you know? You’ve heard the pipes of people, but not the pipes of earth. Or if you’ve heard the pipes of earth, you haven’t heard the pipes of Heaven.”

“May I ask what you mean?”

“The Big Lump belches breath and it’s called wind. If only it wouldn’t start! When it starts, the ten thousand holes begin to hiss. Don’t you hear the shsh-shsh? In the mountain vales there are great trees a hundred spans around with knots like noses, like mouths, like ears, like sockets, like rings, like mortars, like ditches, like gullies. Gurgling, humming, hooting, whistling, shouting, shrieking, moaning, gnashing! The leaders sing ‘Eeeeeeh!’ The followers sing ‘Ooooooh!’ In a light breeze it’s a little chorus, but in a gusty wind it’s a huge orchestra. And when the violent winds are over, the ten thousand holes are empty. Haven’t you witnessed the brouhaha?”

Ziyou said, “So the pipes of earth are those holes, and the pipes of people are bamboo flutes. May I ask about the pipes of Heaven?”

Master Dapple said, “Blowing the ten thousand differences, making each be itself and all choose themselves—who provokes it? Does Heaven turn? Does earth stay still? Do the sun and moon vie for position? Who is in charge here? Who pulls the strings? Who sits with nothing to do, gives it a push and sets it in motion? Do you think it’s locked in motion and can’t be stopped? Or do you think it’s spinning out of control and can’t slow itself down? Do the clouds make the rain? Or does the rain make the clouds? Who rumbles all this out? Who sits there with nothing to do and takes perverse delight in egging it on? The wind rises in the north—now west, now east, now dilly-dallying up above. Who huffs and puffs it? Who sits with nothing to do and blows it? May I ask the cause?”

(translation by norden & ivanhoe)

perhaps that's fitting with all the talk of transformation & flexibility/adaptation in that chapter.

you really can't get away from the names "homestuck" and "s(u)burb" with this beginning to the comic. john, as the quintessential homestuck kid, trapped in his house in the empty suburbs, stuck not because of any physical boundaries/walls, but perhaps because of a lack of them. massive roads and sprawling suburbs that make it impossible to get anywhere on foot is a pretty classic image of modern america, so john's desire for breath, for movement, makes sense in that regard. homestuck has always been most appealing to me in how it doesn't shy away from reality, as messy as that engagement often is, and this beginning feels like it gets at some of that emotional core that homestuck started with. it's immediately followed by a joke about pissing/shitting in the mailbox too. classic.

[argentior]

hey there. i'm another anonymous author on ao3 who's doing the same thing you are, sort of, in the sense that i posted a fic about the milkman under the anon label to keep it separate from other things. i do that for a lot of fics actually, but i digress. (i swear i use proper capitalization in them, lol.)

i just wanted to pop in here and just tell you how enthralling your writing is. like, seriously. it's kind of ridiculous how much i enjoy your prose—it reminds me of how i feel whenever i crack open the hannibal fandom tag. despite writing a fic in the category, i don't even simp for the milkman, and yet i tore through all of your fics in the collection in a matter of hours.

i dunno. i just felt like you deserved to know that you're doing really, really well, and you've gotten me invested in a series about a character and doppel and reader that generally speaking, i treat more as a facilitator for crazy introspective angst in my own work. your doppel POV and francis POV fics were so good that, despite not checking the series on the first, i legitimately recognized the style blind. then bookmarked the whole thing. i love how literally nobody in the series is 'normal'. i love how you write the insert character as attentive, focused, but human. i love how you write francis' apathy as a person who had no choice but to get used to seeing faces in a stagnant yet revolving door. i love how you write the doppelgänger, and the irrationality of a creature that only knows love as hunger.

you're killing it, is what i'm getting at. i hope you keep chugging along, my friend. this is what the medium is made for.

I am at a loss for words for your words which I wish to put up in a frame and smile at it forever. I don't know what to say other than thank you. Thank you for reading and enjoying it. Thank you for sharing what you thought of it.

I have never written for Hannibal. I know he's a cannibal and that's it. My previous fic experience from hyperfixations is DHMIS and Lies of P. I don't know if that says something about me. I also have a SinoAlice fic and Poppy Playtime fic on anon with separate tumblr accounts haha.

What are we doing here anon. Two weeks ago I knew nothing of That's Not My Neighbor. It has been 12 days and I've written like 20k words (17k if i cut out the verbatim repetition from povs). I honestly thought I'd make Perfect and never look at again. But then. Everyone was so nice and the brainrot increased. Where are we anon. (We are simps I think, for the setting and possibilities and potential if nothing else. )

Also YOUR SPELLING BETRAYS THEE

I know not this anon's preferred title but BEHOLD! The only fic that could match the description, the only anonymous fic I know that uses the characters as a vehicle for introspection and which spells doppelgänger with the screaming a with dots over it!!! Read it if you haven't it's so good and also leaves me speechless. The grief!!! The feels!!! It has a softer doppelganger that I also quite enjoy and so many little sad moments. I beg of whoever stumbles upon my blog to read it!!! Also to mind the tags because HOO BOY they are Tags.

This too, is a shining, wonderful piece of fanfiction. May it prosper through the ravenous attention of simps and nonsimps alike.

[storiesofsvu]

Heyyy this was the anon that asked for an updated holiday bingo list for this year Just wanted to say thanks! Another update soon would be lovely, but no rush hehe

i-

you're welcome? but bestie... this is not the way...getting messages (esp anonymous asks) like this make me never want to update the list again, i won't lie to you. (also i am like 90% sure i updated it over the break...which was less than a week ago so everyone can calm down)

if you are someone who's been enjoying reading the fics:

-follow the writers, favourite and reblog their fics, go through their masterlists, sign up for their taglists for more content

-search the bingo tag on tumblr and go through everything that's there if you were just hankering for some holiday shit. you could also go through previous years bingos, or other authors bingos they've hosted.

if you're a one of the writers who has written stuff for bingo:

-amazing, thank you for participating, i hope you're having fun and came up with some cool ideas and enjoyed the holiday season over here.

-but please remember: just by hosting a bingo does not mean i am obligated to do *anything* with what is submitted. I do not have to like/reblog/read any of the fics, nor do i have to make a bingo masterlist.

-I don't think me putting together a masterlist brings any higher level of interaction to people's fics, people will read the fandoms/ships/characters that they like under the proper tags through the tumblr search function any old day. Some of them they'll like, some of them they won't, some they'll give a follow, others might not be their cup of tea. if you want more notes, reblog your own work to get it out there again, search out similar fandom/ship/character blogs, follow them, read their work, chat with them in the dm's, etc. or simply post more for that character/ship, once you've got more than a small amount for one character, i find people send in more reqs/give more reblogs/likes/whatever if that makes sense.

-most bingo hosters usually wait until the event is OVER to put together a masterlist. i simply do it as i go so it's less tedious work.

-Now let's touch on that: i chose to host a holiday bingo this year because i KNEW i wasn't going to have the time/mental energy to write much because my actual job was going to be incredibly demanding (and this was when i was the assistant manager, not the FT manager...) so i thought i'd do a bingo to fill the void. i'm pretty sure i've reblogged everything that i've been tagged in except for anything that came in today. I try to reblog them right away, or at least after i've saved the link for the masterlist post. do i read everything i reblog? no. do i have to? no. Especially because some of y'all are writing for fandoms that i'm just not interested in. No problem with that, i still fully support those fandoms on my bingo, but i'm just not in that phase, you still do you and i'll support from outside with a reblog. Also! some of y'all have submitted some LONG fucking ass fics! (kudos to you! i wish i had that much energy lol).

-if you have a fic that isn't on there yet, or i've missed one, or whatever, have patience. Or consider putting together your own masterlist of your own fics. (@baubeautyandthegeek frequently does this for me as they write a fuck ton of fics for bingo, and send it to me at the end and i always greatly appreciate it <3). your own masterlist can also be tagged with everything and that again, will get you seen in those fandom tags a new time if traction is what you're going for.

-you can also always feel free to privately message me if i've missed something, or a title is wrong, or a link isn't working or whatever.

if you're neither of the above:

-i dunno what to tell you, the advice probably still applies

tl;dr: putting together the masterlist is an annoying task that i hate doing and i wasn't even going to make one this year. so....yeah.

shit like this makes me completely discouraged about hosting another bingo.

[sio-writes]

A Dragon Prince

Tags: None! It’s all fluffy sweetness as Cyhon tries to court his human princess

Upon seeing Princess Eima for the first time while attending a wild hunt, Prince Cyhon of dragonkind, crown prince to the Zetran throne, was astonished beyond belief. The princess carried herself with a stately presence born of years of practice, drifting in and out of conversation like a beautiful specter in a green day gown. Her smiles were light and easy, her laugh carried over the crowd and drew his ear like a songbird. He vowed from that day on to make her his.

The first step in a proper courting ritual is to prove his wealth. So he sends a convoy. Crates and crates of individually picked jewelry, yards of cloth brocades, and the rarest of spices from his homeland; with it he sends a letter, speaking of his country's alliances, imports and exports, everything as if to say, Look at how I can provide for you, my dear. 

She sends back a convoy of her own, and a letter lamenting on the generosity of her neighbors, assuring their trade agreements are as strong as ever.

Prince Cyhon tries not to sulk, as that would be very unprince-like behavior. But he does simmer, just a little.

He needs to show her that he's serious about this, about her. So he hunts the wildest game in his land, nearly losing his life in the process. But it's worth it to see the wide-eyed look on her face when he kicks down her door, kill slung over one broad shoulder.

