#I thank you Mona for this good universe

[nokissforthedauphin]

Der Fußschellenwalzer II

Das Entsetzen in Youmas Gesicht war beinahe greifbar. Was hatte er da gerade gehört? Sein Geschenk war… schlecht gewählt? Mit Bestürzung sah er auf das kleine Geschenkchen; die kleine in rot eingepackte Schachtel und die goldene Schleife, die wahrlich wunderbar von Reitzel ausgesucht worden war und doch auch so schön zum Geschenk passte – von dem Youma eigentlich fand, dass es sehr passend war?! Er hatte sich schon sehr lange damit auseinander gesetzt – es war alles andere als eine halbherzige Entscheidung!? Und nun sah Reitzel, der eine Hikari, den Youma wirklich schätzte, ihn an, als hätte Youma gänzlich versagt.

„Ich sage nicht, dass Sie gänzlich versagt haben…“, begann Reitzel als könnte er die Gedanken des Yami lesen, die ihm jedoch einfach nur absolut ins Gesicht geschrieben standen.

„Aber…“ Er sah auf das Päckchen in Youmas Händen.

„Finden Sie nicht, dass eine Schneekugel vom Eiffelturm…“ Youma fiel ihm beinahe panisch ins Wort:

„Empfinden Sie es etwa als zu kitschig? Nein, entschuldigen Sie, Reitzel-san, aber das glaube ich nicht. Nocturn mag derlei Sachen.“ Das wusste er ja wohl auch besser als Reitzel?! Er war immerhin sein Partner!

„Nein, ich finde es nicht zu kitschig, doch glauben Sie nicht, dass jemand der so viele Jahre in Paris gelebt hat, so eine bereits besitzt, wenn er sie denn überhaupt braucht? Solcherlei Gegenstände werden eigentlich an Touristen verkauft; Besucher der Stadt, die sie als Erinnerungsstück kaufen und mit in die Heimat nehmen.“

„Aber genau deswegen fand ich es passend“, verteidigte Youma sein Geschenk mit etwas mehr Nachdruck:

„Es soll Nocturn an Paris erinnern. Ich glaube zudem zu wissen, dass er keine solche Schneekugel besitzt.“ Tatsächlich fand Youma diese kleine Kugel gänzlich… ja, entzückend! So eine kleine Kugel in der Schnee fiel, wenn man sie schüttelte, war eine Erfindung der Menschen, die Youma sogar ein wenig niedlich fand, obwohl er ja eigentlich den menschlichen Erfindungen eher skeptisch gegenüber stand… außer Kaffee.

„Youma-san, ich befürchte, das Geschenk wird nicht den gewünschten Effekt erzielen“, antwortete Reitzel mit einem sanftmütigen Lächeln, als spräche er mit jemanden, der etwas schwer von Begriff war:

„Es wird ihn nicht nur stets an Paris erinnern, sondern auch daran, dass er die Stadt – seine Heimat – nicht mehr aufsuchen darf.“ Youma öffnete den Mund, aber er schloss ihn gleich wieder:

„Sie fühlen doch auch keine Freude in sich, wenn sie die alten Kunstwerke von Aeterniya anblicken, oder?“ Youma biss sich auf die Lippe. Kurz hatte er das Bedürfnis zu sagen, anzumerken, dass diese Kunstwerke ja auch alles andere als akkurat waren, aber… nein, er verstand was Reitzel ihm sagen wollte.

„Sie sind wahrlich ein Kenner des Herzens, Reitzel-san“, antwortete Youma und sah kurz zur Seite, als würde er den Blick des Psychiaters nicht standhalten können. Er hatte Lust ihn wegzuschicken, Lust alleine zu sein, aber sie hatten bereits den 24igsten. Er hatte keine Zeit.

„Alo meinen Sie, dass ich ihm dieses Geschenk lieber nicht überreichen soll?“

„Ich bin der Meinung, dass Sie ihm lieber Paris an sich schenken sollten.“ Youma, der gerade noch sein Geschenk angesehen hatte, sah nun mit skeptischen Blick auf.

„Paris an sich? Meinen Sie, ich soll ihm Zeit dort schenken?“ Reitzel nickte und Youma meinte, dass sein Lächeln ein wenig… melancholischer wurde, als er antwortete:

„Gibt es ein wertvolleres Geschenk als gemeinsame Zeit? Besonders an einem Ort, mit dem man viel verbindet?“ Einen Ort, mit dem man viel verbindet… Youma dachte da sofort an einen, aber…

„Ich verstehe, was Sie meinen, Reitzel-san, aber leider lassen Sie da außer Acht, dass es Nocturn nicht gestattet ist das Wächtertum zu verlassen. Kein geringerer als Hizashi selbst behält im Auge, wo Nocturn sich gerade aufhält. Ich bin nicht Green. Ich weiß, dass es Konsequenzen hat, wenn ich die Übereinkunft auf diese Art breche.“ Ich bin nicht Green… ha, manchmal wünschte er sich, er wäre ein wenig mehr wie sie. Rücksichtslos, weniger von Vernunft getrieben, unverantwortlich – aber zuerst auf das Herz hörend.

„Sie müssen unseren Inseln ja nicht lange fernbleiben. Zwei Stunden wären sicherlich bereits ein sehr schönes Geschenk.“ Youma schmunzelte in sich hinein. Ja, zwei Stunden wären sicherlich sehr schön, aber…

„Zu was versuchen Sie mich mal wieder zu überreden, Reitzel-san? Finden Sie nicht, dass ich meinen ohnehin schon etwas zu wackeligen Ruf als Botschafter der Dunkelheit durch eine solche Tat in Gefahr bringe? Der Rat würde das sicherlich nicht lustig finden“, antwortete Youma mit einer aufgegebenen Handbewegung, bei der sein Glöckchen im Licht funkelte, dass auf seiner Brust ruhte.

„Aber ist die Meinung des Rates wichtiger, als Ihre Liebe zu Nocturn?“ Youmas Hand hielt sofort inne. Seine Wangen waren sofort rot als das böse Wort mit L im Raum stand, aber er sah auch recht aufsässig aus.

„Natürlich nicht.“ Abwehrend blitzten seine Augen auf, als er sich mit verschränkten Armen zurücklehnte.

„Worauf wollen Sie hier eigentlich hinaus, Reitzel-san? Warum wollen Sie mich überreden…?“ Reitzel ließ sich überhaupt nicht von Youmas finsterer Miene beeindrucken. Er lächelte ruhig und… wissend, als hätte er sämtliche von Youmas Antworten und Reaktionen kommen gesehen.

„Weil ich Ihnen gerne helfen würde ein kleines Weihnachtswunder zu vollbringen.“ Er faltete seine Hände vor seiner Brust und fuhr fort:

„Ich werde es Ihnen ermöglichen heute Abend von 20 bis 22 Uhr mit Nocturn alleine in Paris sein zu können.“ Youma runzelte auffällig die Stirn. Wie sollte das möglich sein? Wie konnte Reitzel gewährleisten, dass Hizashi das nicht bemerken würde?

„Wie… wollen Sie das machen?“

„Lassen Sie das einfach meine Sorge sein und genießen Sie den Abend. Die heutige Ratsversammlung müssten Sie allerdings selbst absagen.“

„Aber Hizashi wird bei eben jener Ratsversammlung ebenfalls anwesend sein…?“

„Das wird er nicht.“

„Wird er… nicht?“

„Dafür werde ich schon sorgen. Für die besagten zwei Stunden…“ Reitzel zwirbelte einer seiner Locken um seinen Finger und für einen Moment…rann es Youma kalt den Rücken runter. Er lächelte zwar immer noch, doch da war ein beinahe schon… hinterhältiges Leuchten in seinen Augen; eines, welches er Reitzel überhaupt nicht zugetraut hätte. Er, der doch so sanft war, wie die Engel, die Nocturn immer so gerne besang!

„… garantiere ich, dass Hizashi weder an den Rat, noch an Nocturn denken wird.“ Und wieder schoss Youma durch den Kopf, dass Reitzel so etwas doch nicht versprechen konnte. Wie sollte das überhaupt möglich sein? Man konnte vieles über Hizashi sagen, aber er war der pflichterfüllendste Hikari von allen. Youma würde eher Shaginai zutrauen, dass er mal einer Sitzung des Rates fernblieb als Hizashi… obwohl einige Hikari sicherlich dankbar dafür sein würden, wenn das ab und zu mal geschah.

„Ich… schätze Ihren Einsatz“, antwortete Youma etwas verwirrt:

„… aber ist das nicht auch für Sie ein recht großes Opfer…?“

„Oh nein, ich mache das gerne.“ … was? Aber – wieso?

„Und wenn ich Ihnen damit auch zu einem besseren Weihnachtsgeschenk verhelfen kann, dann würde mich das sehr freuen.“ Reitzel löste seinen Finger von seinen Haaren und deutete mit diesem auf das in Rot verpackte Geschenk zwischen Youmas Fingern.

„Ich verspreche Ihnen, dass die zwei gemeinsamen Stunden das schönste Geschenk sind, was sie ihrem Geliebten machen können.“

… Ihrem Geliebten. Reitzel war so effektiv mit Worten! Alleine das Wort zu hören hatte Youmas Wangen so erröten lassen, dass jedes Wort der Widerwehr förmlich geschmolzen war, ehe es sich überhaupt hatte bilden können! Geliebter! Niemand sagte so etwas!

Seine Wangen waren sogar noch rot gewesen, als er sich ins Jenseits aufgemacht hatte, um Adir zu finden – der einzige Hikari bei dem er sich traute abzusagen.

Leider fand er Adir nicht alleine vor. Er spielte ausgerechnet mit Shaginai Schach, der scheinbar auch überhaupt nicht vor hatte für einen Yami die Partie zu unterbrechen. Aufstehen tat er natürlich nicht für Youma, aber grüßen tat er ihn auch nicht. Er sah kurz von dem schwarzweißen Spielbrett auf, verengte die Augen in größter Abscheu und tat dann so als wäre Youma Luft – dabei stach er alleine schon dank seiner schwarzen Haare raus wie ein Feuer in dieser ewig weißen Umgebung. Es war sehr schwer so zu tun, als würde man ihn nicht sehen. Sehr schwer.

„Oh, Youma-san, Sie wollen mit mir sprechen?“ Adir wollte sofort aufstehen, aber Youma bedeutete ihn, dass er sitzen bleiben konnte.

„Ich bin nur hier weil ich wegen meinem Gelie…“ Youma hüstelte lieber schnell – was hätte er da beinahe gesagt?! Hatte Reitzel ihn mit dem Wort verflucht?!

„Weil ich meiner Gesundheit wegen gerne absagen würde für die abendliche Sitzung.“ Shaginai sah schon wieder von seinem Spielbrett auf, nur um Youma die größte Skepsis entgegen zu bringen, die zwei Stahlaugen jemals übermitteln könnten. Adir jedoch lächelte mitfühlend.

„Aber natürlich! Sie sind auch ganz rot im Gesicht.“ Ja, das war aber Reitzels Schuld…

„Lebende müssen auf ihre Gesundheit achten.“

„Adir.“ Shaginai fand nun doch seine Stimme und sofort wünschte Youma sich, er hätte sie nicht gefunden:

„Ist der Yami dein Sohn? Es gibt kein Grund um ihn zu verhätscheln.“ Er sah wieder Youma an, mit zusammen gekniffenen Augen:

„Sollte ein Mischling mit Dämonenblut nicht auch etwas robuster sein…? Kein Hikari…“ Er schnalzte mit der Zunge:

„… würde jemals einer Ratssitzung fernbleiben, egal wie hoch sein Fieber ist.“

„Außer jener Hikari ist Eure Enkeltochter.“ Shaginais Augen weiteten sich, genau wie Adirs es taten, der recht erstaunt aussah – aber dann wurden die Augen des stolzen Hikaris wieder u schmalen Schlitzen, als er sich zurücklehnte:

„Meine Enkeltochter fällt auch mit Absicht aus jedem Raster. Haben Sie das auch vor? Dann kann ich jedenfalls verstehen, warum unsere Götter ausgerechnet euch beide zu Botschaftern gemacht hat.“ Adir mischte sich ein, ehe Youma antworten konnte:

„Wir haben heute keine dringliche Angelegenheit…“ Shaginai sah ihn an, als würden Sakrilege aus seinem Mund kommen – als ob nicht jede Sitzung dringlich und wichtig sei?!

„… und Green-san ist ja ebenfalls nicht anwesend. Kehren Sie ruhigen Gewissens ins Diesseits zurück und ruhen Sie sich aus, Youma-san.“ Er legte seine Hand auf Youmas Arm und kurz hatte dieser das Bedürfnis zurückzuweichen, aber er zwang sich zu einem höflichen Lächeln… obwohl es ihm wahrlich schwer fiel diese Geste der Sympathie von einem Hikari entgegen zu nehmen. Shaginai schien es ganz genauso zu sehen, denn er verzog das Gesicht angewidert bei diesem Anblick.