"Witness my strength and judge my character!" He shouts, hands hovering over the great beast and triumphant smile on his face.

She is silent for a moment, the two of them sharing a long look that Cyhon desperately wants to read more into, before she smiles demurely and orders the beast be prepared for their guests as part of a celebration. She invites her overly generous neighbors, and prepares a small festival in their honor.

"You should just talk to her," his sister says, bumping their shoulders together.

The festivities are in full swing, with food and alcohol freely flowing. It's a chance to relax, unwind after a maddening hunt.

Cyhon looks across the room to where the princess sits on her dias, overlooking the festivities. She catches his eye and raises a small hand in greeting, the sleeve of her long formal robe falling away to reveal a slender arm. He returns the gesture, then hastily turns back towards to refreshments table and attempts to look busy. Too often he'd imagined pressing a kiss to that arm, but he's been too busy being an absolute coward to do much about it.

"What would I say?" he asks, peering at his sister who has the slyest grin on her angled face.

It's not like him to be so shy, so awkward. But he's never courted anyone before, this is uncharted territory. He's the prince of dragons, for gods' sake, he shouldn't be afraid of a lone human, no matter how beautiful she is. He shouldn't be sulking by the refreshments table, yet here he is.

Sending a letter would be the most straight-forward way to confess, but the moment he tries to pen his feelings to paper, words abandon him like dust on the wind. And a letter alone, it rings of unoriginality, an informal method too easily intercepted and misinterpreted.

No, he needs to do this the right way. Lady Eima deserves the very best.

"Dunno," his sister says around a mouthful of food. Graceless. "But you'd better figure it out fast," she cryptically says before darting off. Cyhon barely has a chance to ask after her before the soft sound of a throat clearing freezes him to the spot.

"Your majesty," Cyhon whirls around, voice cracking. "What an honor." He's not a complete barbarian and manages to offer her a short bow.

She waves him off, her laugh sounding like the peal of bells. "Oh please, none of that, you are a guest."

She's small, the top of her head barely coming up to his shoulders, but she carries herself with all the airs of a future queen. She demands respect, drawing the attention of the entire room wherever she goes. She cuts an intimidating figure, half-plate armor over a brocade gown, longsword resting at her hip. The metal is ornate, etched with the crest and flowering designs of her kingdom in gold, the ensemble more decorative than functional.

Cyhon clears his throat again, remembering he is in the presence of the princess. "How may I help my lady?"

She picks a berry off a large serving tray, holding it between manicured nails before popping it into her mouth. "I simply wanted to thank you for your shipments these past few weeks." She plucks another berry and gives him a pointed look, dark eyes glittering. "I'd love to discuss trade with you in further detail if it's no trouble."

Cyhon tries not to deflate. "It's no trouble at all."

Eima opens her mouth to say something else, but is cut off by a loud crash of plates and a round of laughter.

"Come, let us talk somewhere more private," she says, hand outstretched. Cyhon offers her an arm and she leads him away from the table, across the hall and into the corridor. He's acutely aware of her arm wrapped around his, the small band of contact sending his heart racing. 

Just before turning the corner, Cyhon sees his sister across the room looking directly at him, smiling wide and making obscene gestures with her hands. Cyhon returns the gesture over his shoulder, taking care the princess doesn't notice.

"Tell me of your trades," Eima prompts the moment they step outside. 

Cyhon recites his country's trades through memorization alone. He really should be trying to convince the good princess of the virtues and benefits of such things, but his heart isn't in it. Truthfully, he'd rather be talking about anything else. He wants to ask about her day, how she enjoys the spring weather, if she'd be receptive to his courtship. 

Eima leads them outside to the gardens, a sprawling maze of flora containing specimens from all the Six Realms. They pass the roses of the Elven Highlands arranged in multicolored spirals, the fruit trees of the Orcish Forests just starting to bloom, the tabaxi herbs trimmed into geometric designs. And all around, in between the trees and herbs and fruit, rest every type of flower found in the Human realm. They come in every shape and color, pale against the moonlight but no less striking in appearance. 

The scent of the greenery is nearly overwhelming to Cyhon's sensitive nose, and he's thankful when Eima steers them into a stone footpath under a series of willow trees. 

It's much quieter out here, Cyhon thinks. Almost romantic, were they not talking business.

Eima disengages her arm from Cyhon's and he misses the contact immediately. She takes a seat on a low stone bench and then looks up at him as if to say, Well? Sit down.

Cyhon takes his seat next to her, trying to remain respectful and maintain distance between them, but his size makes it impossible, and his leg presses into hers. Embarrassed at such contact, he looks down at his hands on his lap. 

He's a prince damn it, he needs to be acting like one. But being in Eima's presence is like basking in the sun. He's warmed by it, heated almost, and can only stare in awe as she shines. 

Eima tucks a strand of rich chestnut hair behind one ear and peers up at him. "I admit I pulled you away for multiple reasons," she says.

He frowns, confused. "And what reasons are those, my lady?" 

Cyhon turns his head to her, breath held in his throat. Eima is impossibly close, he can see the shadows cast by her eyelashes on her porcelain cheek. 

"I have done some reading," she says with a smile. "On dragon courting rituals." 

Cyhon's blood turns to ice. "Oh," is all he can say. 

Eima searches his face for a moment before breaking into laughter. "Please sir, please don't look so afraid! I'm oh so flattered." 

Cyhon tries not to sound disappointed. "But not receptive?" 

Eima's cute smile turns impish. "Now, I didn't say that." 

His heart flutters in his chest, hopeful.

"I must confess," she continues. "I was rather confused at first. We have so little to offer compared to your vast resources."

"That's not true!" He says, scooping her hands up in his. "Your perfumes are the best in the Realms, and your metalwork goes unmatched!"

She gives him a look of delighted confusion. "Hardly comparable to textiles and food stores."

Cyhon rolls his eyes, feeling relaxed for the first time all night. "Spices and cloth, very valuable."

Eima laughs. "If you wish to remain warm in the winter, I'd say so."

Hit with a sudden boldness, Cyhon gathers her hands against his chest. "I'll keep you warm during the winter, my lady. And all the year through. Allow me the courtesy of providing for you."

She opens her mouth as if to respond, then closes it again. She glances down at their hands, still joined and gathered against his broad chest, and looks back up to meet his gaze. A small smile plays at her lips as she says, "I'd like that very much."

And then she kisses him, short and sweet under the light of the moon, but no less magical.

[sunnyjae]

hii omg this is my first time requesting, idk if your requests are open but please take ur time ~

prompt 28 and 29, sunghoon x femreader smut, they could possibly be fuck buddies then the reader becomes too clingy and hoon doesn't like clingy hook ups and then jealousy thingy aaa i dunno you can add the rest kckekwkakajwwq

btw i love ur recent jay smut ><

ohhhhh this is my first time writing proper angst lol

i hope you enjoy it regardless ♡ lmao personally i don't like how this one turned out

prompts: #28 “nobody can have you. nobody can talk to you. nobody can look at you. especially if you’re mine.“ + #29 “i think you’re being too, you know, clingy. like leave me the fuck alone sometimes“

apathy ♡ psh [req]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. I put my smut strictly under the smut tags on here to protect you guys so don't open anything with a warning like this one. Please.

pairing ♡ sunghoon x fem!reader

genre ♡ non-idol!au, fwb2l, smut with no explicit dom/sub dynamics :)

warnings ♡ angst, smut (no specific warnings for this) toxic hoon, emotionally unstable hoon, cursing, cliche toxic romance

word count ♡ 3.5k

summary ♡ your friend hurts you, but it only makes the both of you realise how much you need each other

author’s note - there is more dialogue and storyline in here than smut because I wanted to make the relationship easier to follow along with - it works either way i think

Sunghoon’s slim fingers wrapped around your neck as the two of you kissed, his lower lips trapped between yours, and you savored his sweetness for the last few moments. You knew it was only a matter of time before he’d pull away and leave.

Chest-aching from the familiar pain of him removing his hands from your skin, Sunghoon's face immediately moved away from yours. The pout on your face was disguised as playful, but you were internally withering away. Sunghoon checked his phone and looked at you, puffy lips pressed into a firm line. “I have to go, I have training in an hour."

“Don’t go yet,” you wrapped yourself in your own sheets, your single bed a lonely reminder that you were genuinely alone without the warmth of another body like that of Sunghoon’s.

He swallowed, feeling his jaw tick as he pulled on the strings of his sweats around his bare hips. “I’m going, I’ll message you later.” he huffed.

“Oh...but I thought you had time to at least watch something with me?” The ache between your legs dulled the more he moved away, pulling his black tee over his shoulders and shrugging it down. Your fingers itched to pull him down, tempted to run them through his dishevelled hair.

The least he could do was spend time with you after all of this. “You know, Y/n,” he turned to you, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve been really touchy with me recently.” he stated.

You swallowed. “W-what do you mean?”

“Exactly what you think I mean.”

Your brows furrowed, an unsettled expression overtaking your soft features.

He couldn’t bear to look at you any longer. Frustrated, his head drooped. “I think you’re being too,” eyes returning to yours, Sunghoon felt himself breathe out forcefully. “You know, clingy.”

Your lips parted, the word alone feeling like a kick to the stomach, and he continued. “We’re not dating we’re just fucking - like leave me the fuck alone sometimes.”

You shoved your blankets aside to stand on the carpet, the shirt you borrowed from him last week dropping on the floor as you slid it off your torso. At this point you didn’t care that your chest was bare. He watched you. "Get out."

“I said get the fuck out - If you didn’t like me you could have just said so.” you rolled your eyes to stop the tears threatening to spill from your pretty eyes. “No need to insult me.”

Standing your ground was the least you could do. You grabbed the shirt and threw it at him rather than to him. He barked out a single laugh. “You’ll get over it,”

You looked at him incredulously, “What’s gotten into you?”

He smirked, eyes emotionlessly following your movements as you pulled your own hoodie over your body. “You’re overreacting. I don’t like you, like I said - we just fuck.”

“I thought I told you to get out.” you moved towards the door, heart pounding out of your chest at his smell still lingering on your skin, and just barely the taste of his lips on yours. You felt disgusted that you’d kept this going for so long - longer than it needed to be going on for.

The two of you had an arrangement. Nothing too serious - just hooking up once in a while. You weren’t one to hook up at all really, but when your friend of two years Sunghoon slept with you after your 18th birthday party, it was mutually decided as a casual thing. Unfortunately for you, who wanted more than just the sex bit, Sunghoon caught on to your efforts to spend more intimate non-sexual time with him.

“Right. See you.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?” he asked, combing his fingers through his hair.

“No. This was the last time.” you whispered. “I was asked out last week - by this guy.”

Jay was lovely. He was in the same Psychology class as you and was the captain of the school’s hockey team. He’d caught you after class when you were organising your notes and asked you on a date, since he knew you were single. You thought, since he was nice, it would be better to spend some time with someone who knew what they wanted, and maybe find something more you liked in him along the way.

Sunghoon stepped backwards, the door to your apartment feeling a lot closer than it actually was all of a sudden.

“You’re going to date someone?” he let out a humorless laugh. “You’re playing, right?”

“No. And I’d appreciate it if you'd finally leave. I’m wasting my breath talking to you.” you spat, opening the door. “Have fun at practice and don’t contact me again. I’m not fucking you - ever.”

And those were the last words exchanged between you before you went MIA for three weeks.

You snorted while watching Jay make three overly expressive poses, while Jungwon, the school’s magazine photographer two years below, snapped some shots of the Team Captain.

“How do I look?”

“Sexy!” you giggled playfully.

“Yay!” he jumped, a beautiful smile gracing his features.

The photographer had finished his snapshots after around thirty clicks, and you shuffled over to Jay. His arm rested comfortably over your shoulders as you played with his fingers. “Thanks for hanging out with me after practice last week.”

The word practice brought back a bitter taste in your mouth, “Not at all - I should be thanking you. You've been quite tired recently, so you should rest more.”

The charming grin Jay flashed you from the side made you break out into one of your own.

It was only when someone cleared their throat that you turned in Jay’s arms. Jake, Sunghoon’s best friend of five years and also a member of the football team, stood in his studs and full kit, Heeseung and a third - the last person you wanted to see - next to him.

His eyes were icy as they fixed onto yours. Jay felt your fingers stop playing with his rings, and instead, you took his hand in yours. He smiled. “What’s up, Sim?”

Jake gulped, straightening. He glanced at you before lightly shoving Sunghoon with the side of the football. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to have a chat about the new photos for the sports teams? Niki says we need the Runners on the website too.”

“Right.” Jay nodded, arm dropping from your shoulders. He took your hands into his fully, garnering a tense Sunghoon’s attention. “Alright lovely, looks like we have to part ways here. I have to have a chat with Jake and the others but I’ll catch you in the next Psych class?” His eyes were hopeful.

You nodded, returning his smile, although not reaching your eyes. “Sure.”

Jay waved at you before heading off.

Opting to go to your locker, you turned.

It was when an uncomfortably warm hand on your arm made you jump, sending a tingle down your skin and the same familiar set of slim fingers splayed over your forearm.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he said.

You didn’t speak, prying his hand off you and continuing to walk as he tailed you.

“I messaged you,” he added.

You pursed your lips, turning the corner to the set of blue lockers next to the bathrooms and swinging your own open.

Sunghoon stood next to you, clad in his own football kit, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, just covered by the black headband he sported. “I know.” You spoke.

“We need to talk - it’s fucked up for you to cut me off just because you got yourself a boyfriend.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what you’re trying to salvage here.” you shrugged, pulling out your social sciences textbooks, the covers feeling slippery in your hands from your sweaty palms.

The pause heightened the tension between the two of you, his eyes raking up and down your body shamelessly as he recalled fucking his fist earlier in the week to memories of you kissing his neck eagerly and him fingering you until you cried. “Have you even thought about me?”

You laughed, eyes dark and numb. “I thought you didn’t like me being clingy.”

The tension was rife, and Sunghoon felt he needed to breathe in to manage his emotions. He didn’t like the ache settling in his belly at your words. Was it guilt? He couldn’t tell. It felt like indigestion. Maybe he didn’t eat properly earlier.

“You’re still hung up on that?” he threw his head back, closing his eyes.

“I’m not hung up on anything. I just don’t see why I should contact you if we’re not fucking anymore.”

He points between you and himself - “I thought we were friends.”

“Oh,” you slammed your locker shut, making some students who were passing jump in surprise. When you swiveled to face him, Sunghoon's eyes held a fierce lust you couldn't mistake for anything else. Hiding your shudder under his gaze, you gritted your teeth. You hated how responsive you were to everything he did. “So now we’re friends, huh?” you spat, giving him a disgruntled look.

“Can you fuck off with that - that’s not what I meant when I said it before and you know it. You’re twisting my words!” he yelled at you.

“Then what did you mean?” you shoved him out of the way to leave, letting Sunghoon stand alone and wallow in the information he just gathered from the conversation.

Jake threw his best friend the football. Midway through practice, he noticed Sunghoon had been distracted, and offered some consolation to get to the bottom of the clueless coward's feelings. “You know you’re a dick, right? You’re a clueless piece of shit who can’t handle his emotions, dude.”

“Wow, Jake, thanks for the memo.” he deadpanned, chucking the ball back rather violently. Under the cold, hard exterior was a scared, love-sick Sunghoon.

“See what I mean?” the Aussie responded, a sigh leaving his lips. “Will you ever admit you love her and just fucking move on with your life? You just had to ruin it for yourself by calling her clingy."

"You do know that’s what you have to do after sex? It’s called aftercare for a reason you ass-” he mumbled, rambling. The coach sat on the bench near the exit to the nets, yawning as he watched the players practice.

Sunghoon was distracted, as everything in his daily life brought back memories of you: things you'd said ; things you'd done ; and where you'd gone with him sometimes. And yet he had neglected you ; he’d forgotten your needs. Now there were only thoughts of how you linked your fingers with Jay’s running around in his head; how your smile was genuine and pretty; how you laughed. Jay looked after you. You were happy without Park Sunghoon. And that’s what finally broke him.

Jake frowned when his friend dropped the football, the object bouncing on the grass a good five times. “What-” And then, when the wind blew Sunghoon’s hair out of his face, Jake realised that his friend was crying.

You fiddled with the sleeve of your hoodie, the same ochre material you wore the day you kicked Sunghoon out of your apartment.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Jay sat next to you, resting his chin on his fist as he observed your solemn face. “What’s wrong?”

You softly smiled to yourself, but you knew it was just supposed to be masking your feelings. “Nothing, I think I’m tired.” you lied.

“And I think you’re fibbing - c’mon, tell what’s going on in that quirky brain of yours.”

The room was chilly, and you distracted yourself by playing with your red biro.

“Is it Sunghoon?” he asked. You looked up at him, and he gave you a nod. “I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes. And I completely understand.” he smiled at you sadly, “Find some time to talk it out with him. I know you must have had a misunderstanding.”

“Jay, I like you.” you uttered. “A lot. A-and you’re the most amazing human being. But I’m like that dumb female lead who can’t decide what she wants until she gets her heart broken by the only person she’s ever loved.”

“I know,” he affirmed, squeezing your hand. “Even if you don’t feel completely set on getting serious with me, I’m okay with that. I want you to be happy, and if that makes me hurt a little bit then I’ll make sure you won’t hurt like you are now.”

“I’m so sorry Jay,” you whispered, sniffling, and he brought you into a hug, stroking at your head.

“Hey,” he chastised, playfully. “Don’t get all teary on me now!”

You hiccuped, digging your sweater paws into your closed eyes. “‘M sorry.”

“Go talk to him. I’ll be here if you need me, I’ll always be backing you as a friend or whatever you want me to be.” he promised, brushing your hair back.

You entered the locker rooms after practice as the rest of the footballers were exiting. A few whispers of your name and you knew someone had been anticipating you showing up.

Sunghoon wiped at the sweat on his neck with his navy blue towel, the embriodered initials you’d sewn on still tightly stitched across in a pearly white. He sighed.

“Sunghoon,”

“Great, now I’m hearing things.” he muttered into the door of his changing room locker, chucking the wet cloth onto his bag with a disgusted grunt.

“Are you ignoring me now, you dick?” you spat, crossing your arms over your chest, and he spun to face you.

The shock was evident on his face and he temporarily lost his cool before straightening and clearing his throat. “Uh, hi.”

You swallowed. “Hello.”

A few seconds passed and his eyes refrained from meeting yours, uncharacteristically. He yelped an apology, as did you. “I’m so-”

“Sorry for-”

You stopped, covering your mouth and his eyes widened as he bit his lip at the awkwardness.