„Ich danke Ihnen“, beeilte Youma sich zu sagen und verneigte sich eine Ahnung.

„Dann werde ich Ihren Worten Folge leisten und mich meiner Erholung widmen.“

„Erholung…“, wiederholte Shaginai mit gerümpfter Nase, kaum, dass Youma sie verlassen hatte.

„Dir ist schon bewusst…“ Mit dem Pferd, das er gleich auf das Spielfeld setzen würde, noch in der Hand, lehnte er sich zu seinem Mithikari und durchbohrte ihn mit hochgezogener Augenbraue:

„… dass dieser Yami garantiert nicht krank ist? Er lügt.“

„Aber welchen Grund hätte er denn um zu lügen?“

„Den gleichen den auch Yogosu hatte um wochenlang ein Theater zu veranstalten. Dieses dumme Fest der Menschen.“

„Aber Youma-san ist kein Mensch.“

„“Youma-san“… Adir, wirklich, es gibt keinerlei Grund so höflich von ihm zu sprechen, wenn er und unsere Götter es nicht hören können. Er ist ein Yami. Ein Halbdämon obendrauf. Und nun auch noch ein Lügner, der einer Ratsversammlung fernbleibt, obwohl er sich glücklich schätzen kann, dass er überhaupt die Erlaubnis hat, daran teilzunehmen…“ Shaginai schnalzte noch einmal mit der Zunge:

„Und das alles nur wegen einem dummen Fest namens Weihnachten!“   

[spellsparkler]

most relaxed girl in the world (who wants to kill you). everyone say hiii elias

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Keep Moving Forward

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You're determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he's just some guy that's taller than most people right? He's probably harmless! Well, he's a little scary, but you still like him anyway.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

AN: Just want to say a massive thank you for everyones lovely comments on the last part, I can't believe how many notes that has now 😱 I've got a taglist so if you want to be added or removed (I just stuck down everyone that commented or reblogged the last one with tags/comments) lemme know! Also I've got my own version of what König looks like and I've been including details so hopefully you like my thoughts on him 🥰

Part 2 of A Rocky Start - Full Masterlist Here

-☠️-

A forbidden crush, a whole unit of men watching out for any missteps and a job that required you to be on your A game - it all sounded a bit like a bonkers netflix plot, but no this was your life now. You were desperately trying to hide your little (massive) König crush, while trying to get through your days and it was going horribly. The universe was working against you. 

König kept appearing for one. Now that he knew you weren’t talking to him just to fuck with him, you’d been meeting more and more and talking for longer each time. In fact, you’d come to learn a lot about the man in the short amount of time you’d spent together and unfortunately for you, nothing about any of it turned you off.  In fact, you were only falling harder for him. 

Every touch, every grazed hand when you were reaching for mugs and brushed sides when you sat together on the couch - they were driving you crazy. Not to mention catching little details about him here and there, painting a mental picture that rivalled the mona lisa. 

You’d caught a glimpse of a scar that snaked up from his lip and a few that marred his hands and arms, you’d noted bruises that carried back from missions and most of all you couldn’t help but think of the little birthmark on his left hip that he’d exposed when he’d been reaching for tea. You thought about running your fingers along them often, kissing them all better. 

You’d learned that it was pretty much pointless to make movie references to König because he barely took time to watch them. He was much more of a doer, he didn’t like to sit still for long and most film runtimes were over an hour and a half, which was no good for him. And so you’d slowly gotten a peek into his more active hobbies. Hiking, rock climbing and skiing, only to name a few. The man was an athlete that rivalled most of the soldiers you knew.  

“And this was the view from top!” he’d proudly said after he showed you another picture from one of his hikes.

“Woah, no wonder your legs are like tree trunks,” you’d murmured, raking your eyes over his thick thighs.

“What was that?”

“Oh! Just- you must get a good workout climbing all those hills.”

Just one of the many times you’d let your appreciation for him slip. You could barely help it most of the time, he had your words fizzling out like some kind of mentos and coke explosion. The highly trained soldier in you died the minute you were in a room with him. 

It was when he grabbed you that you finally went stupid for him. König was - as Captain Price had described him - a mammoth in many regards. You’d already taken note of his verging on monstrous height, but you’d come to learn a lot more about his strength. He could lift you like you were little more than a lap dog.

How had you come to find this out? Well -

“Watch out!”

Your head had been completely in the clouds, busy catching up with messages from your family, when suddenly you were in the air. You gasped as you felt a pair of hulking arms pick you like an apple from a low hanging branch and squeaked when you looked down and came to notice the pile of vomit that lurked below your flailing feet. Gross. 

Then you’d come to the slow realisation of exactly whose arms were wrapped around you. Suddenly the rising feeling of nausea was replaced by hordes of stirred up butterflies.

“Are you ok?” 

You blinked, still shocked that König was holding you like you were nothing.

“Uh- ah- yeah! Yup! All good, big guy!”

You’d hurried out your reply, sputtering out your words like a leaky tap. You felt like an idiot. Then the feeling intensified when he put you down and turned you to face him. In fact, you felt like someone had placed a heat pad to your face after running a marathon.

If he could lift you that easy when you were limp, imagine how easy he could lift you up against the wall and-

“Are you sure you’re ok? You look…not so good?.”

You gulped and offered him what you hoped was a reassuring smile and then - to make matters worse - a double thumbs up (who did that???). You silently cursed in your mind, but covered up your embarrassment by staring back at the sick pile for a second and then facing König again.

“Ew…thanks for saving me from that! I would’ve been throwing up as well if I’d had to clean that outta my shoes.”

“Any time, friend!”

Friend.

It stung a little, but then you had to remind yourself you were both supposed to be acting professionally, this was a base afterall, and quickly righted yourself. Friend would do fine in a setting where Price would have your head for even looking at König a little flirtily. Especially when the resident gossips had continued to grass you in for any interactions they caught. 

-☠️-

“That was some amount of whitey those new recruits left all over the hallways yesterday,” Soap had remarked after finishing a set of pull ups. 

You hummed in agreement, remembering back to being lifted and growing quiet as you thought about Königs bulging arms. It had been a recurring thought for the whole twenty two hours since it had happened. Not that you were counting or anything, especially not being obsessive by any means. It was just that the electricity that had been sparked by that touch had been racing around your body and now you were stuck replaying the scene over and over in your head like an accursed rerun. 

“English, Soap,” Ghost grunted, from a nearby bench. 

“There was a lot of puke all over the place yesterday,” Soap sighed, rolling his eyes at the Lieutenant. 

“Oh yeah, I heard about that. Did you hear sneaky almost stepped in it?”

“Ooft, that’d be a shite shift cleaning that off.”

“I know. Luckily little sneak got airlifted to safety,” Ghost said slyly, giving you a pointed look. “Got snatched away by a certain giant before they stepped right in it.”

You froze in your spot, just about to curl a weight upwards before letting it crash out of your hands and onto the floor. That fucking, no good old dear prick! How had he heard about that? You hadn’t thought anyone else had been around when it had happened. 

“Careful, sneak. The German’s not here to stop that from stubbing your toe,” Ghost chuckled.

“He’s Austrian actually…And how did you know about that?”

“Oooh! Austrian,” Soap snickered.

“Well I do apologise. You should know by now that I hear about everything when it comes to our unit, sweetheart.”

You hated that. Whenever Ghost patronisingly called you sweetheart it made your blood boil and clouded your thoughts like a thick red mist. Though, there was nothing you could do about it. He wasn’t someone you could wage revenge on without being thoroughly outgunned in all respects. Plus, it would only make you look more guilty. 

“Well, you didn’t even know what nationality König was so you don’t know everything,” you muttered.

“Well, now that you’ve filled me in, I can go tell Price you were getting lifted up by the big Austrian cunt that he told you to stay away from,” he countered smugly. 

“What! I can’t help who snatches me out of the air from nowhere,” you hissed. “Have you seen the size of him? I can’t exactly stop him.”

He tisked. 

“Well then, soldier. Sounds like you need more training. C’mere, we’ll practise getting out of holds!”

You yelped as Ghost had come crashing toward you and dove out of the way just in time to miss his outstretched arms. Even if he was smaller than your new companion, Ghost was still built like a tank - and he would pin you down like a mouse under the wheel of a 4x4 if he caught you. 

“Stay away from me!” you’d squealed, running away from the gym. 

“Oh now you’re suddenly averse to getting grabbed!”

-☠️-

Essentially, you were discovering a new level of hell every day. Your entire unit had cottoned on to your little thing with König and now there was no escape from the jokes they made. Well that is until Price came along and no one was quite enough of an asshole to mention your activities to him. You all knew the consequences of getting his back up and it wasn’t worth the stress for anyone. 

Though, not everyone was aware of that - König himself for one. Unluckily for you, you’d found yourself in the kitchen with Price and Soap and just as the kettle was put to the boil, who should walk in but the Austrian giant himself. 

“Evening,” he murmured, barely loud enough to be heard over the kettle. 

Soap looked up from his phone as he noticed König and widened his eyes before searching you out and giving you a sly smile. Oh lord. You knew he was going to love watching you squirm. 

Suddenly your heart was thudding like a samba drum and your mind was racing to find your self restraint. Don’t let Price see you turn into a nervous fucking wreck! You repeated that over and over like a mantra, turning it over in the sands of your mind as if you might find some calm that way. 

“Evenin’” you smiled, feeling your voice lilt.

Oh god. 

You smiled at König as he approached the counter and promptly scampered away to the table, hoping that by keeping some distance you wouldn’t be so transparent. Fat chance considering the stupid smirk that was all over Soap’s face as he pretended to batter his eye lashes behind Price’s back. Asshole!

You knew you looked guilty as hell, even if you were walking away from König. However, any chance of not being caught ogling by Price was worth taking. So you figured you’d stare at your phone instead and prayed to all the gods you knew of that König was busy and he’d have to leave again after getting himself something to drink. 

Why didn’t he ever go out for food? There was a perfectly nice pub just over the road and he could easily go there instead of looking over you all the time - putting you in grievous danger of toilet duty. You’d have to tell him about it sometime, and hope that he’d ask to go with you. 

“Anyone else want a brew?” Price offered, in the midst of pouring his own cup. 

You looked up from your phone screen, darting your eyes over to the captain. Answer him! Speak normally!

“Oh! Yes, me please.”

Maybe that was a little more polite and nicey-nice than usual, but at least you were coherent. That was something, a small victory.

“Coffee for me, Price,” Soap grinned. 

You breathed out a small sigh now that Price was distracted by Soap and let your eyes wander over to König, resting your chin in your hand. He was so big, he towered over the two other men by a few heads at least. He could pin you down like a lion and there’d be nothing you could do about it, nothing you’d want to do about it. 

“That’s the wrong one.”

You jumped as König’s accented voice interrupted the thankful silence and widened your eyes as you watched him turn to Price. What was he doing? You sucked in a breath and watched as the two men became locked into an exchange and silently hoped a rogue sniper might take you out. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Price asked, frowning deeply as he stared at the masked man.

“That’s the wrong tea,” König supplied helpfully. “Sneaky likes this one.”

As if correcting Price on his choice of tea wasn’t enough, König went to the lengths of picking a bag of your herbal stuff out. He dropped it into the mug and stuck the other bag back in the back, tilting his head as Price stared at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well then…thanks for the advice,” he finally said, turning to stare you down. “It’s never nice when you expect one thing and get the other.”

You were in deep shit. 

He was giving you the ‘I’ve killed before and I’ll do it again’ look. You gulped and slumped in your chair, feeling like a tiny child that was about to get reprimanded. Price was going to learn all about your involvement with König soon, the game was up. 

“Oh yeah, no problem!” König said, sounding like he was smiling under his mask. 

That idiot! 

Though, in fairness to him he knew nothing about the toilet duty thing. He didn’t even have any idea that you weren’t supposed to be interacting with him, especially when you’d gone so out of your way to do it over the past month. It wasn’t his fault, but at the same time you could strangle his beautiful massive neck for what he’d done. 

“Sneak, would you mind coming with me for a moment? I think we should have a little chat,” Price smiled. “I’ll bring your tea.”

He was probably omitting that he was going to dump it over your stupid head, you thought worriedly. This wasn’t good at all. 

You gulped and nodded at him, slinking out of your chair like a dog about to take a beating. Though, you continued to follow behind him just as dutifully - Ignoring Soap as he gave you a little wave off and a snarky smile. You knew as soon as you’d left that he was messaging the group chat right then, and the whole 141 would know that you were getting pulled up for speaking to König. 

He lead you down the hall and into an empty meeting room, setting the two mugs down on the table, they hit the wood like death knells, and pointed to the chair in front of him. It all felt very formal, like this was going to be one of the worst telling offs of your life. 

“Don’t look so scared, kid.”

You bit your tongue and chanced a look in his eyes, seeing the glint that lingered within them. He didn’t look furious, but he didn’t look like he was going to offer you a cuddle and kind words either. It made you sweat a little less, but you weren’t dumb enough to completely untense your body yet. 