“Um.” he sounded out, words somehow not forming in his throat. He realised the two of you were alone a little too late. “I want to go first.”

“I’m an asshole.”

“Yes.” you agreed, and he nodded, not even concerned about arguing about it at this point.

“I made a mistake. I loved it when we hung out.” he paused, stepping forward with his hands at his sides. “I fucking loved spending time with you. You made it all worthwhile.”

The shaky breath he let out made your heart speed up. “You know I’m shit at talking and apologising - and basically everything-”

“Get to the point.” you muttered.

“Right.” he nodded. “I’m- fuck.” Park Sunghoon groaned, finally getting a good look at you in all your natural beauty. “I’m so fucking in love with you. Be clingy all you want - I can’t handle not being with you.”

“Me too.” you told him.

“Please don’t lie to me,” he said.

“You hurt me a lot.”

When he gripped your hips with his hands, you let him pull you towards him, “I fucking know - and I can’t forgive myself for that.” he said, “But I want you so bad. I want to have you all to myself.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. “Is that so bad, y/n? Thinking that nobody can have you; nobody can talk to you; nobody can look at you - especially if you’re mine?”

You bit your lip. “I-”

“I want to make you mine.” his voice was rougher as he spun you around and pressed you against the door of the locker, mouth parted in pants and hovering over yours teasingly. “Can I have you, please?”

You whispered out an affirmative “Yes.” and his lips met yours with a deep and desperate groan.

He mumbled expletives into the kiss, using his tongue to swipe at your pretty bottom lip as you circled your arms around his shoulders, “Shit, I’ve missed your taste so much. I could never get enough of you before,” he whined, hips pressing into your abdomen, “And God, I love your pussy.” his fingers dug into your scalp as he pushed his face downwards into your neck, taking in the scent of your skin. “Your tits, fuck.”

He hiccuped, eyes glossy as he realised something, looking into your eyes. “I never took your ass.” he sighed, biting his lip, “Please tell me nobody took your ass,”

“No,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around his neck as you brought him down into another soft kiss. “I saved my tight little ass for you.”

“Aw, fuck.” he swore again.

Sunghoon pulled away quite suddenly, stripping himself free of his clothes. “You know what? No.”

“What?” you pouted, looking up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re going into the shower. I’m fucking you in the shower.” he repeated, almost ripping the headband off his forehead. "I wanna make sure you're prepped and comfy when i fuck your ass so im doing your other hole when we get home."

You giggled as he nearly tripped getting into his slippers, passing you another pair of his own. He pulled off his shorts, already hard and standing against his stomach. You stripped, running into the shower and he chased you, hearing you squeal. When he turnd the hot water on, he reached around to your ass and presses a single finger to your puckered hole. “Fuck baby, you’re gonna be so tight.” he groaned. You whined when he pushed his long index finger fully into your ass, pressing it in and out in a few motions as he kissed you, the water cascading over your shoulders and back.

“Tight little hole, all pretty for me, isn’t that right?” he looked into your eyes, almost begging you to just let him.

“Yeah, ‘m really tight Hoonie.” you sighed as he pressed your back into the glass, his large hands splayed over your hips. He lifted you and pressed the length of his cock against your folds, using the leverage on the glass to hold you up.

“Yeah? You gonna let me loosen you up, later? Stretch you out with my cock?”

"Fuck, baby." you swore, looking down to the reddened tip of his cock catching on the hood of your pussylips.

He just wished you'd sink down already, and when your walls open up to accommodate his cock as he slid in around your velvety wetness, he cursed again. He hummed, closing his eyes, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

"I love you," he looked up. "The way you look when I fill you up, I-" he hiccuped, eyes glossy from the humidity in the shower, "I can't handle the idea of someone else fucking you, kissing you, or holding your hand."

You swallowed, pouting. "I love you, Sunghoon."

He fucked into you hard, the ridges along his length creating a delicious friction inside your pussy. "You feel so good," he moaned, pulling you into a kiss.

When he placed you back on your feet a few thrusts in, you whined. Sunghoon leans in to whisper, "Jump."

And he caught you, wrapping your legs around his waist and he sat on the bench on the side of the shower wall

His cock sat snugly inside you once again and you almost burst out into tears at the feeling of finally having him again.

He hit your ass cheek with his palm and told you, "Look at me," circling his arms around you to bring you into him again.

Sunghoon's skin was slippery and wet, and he was warm. You bit your lip to stop a sob from escaping.

"Do you like my cock in you?" he asked. You nodded. "How does it feel?" he muttered.

"So good," you whimpered, and he wasn't even moving.

He gave you a smile, "You make me feel like I'm having an out-of-body experience sometimes."

"I said I missed your body - and I did - but the way I missed you as just you was so painful." The honesty and fragility in his tone had you curling into him.

He bounced you in his lap, your tits moving up and down at the motion, and he couldn't help but gape at them. When your nipple found its way into his mouth, you knew he felt sincere. Your pussy squeezed around him as he pulled you up and down on his lap. "I missed having your tight pussy on my cock like this. I just wanna be in there all day every day." he groaned.

"I wanna have you in me all the time," you whispered. "No one will ever fill me up like you do."

note - i listened to selfmade orange 2 while editing this haha

what are some of your guys’ less popular khiphop recs?

[rogue-durin-16]

DESERVE BETTER

Request: Hey darling 👀 Can I request angst to fluff fic with bill guarnere x reader, where maybe they see each other after the war, when she comes to Philadelphia to see him but he's like, 'you should find someone better than me' y'know? If you don't like it it's totally fine, no worries!❤️

Pairing: Bill Guarnere x nurse!Reader

Genre: angst-fluff

Tags:

Requested by: @sparkyluz

Band Of Brothers: @sparkyluz @chubbypotatoepie

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, mentions of death, wounds, let me know if I missed something.

A/N: please someone explain why was this so difficult to write, like??? Also I apologize for how I wrote bill's accent, that's a tricky one. Enjoy tho, and if you'd like to be added to any taglist or have any requests, send and ask <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

"Dunno if you heard, sweetheart, but Bill's back home."

She had said.

"He's gettin' rest these days, but it'll do him some good to finally see ya."

I cried at Bill's mother's short phone call, but not like I had wailed for weeks, when I had thought him dead.

No; this time, I cried in relief, freeing all my mourning and sorrow with the tears until there were none to shed.

Bill and I knew each other from school; I shared class with him until my family moved out of Philadelphia. It wasn't until a few months before he joined the paratroopers that, by chance, encountered each other.

I had traveled to visit my brother at his job; Bill had turned out to be his co-worker. At first, the Italian boy didn't recognize me. It was only after we had spoken for five minutes when Bill seemed to come to the realization that we had pretty much spent a great part of our childhood sharing class.

He was delighted by that, yet quite embarrassed of not knowing who I was right away.

"Christ, Y/n," he rubbed his neck, head tilted down while his warm eyes stared straight at me through his brows. "Had I known— I didn't really—" he cleared his throat, motioning at my form whilst looking at me up and down. "you look so different!"

"Do I?" He nodded, but I denied slowly with a content smile. "I don't think so. You just didn't pay me much attention, now did you?"

"And I'm a goddamn fool for that, am I right?" He questioned with an incredulous chuckle. "Missin' out on ya," he tsked his tongue. "Must've been blind."

"Must've been." I let out a bashful laugh, straightening my skirt in order to take my attention away from the way he stared. When my eyes flickered back at Bill once more, I caught a smug smirk on his face, which made me laugh again. "What is it?"

"This ain't a proper place to ask ya but" he shrugged, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket. "If ya want to," he cleared his throat, examining my features with the same anticipation I was feeling. "I'd be happy to pick ya up sometime, y'know," he averted his gaze for a moment, choosing instead to look down while his foot kicked a rock. "Go dancin'... or for a walk maybe?"

"I'd love that!" I replied without missing a beat, trying to hold back my excitement.

We had quickly enrolled in a sweet courtship, to everyone's surprise. Not only because Bill had a bit of a womanizer reputation, but also due to the fact that I no longer lived in Philly, so a long lasting romance wasn't exactly expected by anyone— me included.

Despite that, we somehow made it work, and going against my friends advice, I ended up falling for the shameless, smug Italian boy and his not-so-hidden heart of gold.

He got it just as bad, though; it became more and more noticeable each passing day. Even when he tried to play the 'tough guy' card in order not to be teased, the lovey dovey eyes were still visible to everyone.

Then, he enlisted in the paratroopers.

I enlisted in the Army Nurse Corps.

We promised to write, and we did.

He would tell me about his training at Toccoa, I would tell him about my own at Fort Devens.

We lost touch for a while, which worried me to no end. Ironically enough, we met again in Holland, during operation Market Garden— I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him.

"Bill?" I had been brought to the aid station as an additional help a mere couple of days before. "Bill!" I called his name again, assuming he hadn't heard me over the chaos. I was walking to him when he finally turned around, a dumbfounded, shocked expression keeping his mouth open.

"Y/n?" A relieved laugh left my chest once the encounter seemed to settle in Bill, allowing him to react. His arm were wrapped around me as fast as lightning, squeezing me tight. "Wha- How- The hell are ya doin' here?!"

"My job. What are YOU doin' here?" I pulled back, giving him a quick check in order to figure whether he had been wounded.

"MY job." He took my hands in his and brought me back for another hug, this time more tender. "Get your pretty ass back to the states." He demanded after planting a kiss on my shoulder.

"For you not to write again?" I shook my head no with a teasing grin. "Not a chance, darlin'."

It was him who pulled away this time, keeping my hands on his. "It's not like I didn't wanna write, I—"

"Bill I know, I'm joking." I reassured him, caressing his cheek with my thumb. "I was really worried."

"You have no idea how much I missed ya." He stated, brown eyes full of love dug into mine. "Just wish you weren't here."

After that little moment, we ran into each other a few more times. We made the most of it, and cherished every instant as if it was the last.

We recovered contact, sending a letter everytime we could and hoping for them not to get lost in the mayhem the war was becoming.

We poured our hearts into a couple of badly written lines, placing oath in them. Promising we were fine, promising to keep writing, promising to go back to each other, promising our hearts belonged to one another.

I was pulled back to Paris in order to lend a hand in one of the hospitals, and correspondence became difficult again, but we managed.

At least until January.

Despite Bill's promises, I would have figured he had grown tired of the waiting —war was hell, a long, tedious hell—, had one of his last envelopes not contained the ominous words it did.

'The thought of you is one of the few things that brings hope to my mind in this cold hellhole. If I ever stop writing to you, consider me dead, cause I will be.

Y/n, I think this place might be it for me. I love you.'

So, surely enough, when the letters stopped coming, I thought him dead.

Turns out he wasn't.

Baffled and hurt, I debated for days whether if I should go to see him, as his mother had suggested, or if I should stay away and not bother him.

At the end of the day, it wasn't him who had deemed appropriate to let me know he was safe; there must have been a reason behind that decision, and, legitimate or not, a part of me adviced me to respect it and move on with my life.

The other part, however, urged me to go meet Bill, to confront him and ask for a proper explanation, and to obtain the reassurance that, even if he didn't wish to see me anymore, at least he was safe and sound.

After a week, I ended up opting for the latter. Gathering up all the courage and strength I could find, I put on my best clothes and headed out to the Guarnere's home.

On my way there, I tried to think about a decent way to approach the situation, a firm yet understanding one, but whatever I had come up with evaporated the moment Bill's mother opened the door.

"Y/n, sweetheart." She gave me a broken smile, and I did my best to reciprocate it with one deserving of hers. "Come in, come in."

I obeyed, stepping into her home, now quieter and darker, with one kid less and a life worth of sorrow more.

"D'you fancy anythin'?" I shook my head no, my lips pursed in a polite smile. "Cuppa water? Maybe a sweet?" She questioned again, rushing to the kitchen.

"No, thank you, ma'am." I reiterated, waving one of my hands in dismissal while the other held my purse. "I just thought I'd come see—"

"Bill! 'course." She finished, coming out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron —not because they were dirty, but because she was anxious about something. Maybe Bill had let her know already that he didn't wish to see me. "He's in his room— I think he's not sleepin' but knock before, just in case, yeah?"

"Yes, ma'am, thank you."

"Y/n!" I turned halfway to meet his mother's eyes; they carried a different kind of sadness I had only seen in women who had lost their kids to the war. "Be gentle with him— understanding. He needs it." I gave the older lady a confused nod, silently promising her to do so.

Knock knock.

"Come in."

I didn't know what I had expected previous to open Bill's door, but it surely wasn't what I was met with.

"Thought I heard ya." He spoke with a grunt, leaving the crutches he had been using against the wall before sitting on his bed.

Aside from the brief glance he had spared me right after I entered the room, Bill didn't meet my gaze; his eyes seemed to wander every corner of the estance, a tinge of discomfort plastered on his face.

He didn't want me there, and I, as a nurse, had some idea of what the reason might be.

"You're alive." Were the first words that left my mouth. Bill shifted uncomfortable under my glance.

"Looks like it." He mumbled. "What brings you here?"

"I—" it took me a moment to elaborate, as I was at a loss of words at his reaction. "I thought you dead."

"Lucky me."

"Bill..."

"Nah, don't start with that." Bill sniffed with a grimace. "I seen ya look like that at the soldiers you took care of. It's pity."

"It's not pity." It took my best effort not to sound frustrated, nor bitter. That's the last thing Bill needed.

"Whatever it is, I don't want it."

Silence.

"Can I sit?" He shrugged, motioning nonchalantly at the mattress. "Why didn't you tell me you were alright?"

"Well, maybe 'cause I ain't alright?" He bit back. "Would you call this bein' alright?" Huffing something under his breath, he attempted to pick up the crutches again, only to be stopped by my hands, gently placed on his shoulder and bicep.

"Woah, what'd you think you're doing?"

"Gotta go help my Ma 'round." His excuse was bad, he knew it as well as I did, but I didn't call it; instead, I indulged him, dropping my hands on my lap while my mind searched for a way to approach this.

I couldn't approach it as a nurse, it seemed wrong somehow, but if I approached it as his... Girlfriend? Former girlfriend? Friend maybe? —I didn't even know where we stood anymore—, I would most likely lash out.

I had to find a middle ground; one personal, yet understanding.

"I'll go help, you stay here." I finally spoke, pushing myself off the bed and easily outrunning Bill, who was already helping himself up, on my movements to the door. Though his words stopped me right on the spot.

"No, you go home." I couldn't help but stare at him with hurt shining through my welled up eyes— not due to the sentence, per se, but because of how definitive he had sounded.

I would have listened to him, I would have fulfilled his wish and left, had it not been for the single tear he managed to wipe before I could fully catch a glimpse of it.

"I'm staying, Bill." He cursed me, securing the grip on the crutches before following my lead to the exit. "Do you want me away?" I asked, not moving out of his path just yet.

"Ye— no! Not like that." He grunted out a 'fuck' balancing himself on his walking aid in order to be more comfortable.

"Then how?" I questioned, pushing out of him the words he was afraid to speak. "How is it, then? You want me away or not?" I tried not to get worked up over it, as remaining calm was the best I could do.

He sighed, still unable to meet my eyes, even when we stood face to face. "Ya know how it is, Y/n." He turned his head to the side. "Ya deserve better than..." Bill gestured at himself. "...this."

My heart shattered in a thousand pieces, and I tried not to stare at him with sadness in my eyes, for he would mistake it for pity.

"Hell, I had little to offer ya before, but now?" He shook his head 'no' with a frown. "I don't even have my whole self!" He exclaimed in desperation, finally looking up; his eyes were bloodshot from the unshed tears, and not crying turned into a challenge. "You're the best looking broad I seen, smart too, and got a heart of gold. You could do so much better than this, and I'd be damned if I let ya settle for it."

"Bill, that decision is mine to make." I stated in a low pitch, my brows as furrowed as his. "I don't want better, I want you. Get it through your thick skull." I could see how conflicted he was about my words just by the way he shifted his weight from one crutch to another. "Unless you really want me away, I'm not going anywhere."

I paused in order to take a deep breath, rubbing my hands together in an anxious manner. My heart stammered so hard against my chest that it seemed as if it would break through and go to Bill. I figured it made sense, since it belonged the him by then.

"I... I don't really know where we stand anymore but, well—" I cleared my throat, nervous yet determined to speak my mind. "Dunno about you, but I meant everythin' I said in those letters." Bill pursed his lips in a thin line. "I love you, nothing's gonna change that."

"Y/n—"

"I'm gonna stand with you, either as a friend or..." I sighed, not able to bring myself to finish the sentence. "You're alive and home, that's all that matters. We'll figure out the rest as we go, alright?"

"Ya don't have to."

"But I want to."

Silence again. Bill opened his mouth like a fish above water, but didn't manage to get anything out. I myself wasn't sure of what else I could say.

Gulping, I reached out to hold his cheek, gently caressing it with my thumb before leaning on to place a chaste kiss atop his opposite cheekbone. I made sure to put every emotion he made me feel on it, just in case this was a goodbye.

His breath hitched; my heart clenched.

I pulled away to stare at him, gifting him a bittersweet smile, my reassuring touch still on the side of his face.

Before I could move away any further, Bill let go of his left crutch, which made me gasp in terror and leap forward in order to hold him steady, but he, unsurprisingly, didn't need my help.

His left palm found its way to the back of my neck and easily pulled me in for a kiss, as wistful as my the expression in my face.

It mirrored the peck I had just imprinted on his cheek; charged with feelings of all kinds, and for a second I worried it was, in fact, a goodbye.

My stomach flipped as I returned the kiss, my hands squeezing his sides in hopes to keep him close to me forever.

But a kiss is just a kiss, and when he retreated in order to take in some air, said hopes vanished. He rested his forehead against mine briefly, his eyes shut and his hand sliding down from my neck to my forearm.

"I don't wanna hold ya back." He confessed in a whisper. "Please don't think I don't love ya, I do, I just—"

"I understand, Bill." I cooed the soldier. "And I need you to understand that you're not holding me back in any way." His shoulders relaxed, as if I had just taken a heavy burden off them. "I'm gonna sit you down, and I'll go help your Ma for ya, 'kay?" He shook his head no and I sighed in desperation. "Bill—"

"Stay with me." He almost begged; when his eyelids fluttered open, I could see the vulnerability his warm eyes held while they gazed into mines. "Just for a bit."

I nodded at his request. "As long as you want me to."

It took us a hot minute to move back to the bed; Bill was a heavy man and I could only do so much to move him. After some struggle, I managed to plop him down, his back leaning on the headboard through the cushions, not without almost falling on top of him.

That earned a tired yet amused laugh from the both of us, and some teasing from his side at the way my cheeks seemed to turn pink. I was quick to toe off my shoes and cart off my jacket before lying down with him, following the invitation of his stretched out arm.