“Y-you’re not annoyed that I’ve been speaking to König?” You asked, chancing your luck.

“Oh, I’m annoyed, but I’m not going to kill you for it,” he laughed humorlessly, leaning back in his chair. “You look like you’re going to shit yourself.”

“I think I might,” you said, biting your lip and fastening your shaky hands around your warm tea cup. 

“See, that’s why I’m concerned about this…relationship you’re building with König. I worry about you.”

You frowned, thoroughly surprised by his reaction. He was being a damn sight more sympathetic than you were expecting. This wasn’t a bollocking, this was an intervention. 

“You don’t have to worry. We’re just friends - strictly platonic! We talk and have tea together, nothing more than that,” you explain breathily, hoping it’ll appease the captain.

He strokes a hand through his beard and eyes you warily. He’s clearly unconvinced. His jaw is set into a worried line. 

“Hmm.”

He doesn’t give much away. 

“Really, I’m not trying to take things f-further.”

You stutter like a liar. Really, that is what you’re doing if you’re honest with yourself. You might not be asking König out on dates and braiding flowers into his gear, but you have been shamelessly flirting with him and getting into close proximity with him at the slightest chance. Plus, Price practically knows you better than your own parents, he’d be able to tell when you were acting differently, like you were in terminal stages of puppy love. 

“Look, he’s not part of our unit, so really it’s none of my business, I can’t actually do anything about it - as much as I’d like to,” he says, glowering for a moment. “I just think that he’s dangerous and I don’t like the thought of you getting close to him. For all I know, he’s nice enough to you, but when he’s on the field that man’s an animal. There’s something wrong with him.” 

You gasp a little as he says it, shocked that he’d say something like that to you. What did he mean there was something wrong with König? Sure, you thought, he was quiet and intimidating but he was so polite and cheerful when you’d gotten to know him more. It’s not like most people were their best selves on a battlefield - it was in your training to leave all that behind. It was hypocritical to judge Königs actions given your experience with the 141 out on missions. 

“What do you mean there’s something wrong with him?” You finally asked, curious to know just what Price meant. 

“He takes too much pleasure in the work he does. He’s sick when he’s out there- like letting a rabid dog out of its cage. I worry about you getting involved with him and being at the mercy of a man like that. You wouldn’t have any chance against him, Sneak. I’ve seen him crush bones like they’re twigs, he’d snap you like a toothpick.”

You can feel your pulse in your ears, can hear it working away like a jackhammer. You don’t know how to respond. The fact that Price is this worried for you really does concern you, but on the other hand König has never given you any reason to be scared of him beyond that first encounter you’d had with him. Then again, you reasoned that that surely wasn’t the real him - that was guarded walled up version of him. Right? 

“I see,” you sighed, not able to come out with more. 

“I know you won’t want to take my word for it, and you’re going to keep doing whatever it is you're actually doing. I just want to know that you’ve been warned and you’re going to be careful.”

You took a breath and looked away, roving your eyes over the assortment of chairs on the other side of the room. Sure, you could take his warning on. Though, it didn’t feel like it was going to stick, not when you thought back to his arms wrapped around you and making you feel like a precious gem. 

“I’ll keep what you’ve said in mind,” you acquiesced. 

“Good soldier,” Price smiled, leaning over and patting your shoulder.

You swallowed thickly and stood up, feeling your breathing return back to normal. Well that was it then. You weren’t going to be killed on sight and you didn’t have to worry about staring down the bowl of a toilet for the rest of your miserable life. 

You both stepped out the doorway and into the light of the hall. You felt dizzy on your feet, but relieved that you were getting away without any punishment. Well, other than the fact that König might be someone to worry about rattling around in the back of your mind, that is. Then again, you had a sneaking suspicion that you’d forget all about it as soon as you were in his company again…

“Remember what I said, Sneaky! Otherwise I’ll let you think about it some more while you’re on your knees scrubbing toilets,” Price said over his shoulder, taking an indulgent sip of his coffee afterwards. 

You stopped in your tracks and shared a look with Soap, who’d poked his head out of the kitchen to check on you. Well, maybe you weren’t going to completely forget Price’s warning. His lingering threat would keep you on your toes. 

-☠️-

“It seems a little late for you to be out walking,” you noted.

You watched as König whirled around, and went wide eyed when he looked like he might hit you. His fist was drawn back and just when it looked like he was about to swing it - he stopped and let it fall flatly to his side. As soon as he’d scanned his eyes over your shrinking form he went limp immediately. 

“Scheiße! Where the hell did you come from?” he cursed.

You took a moment to recover but eventually found your heartbeat returning to its regular rhythm and swallowed, relaxing your shoulders soon after. That was close. You assumed he’d have known you were sitting there on the wall, he always seemed to have a hyper awareness of you as if he was some kind of bat. Though his echolocation must have failed for once, you’d been too obscured by the untrimmed tree branches that had surrounded you, most likely.  

“I-I come out and sit here sometimes, its nice to look at the stars.”

König regarded the wall you were sitting on, just a low down thing made of worn stone and his head followed where it stretched down the road. It cut off the pavement from the small scatty park inside. Then when he looked back at you with his twinkling azure eyes, those eyes that had you forgetting all about the near miss that just happened, you finally got to take him in properly. You watched him as he settled next to you on your makeshift seat. 

Two things struck you all at once. Firstly, König was wearing a neck warmer instead of his usual sniper hood, probably so he wouldn’t scare any civilians more than a hulking giant like himself normally would, it was drawn way up to the bridge of his nose, but nevertheless you knew it was him under there. And next - the mess of shaggy dirty-blonde hair on top of his head. You had to fight the urge not to ask if you could run your hands through it. It was like putting a moth in front of a thousand watt bulb. You ached to feel the fuzz of his faded sides and get to rearrange the chaotic locks above that sprawled in every direction.

“You’re staring.”

You bit your lip as he said it, and looked away guiltily. Oh fuck. It’s not like it could be helped though, this was the most you’d gotten to see of him. He was always so covered up and burdened by gear you could barely make out the man from the material - and now you were getting to see what was basically a visual buffet of König. It wasn’t fair. You could look at every inch of him that he’d let you see all day. 

“Sorry,” you finally breathed out. “I just- uh was surprised is all.”

“Why?” he smirked, eyes crinkling as he stared right back. 

“Didn’t think you’d be blonde,” you say, thinking blessedly quickly. 

“What is it they say? Blondes have more fun?” he chuckled, coming to sit on the wall next to you. 

You snorted and looked away from him again. Even though you’d been talking for a while now, his silly humour could still surprise you, especially when you recalled the way everyone acted around him, as if he’d bite them if they got too close. It was like getting to see a tiger roll onto his stomach when no one else was around. 

“How come you don’t wear that around the base?” you asked, tilting your head at him.

“Why would I? I can wear my hood there without getting questioned about it.”

“But isn’t it less stuffy with the neck warmer?” You ask, crinkling your nose at the thought of being trapped under that heavy material all day. 

“Yes, but it’s as though I can physically feel people's eyes cutting into me when I wear this - or nothing. The staring is too much.” 

You pause for a second and laugh at yourself, feeling a little more embarrassed.

“...Like I was just doing to you there.”

König laughs a little with you, but after a second he shakes his head and breaths out into the frigid night air. The skies had been dark for a little while by that point and the light of the moon was bright and shiny, reflecting in König’s eyes like a gleaming pearl. It was probably the first time you ever recalled admiring the moon that much. 

“I didn't feel like I was being dissected by you, no.”

You felt a little tingle run rogue down your arm. So he didn’t mind you looking at him? You smiled a little wider to yourself and tried to conceal it with a scratch of your cheek. 

“Really? Why’s that?” You asked, feeling a little brave. 

“You stare at me all the time, I’m used to it.”

Instantly it felt as if the air had caught fire and was charring you into oblivion. He’d caught you? Why hadn’t he said anything before? You opened your mouth ready to come up with some kind of silly excuse, too flustered to think of something good. Though he interrupts you before you can get a sound out. 

“I didn't mean to embarrass you, I find it endearing,” he soothed.

“What? Why?” you ask dumbly.

“The way you look - with your wide doe eyes…” he says trailing off. 

Now he cant look at you. His head turns away. You can't speak either, so you're both left frozen in place.

“The way you’re looking at me now,” he finally says.

“Maybe I just can’t stop staring at your messy hair,” you chuckle, trying to awkwardly change the subject. “Someone should fix that for you.”

“Does someone want to?” he asks, his brows setting as he tilts his chin. 

Oh no. You bite your lip feeling like your body’s going to astrally project onto another planet. Was this really happening? Did he actually just give you permission to touch him, no, run your hands through his hair? 

Part of you wants to laugh him off and prevent any embarrassment when he turns around and says he was kidding, says you’re a weirdo for wanting to touch him like that. Your mind starts going down avenues of all the awful things he could say about the little freak that looks at him too much, but then the sane part of your mind kicks and acts as a buffer stop, halting the run away anxiety train. König would never do that to you. 

You were far too used to dealing with Ghost and Soap, and all of their stupid teasing. But even then, not even they would do something so cruel. 

“I do,” you murmur. 

König nods and leans forward and closes his eyes, giving you what little advantage he can with the amount of height he has on you. At first, you’re incredulous that you’re in a real life scenario and not locked into a fantasy seven layers deep, but you quickly give up that idea and decide to tentatively reach out. You’re too excited not to take the opportunity. 

Your hand shakes a little at first as you make contact with his soft hair, and immediately you think of the devil dog your neighbour used to have when you were a kid. It was a huge old thing that barked like a foghorn, but once it got to know you, it would roll over and present its downy fur and you could spend hours at a time running your hands through it. Now, though, it’s not the scary shepherd you’re taming, it’s König. 

He sits perfectly still while you sort through all the strands, smoothing them back and fixing them into place. You swear you can hear soft groans coming from him, but they’re so quiet you could be mistaken. That, and you’re too mesmerised by the task at hand, forming his hood mussed hair into a style. 

When you’re done and his hair is mostly settled - apart from a small cow lick you can’t seem to fix - you can’t help but run your fingers over the fuzz on the side of his head. Immediately he shivers like a harsh breeze has rolled in, surprising you, but when he snaps his eyes open they don’t look annoyed like you worry he is, instead he looks ready to pin you down and take you right there against the wall.

“That felt very nice,” he said softly, blown out pupils shifting away from you as he straightened.

You’re not sure what to say, you just smile and bite your lip, keeping your eyes fixed on him. You know rightly that your pupils are just as wide as his, you can practically feel the explosion that’s going on. You want him. 

“König I… I uh-“ 

Footsteps sounding from nearby, crunching up the leaf littered pavement, interrupt all your thoughts and both of you turn your heads as someone walks up to you both. You hold in a breath, feeling like you’d scream otherwise and watch as a face comes into view from out of the shadows. 

Mercifully it’s not Ghost or Soap that marches up to you, it’s Gaz.He’d been the only one not to completely batter the dead ‘Sneaky and König up a tree’ horse. He stops when he sees you both and his eyes widen as he spots König, probably just as shocked as you were when he realised he can see his face. Though, he quickly averts his eyes and looks at you instead, awkwardly shifting his hands in his hoodie pocket. 

“Captain said to tell you we’ve got an early start tomorrow,” he says looking at you pointedly , “we’ve got a briefing at four. Said you best get all the sleep you can.” 

“Oh…do you know anything about it?” You ask, still feeling a bit breathless from before.

“From what I gather, the 141 and KorTac are heading out together, but I don’t know much beyond that,” he shrugs. 

You give a sideways glance to König and watch as he regards you the same way. That meant you’d be working together for the first time. You take a breath and look back at Gaz, finally nodding your head.

“Thanks for coming to let me know, I’ll head in in a minute,” you assure him. 

Gaz nods back curtly and turns on his heel, retreating to the base again and leaving you alone in the only silence. You finally look back at König, only once you’re sure there’s no one lurking around and looking to catch you with him, and smile softly. 

“Looks like we’ll be working together then,” you laugh awkwardly.

“Seems like it,” he replies, lowering his head. “Perhaps we should listen to the captain’s advice and head in.”

You feel a stab of disappointment tear through your heart immediately. You’d wanted to resume things from where you’d left off. You wanted to pull back the cloth from his face and kiss him under the stars as if they were watching and you were the only ones there. There were fireworks and sparklers going off in your mind, but now they were being snuffed out as you watched König stand up from your not so secret spot. 

“Come on, you need your rest,” he insists, holding out his hand. 

You raise your eyebrows, but put your hand in his and rise as he guides you up. Even with you standing, he towers above you. It’s especially noticeable as you stand so close to him, almost pressed to his big wide chest. There’s a snapping creature in your mind that distantly wishes to jump onto him and kiss him, but you beat the thought back and look away from König instead.

“Hey,” he says softly, tilting your head back with his rough gloved fingers. “I want to pick things back up too, but…not before a mission. We can do this again after all that. Yeah?” 

You gulp, feeling your spine light on fire with tingles. Did he just acknowledge that things were about to go further there? So he definitely felt the same as you…

“Makes sense,” you murmur, feeling your desperation roll off you in waves. 