"Just like in the old days, huh?" He commented, reminiscing our time prior to the war when I placed my head on top of his chest, his arm going around me to squeeze me tight. "I'm really sorry for not writing, baby."

"I know." I snuggled again him, my eyes closed as he wrapped both his arms around me. "It's gonna be okay, Bill." I assured him.

"I know it'll be, now that you're with me." He whispered kissing my crown. "I'm so lucky to have ya."

"You can bet on it."

He chuckled, mumbling something about me being a smug bastard before partially sliding down. "Don't mind me if I fall asleep, darlin'." He warned.

I assured him I didn't mind, since I was letting myself ease into his embrace to the point where I knew I too would drift off.

After so many nights weeping, this out-of-time nap would feel like heaven, specially with Bill by my side, and the promise of a future by each other's side ahead.

[where-our-stories-start]

How to Write Dialogue, Part 1: Natural Speech, or Making Your Characters Sound Like Actual People

So a lot of creative writers struggle with dialogue, and it’s one of the things I actually find easier. I’ve learned a lot from various pieces of writing advice on tumblr, so I figured I’d contribute my bit as well. Some of my basic tenets for writing natural-sounding dialogue:

1. Actual people do not always talk in full, grammatically correct sentences.

When we talk to one another, we rarely use proper written grammar. We drop articles, don’t finish our sentences, abbreviate words, etc. Consider this exchange:

“Hey, what are you doing after school?” Aliya asked.

Leanne looked up at her friend. “I don’t know, why?”

“A couple of us are getting ice cream. Steve’s driving; do you want to come?”

“Sure. Hang on, let me just tell my mom.” Leanne pulled out her phone and sent a quick text. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”

“Cool,” Aliya said. “I have to grab my bag, so I’ll meet you outside in five minutes, okay?”

And now this one:

“Hey, you doing anything after school?” Aliya asked.

Leanne looked up at her friend. “Dunno, why?”

“A couple of us are getting ice cream. Steve’s driving; wanna come?”

“Sure, hang on, lemme just...” Leanne pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to her Mom. “Okay, yeah, I’m good.”

“Cool,” Aliya said. “I gotta grab my bag, so meet you outside in five?”

Which sounds more natural? Which feels more like teenagers?

That’s not to say that your dialogue should never be grammatically correct or include full sentences. In fact, grammar can be a useful way to signal how formal or casual a situation/relationship is. If your sibling asks if you’re busy, you might respond, “Nah, I’m free, what’s up?” but if your boss asks, you might respond, “No, I have a minute. What can I do for you?” Your speech becomes more casual when you’re comfortable or when you’re talking to someone you know well. Your speech becomes more formal when you’re in a stricter environment or when you’re talking to someone you want to impress.

2. We almost never say people’s names when addressing them.

One of the most common habits of inexperienced writers is to have everyone calling each other by their names all the time. In reality, we almost always use names when referring to someone we’re not talking to.

Generally, if we’re using a person’s name as a direct address, it’s for one of the following reasons:

We’re getting their attention (“Hey, Sarah, can you come help me?”)

We’re giving a piece of information to just them, rather than the whole group (“All right, everybody ready? Sarah, you lead the way.”)

We’re trying to really drive an important point home, particularly one we’re making in anger or frustration (“For God’s sake, Sarah, I’m doing my best here!”)

Other than that, we pretty much don’t say people’s names to them, so your characters shouldn’t do it either.

3. Break up dialogue with action.

Nothing makes a reader’s eyes glaze over like huge blocks of text. We know this when it comes to description--how often have you tried to read a book with huge, dense paragraphs on clothing or weather or social structure or any number of other things--but it can be true with dialogue too. Even if the focus of your scene is a conversation, we need action to ground us in the scene. If your characters talk for too long without a physical check-in, we start to find it difficult to “see” them. When we experience real interactions, we process dialogue and visual stimuli simultaneously. Threading them together in your writing will make it feel more real to your reader.

Consider this quick scene:

Adam walked into the kitchen to find his mom sitting at the table, reading. She looked up when he entered.

“Mom, I need to talk to you,” Adam said.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Lisa might be pregnant.”

“Okay,” Mom said, her voice even. “She doesn’t know for sure yet?”

“No,” Adam answered. “She got a pregnancy test after school. She said she’ll text me right after. She’s three weeks late, though, so.”

“So,” Mom agreed. “Thank you for telling me. If she is pregnant, you know I’m always here. Whatever you two want to do, I’ll help you figure it out.”

The scene is all about the conversation between Adam and his mom, so it makes sense for the focus to be on the conversation. It’s also not a scene where they’re moving around a ton. However, little bits of action can not only ground the scene for the reader, they can also provide additional information and insight. Let’s make some little changes:

Adam walked into the kitchen to find his mom sitting at the table, reading. She looked up when he entered.

“Mom, I need to talk to you,” Adam said.

Immediately, Mom closed her book and folded her hands on top of it. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Lisa might be pregnant.”

“Okay,” Mom said, her voice even. “She doesn’t know for sure yet?”

“No,” Adam answered, sitting down across from her. “She got a pregnancy test after school. She said she’ll text me right after. She’s three weeks late, though, so.”

“So,” Mom agreed. “Thank you for telling me. If she is pregnant, you know I’m always here. Whatever you two want to do, I’ll help you figure it out.”

I only added one action for each character, but see what they do to the scene. In the original, we hear Mom welcome Adam’s need to talk to her, but by adding a bit of physicality, we can see clearly how she recognizes his serious tone and immediately gives him her undivided attention. This lends specificity to this interaction, but it also gives us insight into what kind of mother she is in general, and makes it feel believable that he trusts her enough to come to her for this in the first place.

Adam’s action is tiny, just sitting down. However, it clarifies a few things for us. First and most obviously, we say what he’s doing. In the original, since we don’t see him sit, it’s left unclear whether Adam stays standing or joins his mother at the table. In the revision, we not only know where he is, but the placement of this action colors his emotional state. He blurts out the crux of his problem immediately and bluntly, perhaps to just get it over with, perhaps because he’s worried he’ll lose his nerve. Then, once his mom reacts well and they need to talk details, he sits down to continue the conversation.

Little actions like fiddling with something, brushing hair/sweat out of your face, closing a door, sighing, glancing aside, shifting in your chair, pouring yourself something to drink, etc. can ground your reader in the scene and remind them (and you!) where the characters are. They’re also a way to use your characters’ body language to say things that aren’t (or shouldn’t be) present in your dialogue or speech tags.

4. When in doubt, read it aloud!

The easiest way to find out if your dialogue sounds natural is to listen to it. You can read it on your own, or even better, with a friend to play each character. Read just the speech, not the dialogue tags or descriptions. How does it sound? How does it feel? Is there anything you’re tempted to phrase differently from how it’s written? Are there times one character responds to the other in a way that doesn’t quite fit or make sense? Obviously your characters may have different speech patterns from yours, but generally, if you stumble over something in the conversation, they will too. It’s worth reworking it into something that would more naturally fit into your own mouth, and therefore into the mouths of your characters.

[broken-clover]

You asked for a prompt for Mermay. I don't think I'm the best at ideas, but I do remember you had a series called Illyria aquarium. With recent changes in the story, why not a prompt where delilah's introduced to the aquarium? Feels like the natural next step.

I cannot in good conscience say I had a good reason for this to be so late. Really don't. It's annoying me too. But thankfully it's done now!

Also since this is the first time in a bit I've written and posted something here, I'm going to start using my new proper tag for fics and only fics, filed under Frog Writes. I'll be going back and tagging old stuff soon with the new tag as I've promise earlier, so hopefully everything will be better organized.

-

Every new mer was a surprise at the aquarium, even if she knew they would be coming. Jack-O hadn’t believed Axl at first when he’d said as much to her, but even after a half-dozen or so newcomers, she was always excited about whatever new fish was being brought into their care. Each one was special and unique in its own way, and finding out about their own individual quirks and making them comfortable in the aquarium always made for a fulfilling challenge.

“Morning, Axl!” She strode into the building with even more excitement than usual. “Is our new guy here yet?”

“Oh, heya, Jackie. Yeah, got a call a few minutes back. Gonna head up to the lab, soon as I’m done with the floor.”

“The…the floor that I am…currently standing on.” Turning pink, she moved off of the spot to let Axl vacuum it.

“Much obliged.”

Still, she could tell that he was just as excited. They fell back into chatter as soon as they had the chance, hurrying up to where they knew their coworkers and the new guest would be.

“So, what do you think it’s gonna be?”

He shrugged, still smiling. “Dunno! Maybe another octopus? Hey, y’know, it’s probably not this, but I’ve always wondered what it’d be like if there was a kissing fish version of a mer. Y’know, the ones that fight with their faces?”

The mental image nearly made Jack-O trip over her feet. “Oh my god, that’s such a weird thought. Would they just go around, aggressively kissing everyone?”

“And you just know someone would take that the wrong way.”

“The other mer, or the visitors?”

“...Yeah.”

The lab tank had been set up as usual, full of rocks and plants to hide behind if the occupant was too nervous to let themselves be seen. Jack-O could almost make out something purplish-brown half-hidden in the thickets, but I-no’s voice pulled her away.

“Oh good, the kiddies have arrived.”

“And g’morning to you too,” Axl snarked back. “Ain’t you bright-eyed.”

It was hard to tell how literal that was supposed to be, but Jack-O could spot several of the woman’s coffee mugs scattered across the table. “You’ve been awful busy, huh?”