He is speaking sense, but you don’t want him to be. 

“You can fix my hair for me again when we get back,” he teases, rubbing his finger against your jaw again. “I’m sure it will be very messy.”

“Am I your stylist now?” You smirk, feeling your mood lift. 

“Amongst other things,” he says, eyes showing the smile that was surely on his lips. 

You raise your eyebrows and just as you’re about to ask what things, he silences you with what he does next. He leans down and brings his lips to your cheek, and through his mask, kisses you. 

You freeze in place, your heart thudding like it’ll explode and close your eyes. You can’t believe what just happened. You laugh a little to yourself - letting loose a giggle and open your eyes, watching as he smiles back at you and gestures his hand back to base. 

“To be continued,” you whisper to yourself.

-☠-

Next Part Here

[14carrotghoul]

and you can tell everybody (unplugged)

Hi friends! Do not proceed if you don't want spoilers for my fic, and you can tell everybody! Album notes and extras are below the cut :)

ACD's early career is releasing covers and original songs with June on YouTube and later TikTok. Career takes off his first year of university and the rest of the band joins, agreeing to play for a few years to see what happens.

[unnamed] (2020) [very little info on this besides being very pointedly Mexican-American, but the genre is rock influenced by Mexican music, like Cafe Tacvba? Molotov? but more modern]

tex mex - Lyrical inspiration: "Somos Mas Americanos" by Los Tigres Del Norte

decisions (November 2023) [highly influenced by Omar Apollo, I promise the other albums are very different! I'm shoving him down your throats here and I know it lol]

1 new message - mellow r&b. Have suspected something is wrong, ignored it, and now the impact is hitting full force. Wrongly interpreted as Alex leaving a voicemail for an ex but it is a song written for his past self about missing his ADHD and bisexuality. Sound: "3AM" by Haim

reckless abandon - daddy issues song cowritten with Liam. Bilingual. Sound & lyrically: "Voice Inside My Head" by The Chicks

am I? - 'You raised me to disappoint you bc I could never live up to your expectations'/'It took me too long to find myself bc I've been trying to be who you imagined'. Sound: "Go Away" by Omar Apollo

new year new me - fuck expectations, I'm going to do what I want Sound: "Invincible" by Omar Apollo

very bad things - upbeat hookup song. breaking all his own rules and it feels good. "Mercury" by Steve Lacy

split household - child of divorce anthem. Sound: "Kamikaze" by Omar Apollo

seria una mentira - don't make me choose a side. I love you both and it tears me apart. Pointedly about parents. Sound: "Two of Us" by Omar Apollo

too much - Cumbia version of "Too Much" by Carly Rae Jepsen

never enough - never enough to convince people to stay. Sound: "Pram" by Omar Apollo. Also feel this song's outro is very fitting for this!

a light left on - Platonic June appreciation song about how safe Alex has always felt with her. Sound & lyrically: "Caminar Bonito" by Natalia Lafourcade

Good - First time he is told and BELIEVES he is good. "While U Can" by Omar Apollo

yrs - Dramatic love song. First time Alex uses rain motif. Sound: "Petrified" by Omar Apollo

seria una mentira pt. 2 - it would be a lie to choose something simple over choosing you. Sound: "Two of Us" by Omar Apollo but slowed down and more hopeful

spine/die climbing - vulnerable pillow talk. Sound: "Plane Trees" by Omar Apollo, Mustafa

miel - sacrilege bj song. Catches on with queer Latine audience and is memed similarly to Call me by your name by Lil Nas X. Grows the band's audience. Sound: "Te Mata" by Kali Uchis.

on purpose - I choose to be all the things that I am and am not picking a side. End album on a positive note. Sound:"Done With You" by Omar Apollo

vows (June 2024) [very American sound, dreamier, more optimistic]

no booty calls - voicemail w instrumental. Sound: "All Around Me Now" by Perfume Genius

apricot tarts - honeymoon period of a new relationship. Sound: "Someone to Spend Time With" by Los Retros

in dreams - extended version of Henry's in dreams email set to music. In this universe, they met and kissed on New Years at Pez's party and still did long distance and exchanged emails :) Sound: "In A River (Acoustic)" by Rostam

supersonic - secret, fun ode to karaoke night and letting loose on a night out. Sound: "Runaways" by The Killers

tapestry - thank god I'm bi anthem. Sound: "The Steps" by Haim

lipstick on her neck - sung by June. Essentially the lyrics of lipstick lover by janelle monae but in "ALLIIGATOR TEARS" by Beyonce Americana style.

then have me - tender I'm putting it all out there, all you have to do is take it. Sound: "Solar Pilgrim" by Twain

pride (and prejudice) - purposefully anthemic chorus. about being proud despite prejudice in a red state. Sound: "Delta Dawn" by Tanya Tucker

he is my choice - eloping in the rain. comedic/romantic song about how everything went wrong at a wedding. Sound: "Howling at Nothing" by Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats

roasting Alex - jam session - the band lovingly roasts Alex. Sound: "Ballad of Hank Williams" by Hank Williams Jr., Don Helms

Not Just Friends - Liam to Spencer. Song about how they're frequently mistaken for just best friends and how happy it makes him to correct that they're more than that. Song chosen so piano and drums play the beats together. Sound: "A Little Honey" by Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats

Be Cool - Spencer to Liam. Quirky/self-deprecating song about his butterflies about being with someone he's in awe of. Sound: "Heart's Content" by Brandi Carlile

a romantic - June to Nora. Confirms that Nora is aromantic to public. June saying she would never need more from Nora bc she gets to wake up next to her best friend every day. Sound: "Tu" by maye.

bluebonnet - This place (Texas) was never a home to me until you showed me how it was a part of you and now I see you everywhere. Sound & lyrically: "I Think of You" by Rodriguez.

red-blooded (August 2029)

cover: Navy suit w white shirt and American Flag pin on lapel, cropped so only torso is showing

Americana sound again - about 50/50 rock and Americana. Features from Dolly Parton, Orville Peck, and Brandon Flowers

blue blood (August 2029)

cover: red British army dress, cropped so only torso is showing

British glam rock sounds. Features from Elton John, Brian May, and samples David Bowie.

co-written with Henry

-

AND as for where they go from the end of the fic:

Alex becomes a civil rights lawyer in Austin.

Henry's writing career grows but he remains relatively private.

June becomes a music journalist. Eventually ventures into exposes on the industry's shady practices and successfully pivots into investigative journalism

Nora does her own thing.

Liam stays in music industry as a band manager under Zahra's tutelage.

Spencer majored in music production/mixing(?) and gets taken under Pez's wing. Has a smaller solo career and produces for a few indie bands before he settles down and works as a sound mixer in the film industry.

Bea continues to play guitar and flit between collaboration projects.

Zahra is the band's manager and Shaan is Henry's publicist/mentor and they meet while officially strategizing Alex's coming out.

[cremonamone]

hi mona! i have a question for you and a drabble request if you are still taking those. what are your favorite monsters to write? and for drabble, i would love to read *literally* anything with an orc!

You're my first requester! Thank you so much! I haven't written a lot of monster stories yet, but I am working on a mer-person novel that I'm really enjoying. I've never written or read much with orcs, so hopefully this is okay! I may have gotten a little carried away.

Fem Reader X Masc Orc

18+ Only - Smut ahead!

Word Count: 1850

The Hunt for a Roommate

When you posted online that you were looking for a roommate, you really expected more university students who needed affordable housing and fewer weirdos who thought it would just be “really, really cool to live with a human”.

You try not to hold your breath as you wait for your final appointment of the day. You booked him last because you really weren’t keen on living with a big orc. No offence to orcs, of course, but there’s barely enough room in the one bedroom apartment for you by yourself, and the floors creak like old bones and buckle in a few spots like they’re made out of cardboard. A gnome or a fairy would’ve been ideal. Someone who could fit in tight spaces and not take up too much room, but the only gnome who showed up spent the entire interview trying to stare up your skirt, and you really, really, don’t want to be dodging that energy in your own home.

You only signed the lease in this shit hole because you thought you could handle the rent on your own, but things have changed and you need to adapt. So, you can move into the hall closet and he can take the bedroom. Hopefully he travels light and only wants to live here for the four months you’re laid off. Fingers crossed he’s a normal dude who just really needs a place to stay.

He knocks on door and it sounds like a hammer falling.

It’s so loud you hear the neighbour across the hall open their door and tell him to shut up. Not a great start. Still, you stand up from the couch. You made cookies, and they’ve cooled over the course of would-be roomie interviews today, but there are still a few left and he can have them.

The door always takes a minute to unlock. The previous tenant only had three, but you’re a wee bit paranoid being a human and a woman alone in this part of town makes people think you’re an easy target. You vetted every single interview today as well as you could without hiring a background checker, but you’re still stunned when you open the door: He’s fucking beautiful.

He’s gotta be at least 6’9”, and he glowers down at you from the doorway while your neighbour continues to scream from across the hall. You ignore her as you invite him in. As tempting as it is to tell her fuck off, you don’t want to escalate the situation outside of your home. Inviting trouble in is not a good idea.

He has to duck to get through the door frame, and he already looks displeased. He’s thick too, wide and chubby with a lot of definition. You point him to the couch and it sags a little under his mass, but he looks at home immediately. He spreads his knees and you feel the urge to drop between them and see what he’s packing under his jeans, but you shake it off and take the chair you set across the table. You pick up your list of questions.

“Help yourself to a cookie,” you say, and he picks one up and pops it into his mouth in one bite. His lower teeth jut out onto his cheeks, which have a little colour in them aside from the mossy green of the rest of his skin. A blush?

“Delicious,” he says, and you don’t know why but those three syllables make you cross your legs.

“Thanks. I’m a baker, so there’s usually some sort of baked goods around the house. What do you do?”

“Security.”

“Oh. You keep odd hours? I’m often out the door by 2am and sleep through the afternoons.”

“I work nights. Daylight hurts my eyes.” He gestures to the sunglasses hanging off the neckline of his muscle shirt. “Orcs are mostly nocturnal, which is good for warfare and bad for city living.”

“Then why live in the city?”

“I like it here. In my grandparents’ days, you could pillage, and fuck, and do and take whatever you wanted as long as you were under the command of a warlord. But that’s changed, hasn’t it? The instincts remain, but the opportunity to use them has been cut off.”

“What do you do with all your pent up aggression?”

“I fuck, and I hope for something interesting to happen at work.”

Your belly does a little flip. You set your paperwork aside and look him up and down. He really is stunning. He’s a comforting shade of green, his head is wide and square, and he has a hooked nose that flares as he sniffs the air. He takes another cookie and you enjoy watching him chew. You always like watching people eat your food. All the work you put into your craft becomes worth it as soon as someone else tastes it and enjoys it.

“These are good,” he says, and you melt a little at the compliment. “I work full time, so I usually eat take out. It’s nice to get something homemade.”

“I cook every day. I don’t mind making extra.”

“We’ll get along well.”

The deep tones of his voice warm you inside. It reminds you of a crackling fire, burning long and low, twigs snapping under the pressure of the heat. You want to feel his rumble inside of you, to experience a kiss from someone with a mouth that’s so different than your own.

“You have a crumb,” you say, and reach for the napkins you bought just for these interviews, but his tongue darts out to collect them in such a quick flash that you blink and it’s over.

“So, should I give you the tour?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve already seen the living room, kitchen, and entryway. So this is the bedroom.” You walk the twelve feet to the closed door and pop it open. You weren’t planning to show it to anyway, but there’s no way he’ll fit in the closet and you really need this to go well. Either you get cozy in the closet, or you back your bags and hit the streets.

“Looks like it’s occupied.”

“Honestly, I was trying to rent out the closet, but I’ll take it and you can have the bedroom.”

“Will you be taking the mess with you?”

“I’m a baker, okay? I keep the kitchen clean. I keep the bathroom clean. This is my... nest.”

“There are shoes on the bed.”

“I was in a hurry this morning.”

“That is not a mess one makes in a morning. You keep the bedroom. I’ll take the couch.”

“Why are you so desperate for a place to live?”

“A pipe burst in the floor above mine. This is short term.”

“Right.”

“So, we should both enjoy it while we’re together, right?”

You feel him at your back, towering over you, and you want to melt. You have to clear your throat before you answer. He isn’t... coming onto you, right? “Right. So you take the couch. I’ll keep my room. I’ll show you the bathroom.”

You open the door and step inside. Wrong direction. His body fills the space so your hips press against the counter top.

“How do you feel about a roommates with benefits situation?” The question pops out of your mouth before you even have the chance to think it through, like it got so overheated it short-circuited. He grins, like this was his plan all along, and his massive hands engulf your hips. He lifts you like you weigh nothing and sets you next to the sink, then pushes himself between your legs. It’s a stretch to fit him in there, but it burns nicely.

“Pretty fucking good,” he answers, then his tongue is on your neck, finding the spot that makes your toes curl, and he’s thrusting into you, firm but not hard enough to hurt, with both of your clothes still on.

“So the rent is-”

“Sounds good.” His hand descends to your pussy and he rubs it. You moan, long and loud, and he grins. “Sounds really good.”

His fingers dip into your top and he pulls, tearing in a long, messy line down your front so your breasts are bare. The cool air of the apartment hits them and they pebble. He descends upon them like a starved man. He said he said he needed to fuck to keep his instincts in check, but you hadn’t expected this level of attention from him. He worships your breasts, sucking on the skin while his fingers play with your nipples, pressing them down firmly, pinching them hard then rubbing them soothingly. His massive mouth envelopes one and he sucks the entire thing into his mouth, the suction so hard that you almost cum just from that. You grind against him, and his hands dip lower to grip your thighs. He makes quick work of your pants, ripping them off like they’re made of paper.

You gasp as his fingers find your pussy and spread it, and the warm air of the apartment hits the sensitive skin. He leans back just far enough to look at it, and even though you squirm under his direct stare, it’s hard to be modest when he blows on it. You buck under the warm sensation and wriggle in his hold. His hand slides from your hip down to join the other at your cunt, and he presses one finger inside. You have to stretch to accommodate just the one finger, and the burn from it is almost enough to make you come right there. Your head falls back. His face towers over you, grinning, as he begins to pump it in and out and rub your clit simultaneously.

You’re screaming, you know because your throat hurts, as he hikes your legs up and bends you in half, continuing to destroy your pussy with just one finger. Your climax builds and you come, but he doesn’t stop.

“Come for me one more time,” he commands, and your body reacts like it knows how to take an order, spasming and clenching hard on him, your vision going black for a long moment.

You feel like you should thank him. “I’ll make brownies tomorrow,” you say, somewhat nonsensically, while he helps himself to a towel from the drawer beneath you and wipes you up. You shoot up and grab his wrist. You’re too sensitive, and yet... “I want your cock.”

He chuckles, raises his hand to his mouth and licks your cum from his fingers, his eyes dark and haughty.

“We’ll work up to that. You could barely take my finger today. But we have time. This arrangement is just beginning, after all.” He lifts you like you weigh nothing and carries you to the couch, where he arranges you in his lap. “Rest, so I can fuck you again later. We have to get that pussy nice and stretched for me.”

You moan, your toes curl, and he stares down at you with a rugged sense of pride. The future looks bright.

[writingforatwistedworld]

Okay okay request tiem!! So like, first of all, hope you're doing well fjkebd-- second of all, how would vil, jamil and idia react to a mc in the self aware au (already in their universe) drawing and or painting them, telling the constant compliment over how pretty or nice they are to draw, doodle them in their notebooks when taking notes and so on.

Idk it's like a thing I do with my friends, so I wanna know what they'd do n all, fbnebd thank u!! <3<3<3<3<3

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsebility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, murder, stalking, obsession, unhealthy relationship, manipulation, isolation

Jamil Viper/Vil Schoenheit/Idia Shroud-Player draws and constantly tells them compliments

Ok, so we are throwing away our independance today (not something I would recommend but you do you)

Jamil is used to stand in the shadow of Kalim, heck, even his own parents thought that the future sultan was more important than their son

When you were suddenly standing in front of him he was already shoked enough, almost dropping the tray filled with food for his employer

Let us just say that Scarabia is in constant danger of going up in flames after that

Oh why? Well he just, more or less, quit without handing in the piece of paper that usually says “Mhm sorry bro but I’m leaving. The pay was never good tbh”

Yes, he is still employed but the person he is serving in truth is you, leaving Kalim alone with the stove

And since most of the people reading this probably don’t have a butler we are of course impressed by his skills

No wonder Al-Asim can’t do stuff on his own, Jamil is spoiling you into dependance!

So what do you do when you are impressed? You compliment whoever had that affect on you

That is already bad enough in itself but now you are also drawing him? Doodeling him into your notebooks? (He defenitely checks them)

Did you want him to be your 24/7 caretaker who takes your freedom away or what?

Somehow it is possible that those actions are making him even more focused on taking care of you

Has defenitely taken one of the paintings and hid it just for him to see

But please lay the mop down. He is here to take care of the dorm and you just need to live a comfortable life

What do you mean he does everything? Just rely on him and don’t meet with others, they just get your clothes dirty and make scratches in the freshly waxed floor boards

Also, isn’t he here? Why would you need anyone else? Uh… sorry there is something in his eyes. Could you take a look?

Vil is pretty used to compliments and also has defenitley gotten fanart before

But if it’s you? The hecking Mona Lisa in his eyes

So how did he get close enough to you to recieve such things?

Two words, one meaning: overall care

Like this man is polishing you like his life depends on it

It’s already bad enough that you are living in that dirty place but you can’t even afford simple self care! (We ignore for now that his defenition of “simple” is worth the rent of an ordinary person)

But the man wants- no, is determined to scrub the dust of the ruin away and uncover the shining diamond under all that filth

And since we all are bound by social beauty standarts (and don’t want skin deseases connected to dirt) we are (most likely) very thankful for his hard work

So one day he came into your room, a bottle of hand lotion in his perfectly manicured clutches, and ran straight into your mirror

Oh you are curious why? Well you just threw a compliment and “thanks” at his head

But it’s probably you more freaked out because whilst he did get a scratch on his face he didn’t even care

Once you start do NOT stop!

If you do he will think that you have found someone else whom you consider better company

And remember that huge green house they have? There is probably something in there capable to make you… uh… “stay close to him”

Also, those third years you have asked for the way to your next classroom have been found “with their red paint outside their bodies” and their hearts missing, suspicious arrows sticking out of them

But what did you expect? The Fairest Queen was also pretty possessive of her status as the “most beautiful” and what is there to stop him in following her footsteps? Just maybe not with beauty…

So either you wanted to roast marmellows in a very extreme way or you wanted to burn the whole building down

But here he is, probably already having reached the melting point of stone and still staring at you

Are you seriously suprised? This is Idia we are talking about

You are a God to Idia, a flawed one but still higher than even Hades… that guy is literally death

And he also thinks that he is very unattractive so you might as well tell Lilia to leave his iron sticks away unless he wants to rshape them

How are you still alive standing in thnis heat??!

It is already hard enough to just get in contact with him but somehow you did

Idia is not used to get paintings drawn of him and only Ortho would be able to convince him to get a picture done of him

But now here you are, telling him that you admire his skills with electronics

I hope you brought your marmellows because I forgot mine at home

When he was just creepely looking at you from time to time then say goodbye to privacy after this

You see, strays also come back to you if you fed them once and Idia is just as starved for attention as a stray is for food

But what exactly is he supposed to do? Well…

You remember that phone Crowley gave us over the winter holidays? He never took that one back

Even though Idia knows he shouldn’t do this and feels bad he just can’t stop

Stop looking at you, stop watchig you, stop craving the warmth you gave him on that fatefull day

[indieyuugure]

so i’m indie tmnt.. about leo and karai.. how’s that work?

So in Indie TMNT, Leo and Karai are what you could call “a couple” and while in the beginning that’s much more of a correct term, they mellow out as more of a super fighting duo that enjoys each other’s company.

Leo is the first to notice Karai and develop a crush, though he knows that it’s weird and he’s very shy about it. He does nice things for her and will cover for her even when he shouldn’t.

Karai in the beginning doesn’t have any feelings about him, negative or positive, he’s just another guy Shredder rants about at dinner. The Shredder, however, sees the potential for getting close to the turtles via Leo’s crush and she and him concoct a plan to play Leo. Unfortunately though, Karai actually ends up liking him back. They have many common interests, she thinks he’s funny and they naturally get along very well. So then Karai is caught between a rock and a hard place having to play double agent for both Leo and the Shredder.

During the invasion, Karai’s loyalties are really put in jeopardy as the Shredder is giving her direct commands and Leo is standing right there. Though Leo ends up thinking she chose to side with the Shredder—which he accepts and respects since he would do the same for his father, though he’s still kinda heart broken—Karai actually saved his life. I won’t spoil how, but she does in her typical sly manner.

Afterwards they make up and explain what happened. As time goes on, Leo’s teen crush kind of mellows into more of a close friendship and same with Karai. They’re both aware that their relationship won’t go anywhere and they’re okay with that, so they both decide that their relationship will end up being more like a friendship than a romance.

I hope this makes any amount of sense. I’m basing their relationship off of a couple I know in real life so it feels more natural. I do this with all relationships I write, for instance, April & Casey and Raph & Mona are based off stories I’ve heard of my parents as teenagers/young adults.

I think this is the most delicate relationship of all to deal with since it has a very bad reputation—no thanks to 2012–and can often come off as weird. The objective of Indie TMNT is to recreate and master everything in the TMNT universe and consolidate it into one iteration.

I think I want something more similar to the 87 Leo and Lotus which is very cute(in my opinion). I think people often take these relationships too seriously and forget the fact that the turtles are 15-16. All of the “romantic” relationships in my tmnt are very pure hearted “hey, I like you being here” sort of relationships.

PLEASE NOTE: a lot of this could end up changing because of plot reasons, so don’t take this as exactly what will happen to the letter. This is a vague idea that I currently have jotted down, so take this with a grain of salt and thank you for your understanding.

Also, I WANT OPINIONS ON THIS!

Good question! :]

[cas-kingdom]

White Flower

A/N: Definitely a long time coming. I've been so slow in my writing since starting university but I'm glad to finally have this one done. Hopefully you all enjoy the introduction of my OC!

Set in the aftermath of Glass Onion.

Title: White Flower

Summary: Fleur Blanc, art student and only daughter of the world's greatest detective, wants to steal the Mona Lisa.

Words: 2336

Despite the alarm and the impassive yelling of “this is a smokeless garden”, Benoit Blanc believed he quite deserved this cigarette, thank you very much. Trying was one word to describe the weekend he’d had. All-round tits up was another.

Besides. The island was pretty much a raging pit of alarms, fire, and general chaos by now. One more addition didn’t make much of a difference, and there certainly was no stopping the activation of the hydrogen fuel now.

“Oh, do shut up,” he said anyway, because it felt good, and because the first yell had made him jump and squish his cigarette between two fingers.

He reached for another and let his sunglasses fall over his eyes, squinting into the distance.

The horrifically neon pink of Birdie Jay’s sunhat stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of the remaining participants of the weekend’s fiasco. They were all fanned out across the beach, as far apart from each other as possible, waiting impatiently for the policeboats to arrive. Ironic, really, considering how they’d arrived, each one a suck up to the next.

Benoit lit his new cigarette and shook his head with a scoff. “Megalomaniac, Janus-faced…” He muttered the words under his breath and took a puff. The alarm and impassive yelling restarted, and the second cigarette promptly joined the one on the ground.

“For the love of...”

He was owed a proper vacation after this, at the very least.

The yelling stopped abruptly with a crackle and a robotic groan. When Benoit turned, he was met with the sight of a young woman, her feet precariously placed between the gaps of the odd white sculpture that the yelling emanated from.

No longer.

After a violent snap, she held a handful of the offending wires, a look of irritation settling on her face. A flick of long hair and a moment later she tossed the wires onto dry land and followed them down into the shallow water with a quiet splash. Benoit rose a brow and fit his third cigarette neatly between smirking lips.

“Why, thank you, my darlin’.”

Fleur Blanc, twenty-year old art student and daughter of the world’s greatest detective, offered a mock bow as she stepped out of the water. She stretched out a leg and shook her foot dry as her father turned his gaze back towards the beach.

It hadn’t been his idea to bring Fleur along on this particular adventure, and he had in fact protested against it when she and that good-for-nothing roommate of his had suggested it, remembering quite well the last time his detective business had taken him on a wild ride. Alas, lockdown had turned Fleur into a firecracker and Philip had eventually boiled Benoit’s options down to “you take her with you, or I take myself out with the shotgun in the safe.” All fun and games, of course. Of course.

He couldn’t say her presence had been unappreciated. Apart from the obvious ease in her company, and the slightest spark of feeling like they were on a proper vacation, she had helped with the investigation, too. His little detective in the making, he’d always teased, though for as much as he was sure she loved the thrill of investigation, he was certain her career path would lead her straight to the arts.

That certainty was consolidated at the unusual silence coming from Fleur. When he turned, she was standing with her back to him, her eyes fixed on what remained of the Glass Onion. The structure that had once been so…not on fire generated quite the backdrop for his obviously preoccupied daughter. Her head tilted, arms crossed, feet bare and loose hair billowing behind her in the summer breeze, one would assume she was the picture of innocence.

Benoit knew better.

The moment she glanced over her shoulder, a twinkle in her eyes and the—in this case—horrifying beginning of “Dad?” on the tip of her tongue, Benoit pulled his cigarette from his mouth and pointed it at her. His own head dipped dangerously low, and his brows raised in what Fleur knew to be warning.

“No,” he said. Firm and simple. He would not deny she often found herself wrapped around his little finger, but this was one thing he’d be ridiculous to abide by.

“But—”

“My goodness, Fleur, no!”