“Getting a new mer doesn’t mean I get a break, it just means I gotta keep track of one more thing than usual.” I-no took a sip from the mug currently in her hand, then scrutinized the bottom. “And if you guys didn’t show up soon, I was gonna have to start mixing the special shit into my coffee instead of my usual.”

The girl gave her an odd look. “...Isn’t your ‘usual’ already 110-proof whiskey?”

Another sip. “Yep.”

“Uh…” She decided to move the topic.“Still trying to see if those splotches on Faust are mucous?”

“Raven took a sample this morning, we’re pretty sure he’s fine. And he seems perfectly happy, as long as he just looks peculiar and doesn’t act peculiar, then we’re not all that worried.”

Jack-O nodded. “Makes sense. Just wanna make sure our favorite seahorse isn’t sick, y’know?”

“Jackie, I’m a marine biologist. That’s literally my job.” I-no still gave her hair a friendly ruffle. “Amazed you two haven’t talked my ear off about meeting the new girl yet. Guess that means I gotta reward you~”

Axl rolled his eyes, arms folded along his chest. “Never thought I’d say this, but can we be horny some other time?”

“Or what, you’ll fire me, temp?” Still, she seemed to get the point. She moved over to the large tank and looked it up and down. A finger pointed somewhere along the bottom. “Right about there, you see her? The shadows make it a little hard, but you can see her tail moving.”

Jack-O tried to hide her excitement as she and Axl pressed up against the glass. Sure enough, with I-no’s direction, she spotted the mer rather quickly. Quite a tiny thing compared to what she was used to. Short brown hair fanned around her head in the water, but it didn’t do much to make her look bigger. Jack-O surmised that she didn’t need to look bigger. The mer had her own way of being intimidating. Despite being curled up on the sand, she still glared back at the starers with a frightening intensity for her size.

“Still a kid, huh?” Jack-O said. She already knew the implications of this, and none of them were especially pleasant. “Was she found stuck in something?”

“Sorta.” I-no shrugged. “As far as we’re aware, she was originally from some exotic breeder, guy was cranking the things out like crazy to sell ‘em to rich folks. Makes for a conversation piece, y’know? Put ‘em in a big tank in your ~atrium~ or some rich bullshit and invite your rich friends over to look at it.”

Jack-O could tell that everyone else already hated this as much as she did. “They found her at the breeder mill?”

“Nah, she was sold off. Bought by a traveling circus so guests could gawk at her. ‘Course, when you don’t socialize a mer properly and don’t feed it enough, that’s how you get idiots with nipped fingers. And instead of trying to fix anything, they ended up just trying to cut their losses and dumping her in a nearby river.”

Axl was aghast. “Th- They dumped her in the river??”

“Aaaaand this is why I didn’t bring you for pickup.” I-no sighed. “I can’t blame you, though. It’s fucked. Remember, this is shit we’re good at. If we do what we’re paid for, then she should be fine.”

Jack-O put a hand on his shoulder. “All that matters is that she’s with us now, right? It’s all up from here.”

“Right. Right…” Axl looked convinced, but it did little for the disgust in his eyes.

“Does she have a name yet?”

“They didn't bother giving her one, she was just ‘the mermaid.’ Raven’s suggestion was ‘Delilah.’” Said I-no.

Jack-O thought about it for a moment. “It’s cute, I like it!”

Axl’s hands were still trembling at his sides in anger. Jack-O reached out and took one, giving it a squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna take care of her.”

With his free hand, he reached out and brushed his fingers against the glass. “Hey there, kiddo. You’re gonna have a great time here. It’ll be real nice.” He looked over his shoulder at I-no. “What kinda fish is she? Tail looks sorta sharky, but I got no idea what kind.”

“Still haven’t quite figured it out. Hard to tell from a glance since there’s a human head instead of a snout, but the size and fin shape’s saying something in the Dalatiidae family- Raven doesn’t agree, he’s thinking Somniosidae. Hell, can’t say for sure she isn’t some kind of hybrid, who knows what that freak was breeding together. Either way, definitely some kinda shark.”

“Shark, huh?” It was hard to see that without the massive teeth and beady eyes, but Jack-O had read more than enough of her mom’s textbooks to know sharks came in all kinds of strange shapes and sizes. “Is she a biter?”

“Eh, got a temper, not like I can blame her. Make sure you wear the heavy-duty gloves.”

“We moving her now?” Asked Axl.

“Still figuring out where to put her. We’re gonna want to be careful with this. She’s pretty aggressive, but also pretty fragile since she’s young, so if another fish smacks her into the wall, it could do a lot of damage.”

“So, Potemkin, then?” Jack-O offered. “He’s usually our go-to.”

I-no shook her head. “The thought I’m having right now is putting her in with another adult female. Might help with the socialization. Pot’s fantastic, but even if he bonks into her on accident, he could break something. Besides, I think the big guy needs a break from playing peacemaker with the trouble cases, at some point it’s gonna stress him out, too.”

“Uh…Ram and El, then?”

“Too friendly. Delilah would probably see that as threatening and start a fight. Sharon might work, but then we’d have to worry about Slayer-”

Axl suddenly snapped his fingers. “Baiken. Put ‘er in with Baiken.”

Both Jack-O and I-no looked at him in horror. Moreso Jack-O, as ‘horror’ was currently second fiddle to ‘viciously homicidal’ in I-no’s eyes.

“Baiken, are you insa- ?!”

She cut herself off as quickly as she’d started. “...Actually,” I-no tore open a file cabinet and pulled out a few test papers. “All of our notes on Baiken show that she doesn’t tend to fight unless someone bothers her first. Maybe that’s crazy enough to work.”

“Maybe, maybe. Worth a shot.” Axl nodded. “I got something else, though. Any of ya familiar with cats?”

++++++

A sturdy mesh fence had been installed to partition the tank into halves. Sturdy, at least, for the subjects involved. For someone like Sol or Potemkin, it would be like tearing apart soggy paper. Baiken, thankfully, only watched with annoyance, and stayed on her rock.

Anji took to the new oddity with the same response he did for everything new and possibly harmful to him, curious wonder. The way I-no held her long stick, she almost looked inclined to swat at him with it. But as long as he stayed a good enough distance away, she held back.

Delilah, likewise, wasn’t especially thrilled with the situation she’d found herself in. She tried to chew on the net she was scooped out in, and when that didn’t work, she tried to grab onto and gnaw on the hands holding it. Hauling her out of the transport tank wasn’t a complicated task with her size, but Delilah’s restlessness had it take a lot longer than usual. Any attempts at placating words were merely met with an angry hiss.

The very moment she was free in the tank, she tore off and squeezed into the corner. That much was normal, at least. Being in a new tank could be stressful, especially for a mer who was completely new to the aquarium. No matter what they tried, it was only natural that it would take some time for their new guest to become comfortable. For the time in-between, all they could do was take care of them.

“Fingers crossed we don’t get too many weird questions about it.” Jack-O looked from her co-worker back to the tank. “But then again, I know the little kids tend to really like sharks, so she’ll be popular…which means a lot more people at the tank.”

Axl shrugged. “Eh, gonna try and hope for the best. Just say Delilah’s a little shy, don’t gotta explain everything to ‘em.”

“I guess that’s fair.”

After the fact, it didn’t take long for things to go back to normal. A new mer was serious business for a couple of days, but it quickly settled into being just another part of the daily routine. That was how it was for the staff, at least. Though they hadn’t gone out of their way to advertise, social media spread things around quite quickly, and many a visitor stopped by the following week with eagerness in their eyes to look at the new shark.

“If they don’t quiet down, I’ll never be able to get a good snapshot.” Another mechanical camera click bounced off of the glass, followed by yet another sigh. “Dear Miss Hale, are you certain you can’t shoo them away? Not even for ten minutes?”

Jack-O grimaced in sympathy. “Sorry, Tes. I’m gonna see if we can set you up with some time after-hours. It’ll be a lot quieter then, but it means we’ve gotta keep this part of the building turned on longer, and that means we’ll need more people staying overtime.”

They nodded. “Understood. I suppose I should have anticipated this crowd.”

Though if anyone could make the best of a wait, it was Testament. Every time she passed by on a tour or to restock the bathrooms, she spotted them on the bench across from the koi tank. They had their camera trained on it and kept peering into the lens, every once in a while sitting back and grabbing the sketchpad at their side to draw out a few lines. They almost made it look fun, which was impressive, given that basically nothing was happening. Baiken went in circles, and Delilah napped on the same rock she had spent most of her stay on. It was almost as though they refused to acknowledge each other's existence. Both stayed away from the grate altogether, and even Anji had lost interest.

“You’re not bored?”

“Mmm.” Testament made a noncommittal noise, sketching a bit more. “Delilah’s lack of movement makes it easier to draw her. It’s a good opportunity.”

“You couldn’t just snap a picture and draw from that?”

Another noise. “I suppose. This feels more organic.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Jack-O shrugged. “I’m not an artist. Closing’s in half an hour by-the-by, if you can wait a little longer.”

“Duly noted, thank you.” They gave the tank a sly look. “I’ll get my perfect photo, dear mer. I am a very patient individual.”

The last of the visitors gradually straggled out. As soon as the pre-recorded closing messages played out over the speakers, Jack-O made her way around the walkways, picking up garbage and making sure nobody had tried sticking around after hours. Movement in the corner of her eye made her jolt, until she processed the fact that it was just Testament. The fact that they seemed significantly more spirited than usual didn’t help her brain decipher it.

“You look excited! Finally get a good shot?”

Testament turned to her with a genuine smile. “That and more! My goodness, it seems those two are making for good friends!”

“...Friends?”

They gestured to the tank. Delilah had left her sleeping rock to drift quite close to the fence, head tilted in curiosity. Baiken, likewise, was looking over with vague intrigue, though she stayed to the side.

“What the heck? Where’s this come from?” Jack-O asked as Testament took several eager photos behind her. “When’d this happen?”

“Ten, perhaps fifteen minutes ago?” They replied. “But I believe this was actually the blue one’s doing, he seemed quite interested in the fence. He’s swam off for now, though, I couldn’t tell you why.”

Anji? It didn’t feel too out of sorts for him, but it still left her feeling strange. Why would he swim off?

“Well, I guess it’s good they’re warming up to each other a bit? As long as they keep their distance, It should be fi-”

No sooner did the words leave her mouth for her to immediately regret them. Baiken’s long, spotted tail swept out from underneath her, and she began intently paddling towards the other side of the tank.

“No, oh no no nope, this isn’t happening.” Dropping her bag of garbage, Jack-O sprinted for the employee stairwell and threw all her weight into tearing open the doors. “This is not happening right at the end of my shift!”

It was harder to tell what was going on from above instead of through the glass as the water rippled, but it was clear enough that Baiken was still moving closer. A blurry silhouette of Testament waved its arms in the air, but any words were impossible to decipher.

Nobody else was around to assist, forcing her to unlatch and pull open the overhead grate with only her own two hands. It was always moments like this that had her bemoaning passing up the gym, but that didn’t do much good for her now. The metal slammed hard against the concrete as it was let go. On a better day, she’d have been more careful- well, on a better day, she’d have help. Whether or not there was a crack could be a problem for later.

After hauling the weight of the grate, the temporary fence in the tank looked positively flimsy in comparison. And in the one moment of desperate hope she allowed herself, Baiken promptly erased it. With utter ease, she tore at the metal with her one arm and yanked a chunk of it back, just as easily as Sol would have. Not large enough for any mer to pass through, but a glaringly clear example that Baiken was capable of it.

“And this is why I said we should’ve used Potemkin!” She snapped at nobody. “Shit, shit shit shit-” Jack-O scrambled for the supply station that housed the diving mask and I-no’s prodding stick. This was grim, but if she was fast (and incredibly lucky) she could still intervene before anyone could start mauling anyone else.

Baiken continued to tear apart the grate, at one point poking her head through before going back to pulling the hole open wider. Jack-O fumbled with the mask’s clunky straps and tried to see through its glass eyeholes to make sure the water wasn’t filling with blood.

It hadn’t. But Baiken was swimming through the wall.

The last of the straps clicked into place. The only reason that she didn’t immediately dive headfirst into the tank was a last-second realization that she still wore the work belt housing her supplies, and, most importantly, the radio. Which meant more buckles and straps to undo. It was an easy task…at least, it was in the morning, but now she was struggling in panic, and even moreso worsened by repeatedly glancing up from the belt to look at the tank. Baiken had bypassed the torn-apart barrier and swam straight to Delilah, and through the rippling water, she had a hand trying to wrap around the smaller mer before she could pull away.

Jack-O’s heart sank deeper into her body. No- she could still stop this. This wasn’t a lost cause, not yet. The last strap tore clean off from enough desperate tugging. She moved to throw it behind her and lunge forward, and-

Her belt started to vibrate.

“...Huh?”

More on autopilot than anything else, she fished for the vibration, and pulled out her phone from one of the pouches.

New Message!

From: Testament

Attachment: 1 Image

“Tes?” Were it anyone else, she would have thrown it aside. Instead, she clicked on the notification and let it fully pop up. Just like it had said, the message only contained a single image.

It was the mer.

Jack-O looked up from her phone, then back down. Baiken’s arm was nowhere near Delilah’s neck, or any other vulnerable spot to rip at. It was merely draped over the girl’s shoulder. And, curiously, Delilah was completely tranquil, curled up against the larger mer’s chest.

Her phone buzzed again

Testament: Lookit thm!! Cue!!!

Usually, Testament’s texting was just as flowery as their speaking voice. They must have been in such a rush that they skipped the formalities. And the spellcheck.

It was a hard sight to believe. She kept looking back and forth to be sure it wasn’t a mistake, and then, to make sure it wasn’t momentary. Baiken, who reacted to most problems by biting down on them hard, was snuggled up to the shark as though they had been friends all their lives.

Still cautious, Jack-O tucked the stick under her arm and fished through her belt.

“Hey, uh,” She fumbled into the radio, “are any of the docs still here?”

++++++

“What the- ?!”

“I see…”

If there was some consultation, it was that her employers were just as confused. Raven less obviously so, but his dark-ringed eyes had sparkled in the way they were only known to do when something interesting caught his attention.

“So you guys aren’t sure, either?” Asked Jack-O.

“This is quite unusual.” Replied Raven. He looked over to Testament. “You’re quite certain nothing of interest occurred?”

They shook their head. “I’m certainly no mer expert, but aside from Mr. Mito’s vanishing, they simply stared at each other for a while.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

“If mer have their own language, we still don’t know it,” I-no said. “Maybe it was body language. Or something else. This is gonna be one heck of a study.”

“But it’s not something to worry about?”

“Eh, wouldn’t worry about it too much, kiddo.” Jack-O was given a friendly pat on the head. “Should probably pull out the ripped fence so nobody gets cut on it, but we can let them mingle. Never thought I’d see Baiken getting along with kids…sheesh, every time I think I’m starting to figure these things out, they throw me for a loop.”

The way Baiken had curled around Delilah and Delilah had curled into her, it was hard to see it as anything other than contentedness. Jack-O wondered what they must have said or communicated to one another to have them be so friendly like this. Maybe she’d never understand. But as long as they were happy, that’s what mattered, right?

[sorrels-scribbling]

Run (To Me) || Chapter Two - To Make A House A Home || Douxie x Reader

Summary: Running is all you’ve ever known. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. One thing’s for sure, though: you aren’t certain what to do when you finally have someone to run to.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 703

Tags: @furblrwurblr @alovesongshewrote @alive-and-afraid @anywayitsdouxie

if you want me to not tag you anymore just send a message lmfao

This time, when you wake up, you’re calm. Even though you’re briefly disoriented, there’s no panic. Slowly, you get to your feet and rub at your eyes before looking around.

Once you have your bearings again, you shuffle out of the apartment and into the bookstore, finally taking some time to look around both at the layout of the place and the books they have in stock. Some of the books and displayed odds and ends, you notice, are humming with an energy you can only suppose is magic. In all the centuries you can recall, you had never encountered any actually magical artifacts, and yet here they are, all around you.

The flow of energy surrounds and fills you in a way you can only possibly describe as comforting, and some of the books or objects feel familiar.

Like home.

As you carefully pull a book from the shelf, feeling the magic interwoven with the pages, you hear someone approaching behind you. This time, instead of firing off a spell on reflex, you turn to see who it is.

“Douxie,” you greet, lowering the book in your hands as your attention goes to him.

“(Y/N), you’re looking much better. I’m glad to see it,” he says with a smile, glancing down at the book in your hands. “What got your attention?” He asks, and you pass the thick, worn tome over to him.

“I felt sort of compelled to grab that one. I haven’t even looked at the cover yet,” you admit, tilting your head slightly as you try to read the cover upside down.

M. AMBROSIUS the book reads in heavy, dark lettering. The author, presumably. Douxie’s expression shifts and his gaze darts between you and the book a few times before he hands it back.

“You can hang onto it, if you’d like,” he says, more insistent than you’d have expected. You just nod and take it from him, staring down at it for a long moment.

“So, Douxie, can I... ask you about something?�� You ask, not looking up from the cover of the book.

“Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“You said you’re nine hundred years old. Can you tell me about where you’re from?”

When you finally look up at him again, he seems almost hesitant, but he nods nevertheless.

“Sure, yeah,” he says, turning away from you to instead lean against the banister and look down at the lower floor of the bookstore. “I’m from Camelot. I’m Merlin’s apprentice, actually.”

As he starts reminiscing, you trail behind him and then settle against the railing next to him.

“I knew King Arthur, sort of. He never talked to me, on account of me just being an apprentice, and a magical one at that. I knew Morgana somewhat well, though. She was Merlin’s apprentice before me,” he says, and you nod along with him, watching his profile as he stares at noting in particular.

“Was it just you guys?”

“Nah, there was another kid who I was apprenticing with. We were pretty close, I’d like to think.”

“So... where are they now?”

“Dunno. They disappeared maybe eight centuries ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He just shrugs and shakes his head, straightening up again. “I’ve had enough time to learn to cope with it. I just hope they’re alright, wherever they are.” Then he turns to walk away, but his gaze lingers on you, expression hard to read.

Before you can ask him, though, he looks away again and starts heading for the staircase. “That’s enough reminiscing for me, I think. You can keep looking around, if you’d like. I should get back to the shop proper.”

You offer up a vague nod, brow furrowed as you try to work out what that strange look had meant.

Then he's gone, leaving you to wander and peruse the books and artifacts to your heart’s content, which you do for a little while. However, you were never were very good at sitting in one place for a particularly long time.

You figure enough time has passed that it wouldn’t be weird for you to just... follow Douxie downstairs. So, that’s what you do. Then, you hear a discussion that makes you pause.