Fleur narrowed her eyes and whipped her head back around. Benoit saw her fingers tapping rhythmically against her forearm. He remained still, waiting, ready. Because when a thought entered Fleur’s mind, she was hard-pressed to get rid of it.

With a defining nod and not a single glance back, Fleur slipped her flip-flops on and started walking with absolute intent. Benoit rushed after her. He grasped her shoulder and stopped her before she could take another step.

Fleur was ready for him. “I’m doing it,” she stated, “I’ve decided. I have to.”

“You are insane if you truly think—it’s—you are just preposterous, child!”

“But, Dad, it can’t be a crime, right? Most of it’s already destroyed!”

Benoit spluttered. He dropped the cigarette and, with a sudden distaste for the thing, squashed it under the toe of his shoe.

“Jesus, God, Satan, give me strength,” he muttered under his breath, not for the first time concerning his daughter and certainly not for the last. He grasped her by the shoulders, ensuring she couldn’t avoid his gaze, then, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Fleur, sweetheart, you want to steal the Mona fudgin’ Lisa.”

“Rehome,” Fleur was quick to correct. “And it’ll have a better life with me! You really think Miles appreciated it as much as I will?” That was a given. “And—and only a small part, Dad, that’s all I want.” She suddenly hardened her stare, that familiar seriousness suddenly reappearing. “That’s all I need.”

The detective’s speechlessness after that closing statement could have been due to a number of things. One, because the pure gall of this girl never ceased to amaze him. Two, because something seemed to blow up behind them, a puff of smoke emanating from the top of what used to be the Onion. Three, the most likely contender, because the moment said explosion had him distracted, Fleur ducked under his hold and made her way intently towards it.

Like father, like daughter, was all he could think. And he wasn’t referencing himself.

Surprising, considering he followed after her with absolutely zero hesitation.

The Glass Onion’s majesty was long gone. The maddest of people would advise anyone and everyone to stay about a hundred feet from its flaming mess, armed with a hard-shell helmet and a fire extinguisher, just in case anything went even more wrong. Which, looking at it, was likely.

Still, as was typically—stupidly—the case, Benoit Blanc stood in the middle of it all.

One hand wrapped around his daughter’s, the other gripping the doorframe for easy escape, his wide eyes darted around the Onion. If he was any less focused on the state of his surroundings, he would have been more concerned at his daughter’s lack of concern. True, the fire had somewhat died down, and the structure itself looked less ready to cave in than it had done before, but safe was still not a word he would use to describe it.

Helen’s stunt had certainly done a number on poor Mona, but the world of aesthetes could decidedly remain relieved with the knowledge that some parts of her were untouched. Surrounded by what had once been her glass refuge, she sat still in the place she had done since Miles had obtained her. One eye was black, the other pristine. A side of her hair reflected the fire, the other had been destroyed by it. Needless to say, the majority of her was gone, and if Fleur had the time, Benoit had no doubt she’d be down on her hands and knees, collecting the ashes in a little pot and shamelessly risking her life in the process. Alas, he would sooner drag her out, kicking and screaming, than have her be here a moment longer than she apparently needed to be.

Benoit watched his daughter’s eyes as they scanned the room before landing on Mona. In less than a second, that tell-tale glint went from inquisition to pure delight. It seemed no amount of staring from outside of the case could prepare her for now. True, the painting was charred more than not, and his watchful eye did catch a spark of disappointment, but it only seemed to spur her determination in getting it safely within her grasp.

Parental instincts ablaze since the moment he’d stepped foot on the island, Benoit immediately tightened his grip on her hand and yanked her back when she made to move forward. “Hold your horses,” he said, waiting for her eyes to meet his before wildly gesturing around them. “There’s glass everywhere, Fleur, and you’re wearing flip-flops. Why would you bring flip-flops to this island and nothing else?”

“We’re on vacation!”

“You knew darn well this wasn’t a vacation!”

Fleur spluttered for a moment before pointing accusingly at his own choice of footwear. “Like you and your boat shoes can do any better.”

Benoit gasped. Audibly. “These have hard, glass-proof soles, I’ll thank you to notice.”

He wasn’t quite sure what it was that spurred him to his next decision. Perhaps it was the urgency of the situation. Or the very distant, but ever-closer, sound of sirens. Or, maybe, it was the pure eagerness of his daughter; eagerness of which had always softened his heart, no matter the circumstances.

Whichever it was, he tried not to think about the guilt that would remain on his conscience for the rest of his life as he turned and bent over slightly, motioning with his hands.

“Get on my back,” he said hurriedly. When Fleur stalled, shock settling quickly on her face, he motioned again. “Come, child, we haven’t got long.”

And, with that, Fleur hopped on her father’s back with as much excitement as a child. Benoit gripped her legs, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning her chin on his shoulder, the biggest of grins adorning her lips.

“Look at you, Dad,” she said as he began walking, stepping carefully over large shards of glass.

“We are not to tell your father,” was his only response to her obvious insinuation that he was becoming rebellious in his old age.

“Might be a little difficult when we come home with the Mona Lisa. Ooh! Why don’t we take the Porsche home too? Just the steering wheel?”

Benoit uttered a silent apology to da Vinci.

“Do you see these grey hairs?” he said. “You are the cause.”

Needless to say, through no innate conformism, Fleur’s inner connoisseur had won over her desire to keep a piece of the Mona Lisa in her cardholder. The moment the police had finished detailing the basics of the weekend’s mess with her father and struck up the sensitive question of the possibility of either of them having seen the Mona Lisa’s remainders at all during the night—Benoit believed it was their imploring “the Louvre are simply desperate to get it back” that had swayed her—Fleur had produced the scraps she’d been able to save from her pocket. Handing them over with only the tiniest hint of reluctance, she’d smiled at the gratefulness from the police and watched them go with the bit of longing she could allow herself.

Chuckling softly, Benoit wrapped an arm around her and drew her into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Well, darlin’,” he said, “I’m very proud of you, if it counts for something.”

Fleur breathed a deep sigh and pressed her lips in a thin smile. “It does. At least I cay say I’ve touched her, right, Dad?”

“Oh, absolutely. That’s more than most people can say, after all.”

The police were wrapping up now, gently guiding the exhausted party members onto a boat—one in particular in aptly placed handcuffs. The island itself would take mountains of work to be habitable again, he’d heard a firefighter voice in passing, and for a moment he wondered if Derol had made it onto the boat. After brief consideration, he decided Derol was probably better off here than America.

Benoit pushed his sunglasses down and steered himself and his daughter in the direction of the shore. He didn’t quite enjoy the idea of sharing a boat ride with previously-dubbed megalomaniac, Janus-faced…people, but alas, after today he would no longer experience the displeasure of seeing them again. Though, he would be glad for Helen to attend a few of his dinner parties when the pandemic allowed.

Fleur reached up to grasp her father’s hand at her shoulder as they walked slowly, stepping carefully around anything glinting in the sand. Then, quietly, “Where’re you gonna put your steering wheel?”

Ah. Benoit instinctively glanced down at the duffel bag in his free hand. True, it was heavier than it had been when he’d first arrived on the island, but he had told his daughter that he’d be much appreciated if she didn’t remind him of his rebelliousness at every given moment. Which she had.

“I’m going to lock it away in a safe, so it’s never found, and I’m never arrested for thieving,” he said, finality embedded in his tone. If anyone ever asked: no, he had not stolen the steering wheel of the Porsche 918 Spyder’s wreckage. No, he did not have it in his duffel bag, blanketed by his clothes and second pair of boat shoes. And, no, once it entered the safe he would never look at it again. Except on birthdays. And maybe Christmasses.

He couldn’t say he regretted it.

But he did regret not regretting it.

“And may I just reiterate,” he said, leaning closer towards her, “your father does not need to know a thing.”

Knives Out Masterpost

[mischaswife]

Hoi-hoi! I recently got a new hyperfix on Hobie Brown and wanted to ask you if you could write me something with reader who is really similar to Hobie(same beliefs, piercings and makes most of their clothes/things themself)? And then they meet through kids(Pav, Gwen, Miles?) and mb add smut with Hobie if you're ok with it (if not I'll appreciate something romantic 👉👈)

Please and thank you, love your works <3

A/N: SAY LESSSS

Paring: Hobie brown x Punk!spiderperson!Reader

Warning:

Genre: fluff

" You have to meet them! They are just like you " Pav yelled at hobie, hands on his shoulders, " Only difference is that they play the drums and they have 3 nose peirceings " pav said putting his hands on his sides. " Listen pav, ive never met a single bloke like me. Its just not possible " hobie said witha sniker and he put his hands in his pockets. Pav sighed dramatically and followed him

Pav saw you and grabbed hobie and immediately dragged him to you. " You. I have soneone thats just like you but diffrent in a way " pav said as hobie stood up as straight ad he normally does and looked you up and down. " hey " he said. You looked at him and smirked " hey " they said softly and nodded.

Hobie started to walk away but pav grabbed his shirt and pulled him back " Talk! Go become freinds! " pav said. You and hobie walked away and talked. " So are you in a band? " he asked you. " mhm. You? " you responded. He nodded. " what instrument " you ask. " electric guitar, you? " He asked. " drums " you said. Yall find a bench and sit down.

You look elsewhere but hobies eyes are on you. You were like the mona lisa in his eyes. You were stunning. (to him) most people found you scary in your universe but here? Hell no. How would he find you scary if your the most Gorgeous person he has ever seen in his lifetime. In his 19 years old liveing he had never seen anyone that was like him, like you. He didnt notice you were stareing at him untill you spoke, " Put your eyes back in their sockets " you smirk with a slight laugh. Hr snapps out his tance and lets out a soft laugh " Sorry mate " he said, " Its good dont worry about it " you smile.

Your smile. Oh my goddess its like he fell in love, head over combat boots even. He loved it so much. It just suit you so well. " You have a nice smile " he said and you blushed slightly " and you have a nice face " you said with a giggle. " Really? You like my face " he said with a soft laugh " yes i do. " you smile and boop his nose. You get up and stretch " I love talking to you but gotta go, Dorito man said i have to go his little room thing " you said. You then wrote down on a peice of paper and gace it to him. " Bye! " you smile and leave

He reads the paper

This is my number, cal me! ***-***-***

He puts the paper in his pocket and thinks that today might have been an okay day

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part VII

Auld Lang Syne

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: We’ve finally made it to 1943! Can you believe it will soon be a whole year since the night Bobby and Peach met?

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

To ring in the new year in the story, the title of this chapter is based on the holiday classic, Auld Lang Syne. To get in the spirit, check out this 1939 instrumental version by Guy Lombardo!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, @luminousnotmatter​. Clara, thank you, thank you, thank you for your support of this story!

Warnings: Alternating POV, talk of the holidays, brief allusions to the trauma of war, references to rationing, and a ton of fluff.

January 12, 1943

Dear Peach,

Happy New Year! I know we’re only 12 days in at this point, but I hope that 1943 is already shaping up to be a good year for you. Hopefully it will be a good year for all of us. And I look forward to hearing all about your Christmas back home in Georgia!

Now to address that “elephant in the room” as you called it—well, Peach, I see no elephants, but I do see what has to be the most beautiful and elegant photograph I’ve ever had the good fortune to lay these sorry eyes on. Are you sure you really meant to send it to me and not to MGM? You could be a movie star! I wouldn’t be surprised at all if it was announced that their next big picture was starring The Sweet Peach from Georgia. Hey, maybe that could even be the name of the movie. What do you think?

Peach, I hope you know that I’m not teasing and I’m not kidding. And I hope my saying so doesn’t come across as forward, but you really are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, whether in the movies or in real life. Part of me was starting to wonder if maybe I’d dreamed it all up, that night we had together in Charleston. Could any girl really be that beautiful and kind and funny and smart, all wrapped up in one splendid person? But then I opened your last letter and your photograph fell out of the envelope, and I realized that sometimes real life can be even better than our dreams. Because you, Peach, are even more stunning than you were in my memories. And you know what makes it even better? That your beauty shines from the inside. Looking at your photograph, I can see all the kindness and gentleness and goodness that I’ve come to know so well, shining in your eyes and brightening your smile.

Gosh, am I rambling? I’m sure I am. But I don’t want you to feel embarrassed, not for a moment. And to think that you would even suggest I take a photograph this beautiful and shove it in a drawer or throw it off the carrier! That would be an absolute crime! It deserves to be framed and hung for everyone to admire. I admit that I’ve never seen the Mona Lisa, but I can already guarantee that you’re a thousand times prettier. But can I tell you the truth, Peach? As much as you deserve to be universally praised, I’ve been very selfish. The fellas are all quite jealous, you see, that the prettiest girl in the world has chosen to write to me, of all people. So I keep your photograph tucked close to my heart, away from all the guys. Don’t want to rub salt in the wound, you know?

Benny and Tommy Boy wanted me to respectfully let you know that you looked quite lovely in your photo, and that they’d be more than willing to serve as pen pals to any of your friends back home who may be in need of some correspondence.

Will you do me a favor and thank Dottie for this little scheme of hers? I knew that I liked your sister already, but this has truly solidified it for me. She’s a smart woman, that Dottie Sheridan. And I hope Frankie’s birthday pictures turned out just as nice as yours!

Can I tell you something else, Peach? We’ve been doing a lot of flying over here, me and Paul and the rest of our squadron, as I’m sure you can imagine. Paul keeps a photograph of Natasha and the kids in our aircraft when we’re flying. He says it brings him good luck and helps him remember what he’s fighting for. I like to keep a photograph of my family with me while we’re flying so that I can remember the same. But now I carry your photograph with me, too. And I think I understand now what Paul meant about his photo bringing him luck. Every time we’ve flown since I started carrying you with me, I feel this extra sense of protection. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. You’re my good luck charm, Peach, and I thank you for that. Thanks for helping me remember what I’m fighting for, every day that I’m here. And, hey—it’s sort of like we’re flying together already, right?

I was glad to hear that you enjoyed the pumpkin pie story, and that my utter humiliation could at least bring you some laughter. It’s funny that you should mention my mama setting aside some pumpkin pie for me because I did, in fact, receive a letter from her not long after Thanksgiving, and she told me she had done just that. She said that she’s hoping and praying I’ll be home for pumpkin pie this year. I hope she’s right.

I’m so happy to hear that you got to spend time with your folks and be together for the holidays. And happy belated birthday to little Frankie! They grow up fast, don’t they? Natasha sent Paul some photographs from Paul, Jr.’s first birthday, and neither of us can believe how big he’s gotten. Natasha says she’s writing down all his milestones in a little book for when Paul returns, so that he doesn’t miss a thing. I know it makes Paul feel good to hear that. He misses them so much.

I hope you don’t mind me doing so, but I shared with some of the guys on the carrier how you offered up your Thanksgiving gratitude and prayers for us. It lifted a lot of fellas’ spirits, I’ll tell you that. We were all missing home a little extra around the holidays, but to be reminded of why we’re doing this, and of the good people back home who are thinking of us, really makes all the difference.

Now to hear that you were an excellent pupil back in your grade school days does not surprise me one bit, Miss Peach. It’s funny that you say that you’re hopeless when it comes to arithmetic because I was always rather hopeless when it came to my writing—as I’m sure you can tell from the woeful state of my handwriting. My teachers at school—and yes, even my professors at Annapolis—always scolded me over it. Everyone has their strengths, huh? But if you don’t mind handling the writing, I’m more than happy to take care of the numbers and figures. We’d make quite a team.

Peach, I can promise you that the thought of getting to share another dance with you is one of the few things that keeps me going on the days when this war just really takes all the stuffing out of me. I just hope it’s something that YOU still want when all is said and done. I’m sure all the boys are lining up to sign your dance card.

Speaking of, have you been to any more dances at the USO lately?

You’re right when you say that Paul, Tommy Boy, Benny, and I couldn’t be any more different if we tried, but we do have a special bond and I’ll always be thankful for that. I’m glad to know you have that, too, with Dottie and Paddy and the rest of your family.

That glass of lemonade in Charleston sounds real nice right about now. It’s cold and rainy where we are, but I’ll be dreaming about that South Carolina sunshine.

My family was telling me about the coffee rations in one of their last letters. I am sorry to hear about that. I can only imagine how hard that’s hitting people, especially Paddy. I used to see him down at least three or four cups in the morning, back when I was stationed stateside. I’m sending all my best wishes that you and Dottie can survive his grumbling.

Peach, I just want to close by letting you know, once again, how much your support means to me. Truly. I hate to dwell on the negative, but there are days when this war is really hard. In fact, there are days when it feels downright impossible. But then I reread one of your letters, or take out your photograph and gaze at that pretty smile, and my hope is bolstered. You’ve given me so much, through your words alone, and I want you to know that.

I miss you, too. Who knows? Maybe 1943 will be the year we finally get that dance?

I hope so.

Very Truly Yours,

Bobby

February 3, 1943

Dear Bobby,

Happy New Year! 1943 has been treating me kindly so far, but it would be even better if it was the year that you and the rest of our boys came home. Just like your mother, that’s what I’m hoping and praying for.

My goodness, Robert Floyd, you certainly know how to make a girl feel special! I have to confess, I must have read your letter through a good two or three times when it first arrived in the mail, and I couldn’t stop blushing or beaming the whole time. Dottie said that I looked like a giddy school girl, which taught me that I really ought to read your letters in the comfort of my own room instead of in front of my nosy big sister.

Just so you know, Dottie gladly accepts your praise and thanks, and has not let me live it down for a moment. She has not failed to remind me that big sisters know best, and that I shouldn’t be so afraid to trust her, because look how well her plans always turn out? Well, knowing her my entire life, I can quite confidently say that Dottie’s plans don’t ALWAYS turn out well, but I am glad that this one did.

I’m certainly no movie star, but Dottie did work her magic on me that morning, and I’m touched beyond words at your kind reception of such a silly little thing. My cheeks still feel warm, even as I write to you now. Do you really carry my photo with you, even when you’re flying? I can hardly believe it, but I know you’re an honest man, Bobby, so it must be true. And if it brings you any sort of luck while you’re up in the air, then I’m glad for it and I’d send you a hundred more photographs if I could. I want you to come home safely, Bobby, more than anything. I need you to make it home safely so that we really can go flying together one day.

Please send my thanks and my best wishes to Benny and Tommy Boy, who are both clearly gentlemen of the highest caliber. But I’m sorry to tell them that I don’t have any girlfriends I can match them up with. Truth be told, I don’t have many girlfriends to begin with, and most of the women I do know are spoken for.

Speaking of which, do you remember my friend, Emily? She was the blonde volunteer working at the punch table with me the night we met. That was so long ago now, it’s okay if you don’t remember. Anyway, she just got engaged! She and her fiance actually met that night at the dance. His name is Eddie and he’s a corporal in the Army. He was stationed in Charleston for about a month or so after you were deployed, and he and Emily got to spending a lot of time with each other. They wrote to each other after he left, and Eddie proposed while he was back in Charleston on a short leave last month. Isn’t that something? It’s funny how things work out sometimes. I had thought Eddie was going to ask me to dance that night, but it was Emily he wanted to dance with. And look how well it turned out for them! I’m really happy for her. She’s so excited. They’re hoping that the war will be over soon and Eddie will come home permanently so that they can plan a big wedding. Emily even asked me to be one of her bridesmaids! I was Dottie’s Maid of Honor when she got married, but I’ve never been anyone else’s bridesmaid, so it’s all very exciting. A little bit of good news and hope in the midst of so much ugliness.

Christmas in Georgia was lovely, even if it was a little quieter than Christmases we’ve enjoyed in the past. I did get to see my grandparents, and some of my aunts and uncles and cousins, and that was a joy. If there’s one thing this war has taught us, it’s that spending time with the ones you love is really what matters most. My aunt actually made a pumpkin pie for dessert on Christmas Eve and I couldn’t stop giggling, thinking about your pumpkin pie fiasco as a little boy.

I hope that Paul, Jr. had a wonderful first birthday, same as Frankie! I think it’s an absolutely marvelous thing Natasha is doing, writing down all the special moments that are happening now so that Paul can relive them when he gets home. What a special gift that will be! Would you do me a favor, Bobby, and send Paul my best? I’ll never forget his kindness at the dance that night, and I really do hope he’s doing well.

Of course I don’t mind you passing along my best wishes to the rest of the men! I feel like I have so little to offer, and so little to contribute to this war, so if my thoughts and prayers can help lift even one person’s spirits, then I’m happy to hear it.

I’m also happy to hear that you’re good with numbers and figures because I simply never have been. I’d suggest that you could tutor me when you return home, but I’d be embarrassed for you to see just how truly hopeless I am when it comes to my mathematics. Instead, I’ll gladly take you up on your offer to handle all the writing if you handle all the numbers. An excellent team we’d make, indeed! And believe me when I say that your handwriting is far from the most dreadful I’ve seen. You should see my father’s and Paddy’s—completely illegible! Paddy once left me and Dottie a note letting us know he’d be home late that night, and we sat up for hours worrying because we couldn’t even read what it said! So trust me, Bobby, your writing is not as woeful as all that.

You can also trust me when I tell you that there are certainly no boys lining up to sign my dance card. I’ve volunteered at several other USO events, but truth be told, I haven’t gone to many dances since that one back in May. Emily’s always trying to get me to go with her, and I have gone to a couple, but it just doesn’t feel the same, Is that silly? I know we only got to attend one dance together, but it just doesn’t feel right, being there without you, Bobby. Every time I did force myself to go, I’d hear a song that played that night and then I’d miss you too much. The next time I go to a dance, I want you to be there, too, and I want us to be dancing together. I’ll make sure there’s plenty of lemonade for us afterwards.

I think Paddy is finally recovering from his caffeine withdrawals, thank goodness! Dottie and I have been cutting back on our coffee consumption so that he can have some more in the morning. I have a feeling more rations will be coming soon, which is why Dottie and I are already making plans to revive our Victory Garden this spring. We didn’t pay as much mind to it last year, when everything still seemed so readily available, but this year we’re determined to grow as much as we can. We’re not exactly farmgirls, my sister and I, so maybe you could send us some tips?

Bobby, if my words bolster your spirits, then I want you to know that your words do that a hundredfold for me. Receiving your letters in the mail brings me such joy. I have every single one saved, and I read them whenever I’m feeling sad or scared about the war. Have I told you lately how glad I am that we met and that we’re still exchanging letters all these many months later?

Here’s to hoping that 1943 is our year, Bobby. I hope that I’ll be seeing you real soon.

Most Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. I almost can’t believe I’m asking this—and I hope you don’t think it too forward—but is there any possibility that you might have a photograph you could send? I can still see your face so clearly in my memories, Bobby, but it would be so special to have a photo to remember you by. If not, it’s okay. I just thought I would ask. Stay safe, Bobby.

[fabuloustrash05]

so I know you already have a headcanon that Mona’s parents died, but if they were alive what would they think of Raph and how do you think the first meeting with him would go?

I believe I have talked about the concept before but the post of mine has disappeared into the dark void of Tumblr. Don’t you just love it that Tumblr makes old posts of yours disappear and make it impossible to find them?? lol

Anyway, yes I do HC that Mona’s parent are dead, how they died in battle against the Triceratons when Mona was very young and Sal Commander took her in and raised her as his own because he was friends with her parents (and also guilt because he assigned them that mission).

BUT on a hypothetical of that HC…

If Mona’s parents were alive and met Raph it would be a rollercoaster. I think in the beginning her parents would be very against the idea of their daughter dating an “outworlder” from a lower level planet like Earth. We have to remember in the 2012 universe the other aliens see Earth as less than them. In one episode one alien refers to Earth as a “primitive mud ball”. So yeah, Mona’s parents already don’t like him cause of that. I’d imagine Sal would give Raph tips on what to say/do when meeting Mona’s parents, and even trying to talk Raph up around them but they’re not convinced this terrapin from a low level planet could possibly be worthy of their daughter.

When meeting Raph, Mona’s mom attempted to to be nice and give him a chance. She’s friendly and hospitable with but to an unsettling degree. Like occasionally she’ll say something rude or downplay Raph as if he’s just a phase her daughter is going through, then when Mona speaks up her mom would say she’s only joking.

Mona’s dad would be more direct with his feelings. Barely giving Raph a chance to chat and get to know him or make a good impression, only giving him glares and brushing him off. This would especially put Raph off when seeing how sweet and bubbly the man is around his wife and daughter, but to him Mona’s dad is cold and aggressive. He’d straight up tell Raph to his face that he is not and will never be good enough for his daughter.

Their attitude would infuriate Mona and she’d yell at her parents for their mistreatment towards Raph, saying she loves him and is dating him and there is nothing they can do about it, but as she and Raph are about to walk out something happens…

Raph would gain their favor and respect the only way you can with a Salamandrian, through combat. I’d imagine during the middle of this awkward aggressive Salamandria would suddenly be under attack by maybe Lord Dregg. The dude has a habit of invading that planet anyway. Raph would get involved in the battle, even saving Mona’s parents from danger and fighting by their side in combat. During the battle they would see how well Raph and Mona work as a team in battle, how much Raph loves and respects their daughter as a person and as a warrior. It would remind Mona’s parents of their own love, when they were young fighting side by side. Together Raph and Mona are able to defeat Dregg and have him leave the planet. Mona’s parents would thank then apologize to Raph for their certify towards him and realize that they were wrong about him. They give their blessing and tell Mona that they approve of her boyfriend, realizing he’s better than any Salamandrian man they’ve ever seen and how he’s perfect for their daughter. Raph would have a good relationship with Mona’s parents after that.

[tmnt-tychou]

Happy new year! 😊

Here’s a question! How did you come up with the design of your Mona? Are you excited for her comeback in the new comics?

Have a good day!

For my several different designs of Mona, I always start with with the OG Mona as a base and go from there: usually a human first mutated into a lizard. And then I look at the aesthetics of the universe I'm putting her in and try to come up with a design that looks like it fits in there. And really, I just LOVE coming up with lizard girl designs. I could redesign her over and over. There's something about it that just piques my interest.

And yes, I am very excited about the Mona Lisa issue of the Saturday Morning Adventure series. I will probably reserve a copy at my local comic shop the next time I go down there. Thanks so much for asking about my lizard girlfriend! lol

[raw-law]

favorite books? (AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH)

Light:

Dang, Anon, this is a hard question...

My favourite books change from time to time, so I guess I'll just answer with what I'm currently reading now/have read recently.

I'm a big fan of Murakami's work. I've read First Person Singular, Wind/Pinball, Men Without Women, and I'm currently on The Elephant Vanishes. Norwegian Wood sounds interesting, so I'm planning to read it next...so far, First Person Singular is probably my favourite.

(Also, did you know that he has a library named after him in Waseda University, where he was an alumni of? I saw it when I went to visit my cousin.)

I've also read the Secret History by Donna Tartt; it wasn't bad, in my opinion. Also Rouge by Mona Awad, which felt like a fever dream (in a good way). The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones was a rather intriguing horror novel as well; I rather enjoyed the creative concept of the elk entity in the book. (Oh, and if you like horror, check out Horrorstör by Grady Hendrix; I've only read the translated version, but the concept is a really cool thing to think about, too!)

Thanks for the question, I do love it when people ask me stuff about books.

L:

the only books i've read as of recent have been comics.. and i don't want to sound like a broken record, so i suppose i'll list those.

I Was Born To Work Retail by Pear哥 (who actually has a tumblr account, @peargor. i highly recommend checking out their works.) has been one of my favorite comics of all time. the comic serves as both a comedy of an ordinary girl working at a fast-food restaurant and a social commentary on the horrors of capitalism. there are so many stunning scenes that hit deep, and it's emphasized even more with the outstanding art. i even wrote a poem inspired by one of its scenes a year or so ago. it's really stunning.

two other comics i've been enjoying a lot are The Interpretations of Shadows by nyoomian (who also has a tumblr blog under the same name) and Urban Animal by Justin Jordan & John Amor. both lean a bit more into the "grim and gritty" side of comics. i'd explain what they're about, but i think it's much more interesting if you simply just read it for yourself.

and some other honorable mentions... : Our Walk Home by furanc0, the Scott Pilgrim series by Bryan Lee O'Malley, and Casual Blush by ILNeGeAr.

sorry i couldn't give you any real books, but i hope that can suffice..?

[sluttyhenley]

Lore Dump

Tagged by @starrybouquet thank you!!!! 💖💖💖

Do you make your bed? yes. but not in a like. hospital corners kind of way, but in a 'i'll get my blankets/sheets as straightened up as i can before i get up and then finish straightening everything up when i get out of bed' kind of way. i spend all of about two minutes on it

Favorite number? 12

What's your job? basically a lot of data entry to tell a federal program how to spend its money

If you could go back to school, would you? absolutely. i've been wanting to go back for a doctorate degree. which probably makes me insane or something

Can you parallel park? Yes!

Do you think aliens are real? in the way that like. the universe is enormous and statistically it seems improbable that this planet hosts the only sentient life in the universe

Can you drive a manual car? my parents insisted i learned to drive a manual before they let me drive automatic

What's your guilty pleasure? ummmmm,, idk. i try not to feel guilty about things that bring me joy that don't bring harm. that being said. i've developed elvis 2022 brainworms which is translating to a lot of elvis music which is...... complicated

Tattoos? Five of 'em!

Favorite color? green!

Favorite type of music? when i say whatever i'm in the mood for i genuinely mean it. my top streamed this month feature: elvis, sabrina carpetner, florence + the machine, blake neely (mota), janelle monae. last month was a lot of beyonce and bruce springsteen. whomst knows what i'll listen to next?? not me!!

Do you like puzzles? i do crosswords daily

Any phobias? bugs. spiders. my brain treats them like a literal threat even though i know better

Favorite childhood sport? i really liked playing volleyball in middle school and high school; i wasn't good at it and eventually stopped playing in favor of theater, but like. it was fun. and i still like watching it

Do you talk to yourself? all. the. time

No pressure tags: @redbelles, @glcnpowell, @reachingforaspark, @ladywaffles, @lannisterdaddyissues, @nicejobkid, and uhhhh idk, whoever wants to!

[liesmyth]

22 favourite reads of 2022!

Yes, that’s a lot of books but also: you can’t ever have too many books. These are some of my favourite reads of the year, arranged by a very rigorous (joke) vibe-based categorization method that I made up myself

✧  the push by ashley audrain — Favourite novel about Creepy Children; alternatively: Favourite novel about A Woman Going Fucking Through It.

✧ bunny by mona awad — Favourite "what the fuck did I read” book, lives at the intersection of litfic and horror, and it’s like if the girlblogging side of tumblr got a MFA (this is a compliment)

✧ jonathan strange & mr norrell by susanna clarke —  Favourite fantasy (with bonus footnotes, cruel faeries, and alternate history)

✧ bringing down the duke by evie dunmore — Favourite historical romance

✧ the witch elm by tana french — Favourite book about terrible characters suffering. Techically also a mystery thriller but the POV does the heavy lifting in why it’s so good

✧ the echo wife by sarah gailey — Favourite speculative fiction that makes a very good case for clonefucking

✧ the plot by jean hanff korelitz — Favourite litfic with a bonus side of Woman, Unhinged

✧ last tang standing by lauren ho + lucie yi is not a romantic also by lauren ho — Favourite romance, specifically: favourite het romance about a career woman over 30 who’s going through it in Singapore, and also the leading men are adorable”. Stellar audiobook version too

✧ my heart is a chainsaw by stephen graham jones — Favourite horror and favourite Horror Final Girl ft. lesbian vibes

✧ erotic stories for punjabi widows by balli kaur jaswal —  Favourite contemporary fiction, and also this is THE book you should gift to people. It has universal appeal and it’s wicked fun and might make you cry

✧ long bright river by liz moore — Favourite murder mystery that’s actually about disfunctional families and your own inner demons. Basically, the Dublin Murder Squad school of sad detectives.

✧ apples never fall by liane moriarty — Favourite domestic suspense but it’s Liane Moriarty so it’s inevitably forthy domestic suspense about middle class het Sydney couples with children. It’s also infuriatingly well written

✧ a deadly education by naomi novik — Favourite YA ft. plucky goth babygirl with death powers

✧ empire of pain by patrick radden keefe — Favourite nonfiction

✧ the last of the wine by mary renault — Favourite homoerotic historical fiction

✧ houston, houston, do you read? by james tiptree jr. — Favourite novella + favourite scifi. Technically a reread but it’s great and you should read it so here it goes! Also I needed a fave story In Space that wasn’t Harrow The Ninth

✧ the feminist by tony tulathimutte — Favourite short story

✧ the cherry robbers by sarai walker — Favourite gothic vibes historical fiction, and also ghosts and lesbians

✧ fingersmit by sarah waters —  Favourite historical fiction about scheming Victorian lesbians. If you’ve watched The Handmaiden, this is the book that inspired it

✧ thank you for listening by julia whelan — Favourite book about books, specifically Book About Making Romance Audioplays. Stellar audio version, too

✧ the last housewife by ashley winstead — Favourite book that’ll make you feel physical discomfort and make you want to commit murder. I loved this book and I want to tattoo it to the inside of my eyeballs but also: the content warnings aren’t fucking around

[seriously-mike]

Who's surprised, because I am not?

When ChatGPT set the world on fire a year and a half ago, it sparked a feverish search for ways to catch people trying to pass off AI text as their own writing. A host of startups launched to fill the void through AI detection tools, with names including Copyleaks, GPTZero, Originality.AI, and Winston AI. It makes for a tidy business in a landscape full of AI boogeymen. These companies advertise peace of mind, a way to take back control through “proof” and “accountability.” Some advertise accuracy rates as high as 99.98%. But a growing body of experts, studies, and industry insiders argue these tools are far less reliable than their makers promise. There’s no question that AI detectors make frequent mistakes, and innocent bystanders get caught in the crossfire. Countless students have been accused of AI plagiarism, but a quieter epidemic is happening in the professional world. Some writing gigs are drying up thanks to chatbots. As people fight over the dwindling field of work, writers are losing jobs over false accusations from AI detectors.

Of course. Just like I showed you a few weeks ago, an AI-generated image that is even marketed as such by the seller, was claimed to be "99.9% accurately" not AI-generated. A photo of the Mona Lisa uploaded to Wikipedia Commons thirteen years ago was claimed to be "99.9% accurately" AI-generated. We're having snake oil salesmen preying on moronic Butlerian Jihadi types with claims like this, with innocent people losing their jobs and chances for education.

In general, AI detectors work by spotting the hallmarks of AI penmanship, such as perfect grammar and punctuation. In fact, one of the easiest ways to get your work flagged is to use Grammarly, a tool that checks for spelling and grammatical errors. It even suggests ways to rewrite sentences for clarity using, you guessed it, artificial intelligence. Adding insult to injury, Gizmodo spoke to writers who said they were fired by platforms that required them to use Grammarly.

What. The. FUCK. If anything, computers are fairly good at scanning things and comparing them with rigid references, like style books and grammar manuals, often against the human writer's wishes (for example because a certain unorthodox turn of phrase is intended to shock the reader, or there's a play on words that cannot be expressed differently), but "perfect grammar and punctuation" is certainly not what I would expect from AI algorithms - for example, in the first minute or two of the Robert Makłowicz Gravel Bullshit I could hear ChatGPT stumbling over genders and grammatical cases, much like I sometimes do myself, particularly when typing quickly or in a runaway sentence.

Detectors look for more telling factors as well, such as “burstiness.” Human writers are more likely to reuse certain words in clusters or bursts, while AI is more likely to distribute words evenly across a document. AI detectors can also assess “perplexity,” which essentially asks an AI to measure the likelihood that it would have produced a piece of text given the model’s training data.

"Burstiness"? "Perplexity"? What kind of Stephen Colbert horseshit is this? I mean, seriously, those words sound like someone made them up for The Stephen Colbert Show "The Wørd" segment, in a "fuck me if I know what my software is doing" way. Like, you put the text in, pull the lever, the machine spits out the verdict and you're supposed to kowtow to its Grand, All-Encompassing Wisdom now. How it does what it does? You're not supposed to know and I'm not explaining it to you either, mostly because I have no idea myself. Magic everywhere in this bitch, man.

AI detection companies “are in the business of selling snake oil,” said Debora Weber-Wulff, a professor at the University of Applied Sciences for Engineering and Economics in Berlin, who co-authored a recent paper about the effectiveness of AI detection. According to Weber-Wulff, research shows that AI detectors are inaccurate, unreliable, and easy to fool. “People want to believe that there can be some magic software that solves their problems,” she said. But “computer software cannot solve social problems. We have to find other solutions.”

Of fucking course, why am I not surprised. Generative AI is snake oil as it fails to replace actual artists to any considerable degree (unless we're talking generic editorial cartoons you could left-hand in 15 minutes - DALL-E will left-hand something more specific in 30 seconds, particularly for the purposes of a dodgy third-rate website), and detecting AI is just as shit, much like I pointed out before. It's laughable, actually: we have companies run submitted writing through dodgy detectors in order to weasel out of paying, when in other circumstances they'd promptly have ChatGPT on the job of writing insipid clickbait listicles in order to weasel out of paying. It's like "I can fuck you over anytime, but god forbid you try to fuck me over".

“We hear these stories more than we wish we did, and we understand the pain that false positives cause writers when the work they poured their heart and soul into gets falsely accused,” said Jonathan Gillham, CEO of Originality.AI. “We feel like we feel like we’re building a tool to help writers, but we know that at times it does have some consequences.”

No, buddy, fuck you. Fuck you a thousand times with a fucking cactus. You're selling snake oil, you know it's not working and here you are playing dumb that your software just works, and when it inevitably fails, again and again, you're pretending it's not your fault, you coprolithically retarded cunt.

But Originality and other AI detectors send mixed messages about how their tools should be used. For example, Gillham said “we advise against the tool being used within academia, and strongly recommend against being used for disciplinary action.” He explained the risk of false positives is too high for students, because they submit a small number of essays throughout a school year, but the volume of work produced by a professional writer means the algorithm has more chances to get it right. However, on one of the company’s blog posts, Originality says AI detection is “essential” in the classroom.

CUNT.

Then there’s the way the company describes its algorithm. According to Originality, the latest version of its tool has a 98.8% accuracy rate, but Originality also says its false positive rate is 2.8%. If you’ve got your calculator handy, you’ll notice that adds up to more than 100%. Gillham said that’s because these numbers come from two different tests.

ABSOLUTE MOTHERFUCKING LYING CUNT.

Now don't be surprised that they're going to lie in multiple ways and make shit up only to make a buck on selling the tech to the gullible and, more importantly, the maliciously prejudiced. In the end, the whole thing is about money, and money curiously causes people to stop thinking about everything else.